Filthy Foreign Exchange(9)
He stops in the bathroom doorway and glances at me over his shoulder. “Clay offered me a ride, but thank you.”
I swear, the more we talk to clear things up, the fuzzier they get.
“Um, Clay doesn’t go to college. And call me crazy, but didn’t you sort of just say you don’t like him?”
“I like to know whom and what I’m dealing with. Accepting his offer is to my benefit.”
“But why would he get up at the crack of dawn to drive another guy?”
He grins. “Seems he and I must think a lot alike.”
“Whatever,” I groan, completely exasperated. He already uses words I have to translate, so all the “code talk” and backhanded questions he’s not directly asking being added to the mix are too much for me at this late hour. “See ya tomorrow, Super Sleuth.”
“You have no idea.”
I can still hear his faint laughter as my eyes close.
Chapter 4
My shower the next morning does little to settle the rapidly growing tension in my stomach from the thought of going back to school. It’s not that I hate high school—I enjoy learning, and for the most part my classes are interesting enough, with engaging teachers—I just don’t quite fit in as a typical high-school student. They’re just…not interesting. Or engaging. They say stupid shit, while doing or having just done stupid shit.
So I make a concerted effort to stick to myself. It gets lonely sometimes, but it’s better to be alone than to be part of behavior and activities that will only leave me ashamed, disgusted, and/or in trouble.
But today, the first day of my senior year, I’m trying to be optimistic—if for no other reason than it’s almost over.
When I finally turn off the water and open my eyes for the first time since rinsing my hair, it’s not the presence of Kingston’s note on the door that surprises me, but what it says.
Pink is definitely your colour.
Concerned at what the hell he’s implying, I snatch my towel from its hook and quickly run it over my body and hair to dry off. Of course, my first instinct is to get dressed, then pound on his door to ask him what kind of crudeness he’s hinting at.
But the moment I open my top dresser drawer, my question is answered. My vision blurs with a red haze of anger, my face feeling hotter the longer I stare.
There, laid out perfectly on top of all my unmentionables, is the hot-pink, glittery thong Savannah had bought me as a gag gift for my sixteenth birthday—a gift no one else ever saw or knew anything about, and that I clearly should’ve thrown away instead of tucking it in a drawer that Kingston apparently snooped all the way in the very back of.
That son of a bitch!
Donned in only my robe after throwing my towel angrily across the room, I run to my window when I hear a car horn. Clay, the mysteriously over-eager chauffeur, is waiting outside.
It takes no thought or effort on my part to shove open the window. I pop my head out at the same time Mr. Super Sleuth, now AKA Panty Burglar, struts out of the house.
“Invade my privacy again, and I swear to God you’ll need to sleep with both eyes open!” I scream, not caring who hears me, my pulse racing with irritation.
He peers up, a devious dance on his lips, and has the audacity to actually salute me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!?” I shout back as he swings open the door to Clay’s car. “Are you serious right now? How dare you! You arrogant—”
“Echo?”
My mother’s voice emerges from the front porch, followed by her perplexed face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if your father wakes up, he’ll be giving you both a full interrogation!”
Crap. I grip the window ledge, struggling to reel in my unleashed fury.
“Forgive us,” Kingston says to my mother, then looks up at me as he continues. “I borrowed the toothpaste from her bathroom drawer without asking this morning. I didn’t realize how offensive that would be taken. My mistake.”
“Oh.” My mother smiles, obviously not having caught all of my yelling before or she wouldn’t be buying such a simple explanation and seeming so relieved right now. “Well, I’ll pick you up some of your own today. Is there anything else you need?”
When he gives a quick head shake, she glares up at me. “Echo, apologize. Now.”
If looks could kill, the one I have pinned on Kingston would incinerate him on the spot. He’s ballsy—I’ll give him that. If I tell the truth, my dad will have him shipped back home within the hour, which in turn would ruin things for Sebastian.
And that’s the only reason I tamp down the venom in my next words, instead spitting them out as sugary sweet as possible as I leave the clear promise of revenge to my glare.
“I’m sorry,” I lie, before slamming my bedroom window shut. I decide to try and pretend the incident never happened, because today is about tackling the atrocity of high-school cliques and I don’t have the energy to focus on both. Kingston’s real lecture will have to wait.
~~~~~
Maybe it was the sparring match with Kingston that changed my hopeful determination to a glum, grouchy mood. Or perhaps I’m lacking the carefree chip in my brain that every other person surrounding me seems to have. But at least all I have to do is keep a friendly distance from everyone except Savannah and a few other girls I have cordial acquaintances with until graduation. Then I’ll never walk these halls again. It’s what I remind myself of all morning, but unfortunately, it’s barely working.