Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1)(37)

The tormentor tormented by its prey.

“Had a good day at school?” She bats her eyelashes, a sugary-sweet smile gracing her lips. I think back to the conversation I had with Coach this afternoon about Prichard and my football career. Another guy would snitch on Prichard to her and let her deal with the mess. But (A) I don’t take orders, especially from idiots in expensive suits, and (B) on the off-chance this puts her in a vulnerable position, I’m not going to have him press her back against the wall.

“I survived it.” I flex my biceps when I rub soap off my shoulders to see if she’ll check me out, and sure enough, she does. She averts her gaze quickly when I smirk.

“How ’bout you?” I ask.

“It was okay.” She clears her throat.

“Daria”—I snap my fingers twice—“I’m right here. You can talk to my dick, too, but he’s more of an action man.”

“You grew up from that scrawny kid,” she says quietly, turning off the water behind me, and for a moment, our bodies are flush. Her stomach brushes my dick, but neither of us moves. We just stand there, dripping wet, with my dick poking her navel. Close but afar. Nervous, but bold. I’ve never done this before with anyone. Got naked for the sake of being naked. I feel like I should take control of the situation, but then I’ll have to shut her down, and as much as I feel shitty about doing this to Adriana, I can’t not do it, either.

Daria raises herself on her tiptoes and brushes her lips over my ear. I bend down the rest of the way to accommodate whatever it is she wants to tell me.

“Thank you for another first, Scully. I’ve never been naked with a man in a shower.”

Before I know it, she’s wrapped in her pink towel and sauntering out of the bathroom, leaving me in the shower with my hard dick pointing at the tiles.

I relock the door and rub one (fine, two) out before I can get out of there.

1-0 to the home team.





You wear your lies

Like a tie

Too beautiful to remove

Too elegant to resist

Too tight to breathe





Boys are a sore subject for me.

First, let me say that the past few days have been trash, and I’m happy I get to unwind at the end of it. Throughout the entire week, Penn hasn’t been home, both because of his football practices and business he has in San Diego. Maybe he is with his maybe girlfriend. I’d kill to get a straight answer about who and what she is to him, but I’m too proud to ask him, let alone ask around.

When Penn is home, he ignores my existence completely, locks himself in his room, and growls one-word responses when I need something concrete from him. He does seem to toss balls with Dad in the backyard whenever he gets a minute as well as read with Bailey. Melody is trying to spend more time with me. She keeps asking me how school is, and I keep dodging. If she truly cared, she’d check. She hasn’t checked in years.

I feel invisible. I always feel invisible. As though I blend in with the walls, and furniture, and the clear glass bowl on the counter where my parents keep apples shined by our housekeeper. Apples that I keep finding under my bed, in my backpack, in my shoes. Apples that invade my space, my room, my soul.

By the time Friday rolls around, I’m on edge. All Saints has a football game against Westmount, and we win but not by much. Blythe, who is a flyer and needs to be extra focused, is having a meltdown in the locker room but refuses to tell anyone what it’s about. Esme does her makeup in front of the mirror, and mumbles, “Bitch is probably pregnant with that hood rat’s baby.”

I excuse myself and go throw up in one of the toilet stalls.

“Maybe Dar is preggers, too!” Blythe cries from the bathroom stall next to mine. When I walk out, Esme approaches me and cocks her head with a tsk.

“You look seriously bad, sweetie. Maybe you should sit this one out.”

Maybe you should die.

High school is an aquarium full of sharks. People are always broiling with the need to burst free. Only the strong survive.





On Saturday, we decide to crash a music festival in the desert.

I braid my hair and put flowers and golden stars in it, slipping into a pair of teeny-tiny white Daisy Dukes and a white crocheted bikini top. I tie a flannel shirt around my waist and finish the look with cute gray boots.

When I leave, my entire family and Penn are sitting at the breakfast table, shoving carb-ridden pancakes into their mouths.

“The only place you should be going wearing shorts that short is the OB-GYN for a checkup.” My dad doesn’t even lift his eyes from The New York Times. “Change.”

“Daddy!” I exclaim. “The Lonely Man is like Coachella on steroids. I can’t show up looking like a nun.”

“If you want to show up at all, you’ll put some clothes on,” he repeats.

I shove the Daisy Dukes into my backpack and change to boyfriend jeans, then run out the door and jump into Alisha’s orange Corvette.

Esme and Blythe are retouching their makeup in the back seat.

“The guys are already there. Gus is apparently trashed, and Knight took off with a reality TV star.” Alisha laughs, sliding her sunglasses on.

“I hate guys.” I sigh.

And this brings me to my original point. I really, truly hate guys. Which is why that thing with Principal Prichard worked so well for me until Penn walked into my life and messed it up. People never bother to hit on me because no one wants to compete with the goddamn principal. What they don’t know is that what Prichard and I have is different. Unconventional. But by blocking their way from asking me out and trying to hook up with me, I’m guarding my heart. It’s not that I’m scared of having my heart broken. It’s that I don’t think any boy can truly like me. If my own parents barely tolerate me, then how can I expect a dude to fall in love with me for who I am?