Senior Year, Stella
“Honestly, Donovan, I do not know why Elaine is such a conniving whore bag,” I shout over the chilling rendition ofSound of Silenceby Disturbed.
Donovan’s steady, and handsomely dark voice comes through the line. “Star, she has to have a reason to act this way towards you. You can’t tell me she just plastered your photos all over school for the fun of it.”
Walking through the front doors of Cordova Linda High School this morning, I didn’t expect to be publicly humiliated before homeroom.
I had my headphones in, volume way too loud, and was drowning in metal mayhem. With my latte pressed to my lips, I made the usual sharp left turn.
And froze.
Papers were plastered across every surface: lockers, bulletin boards, even the doors of the bathroom stalls. I took one step closer, brows pulling together.
Then I saw it.
At the top of each flyer, in obnoxiously large print, was:Call 4 a Good Time,with my phone number underneath.
And dead center? A photo from summer camp. Messy bun. Frozen pajamas. Shoving a massive breakfast corn dog into my mouth like I was trying to win a contest.
My hand went limp. The latte slipped from my fingers, splashing across my shoe and flooding the floor with warm, sticky brown liquid.
I could already feel the eyes on me. The laughter behind me. Through tear-filled eyes, I rip the flyer off the wall and turn to run.
But Elaine and her little shadows were waiting at the end of the hall, blocking the exit. Laughing hysterically.
I bang my head down on the art desk with a loud groan, my long jet-black hair tumbling over my face.
My thoughts drift back to second grade. I still remember my first day, standing in front of Ms. Gwendolyn’s class, clutching my princess backpack, pushing my glasses up my nose. Those damn things never stayed in place.
“Class, we have a new student today,” Ms. Gwendolyn announced. “Her name is Stella Carrington, and she’s new to Cordova Alta. Everyone, please give her a warm welcome.”
Some students clapped, but I caught the whispers and giggles from the back row. They didn’t even bother to hide it. Elaine Royce, Molly Adams, and Samantha Beckett. Even back then, they were thick as thieves. And ever since, they’ve made it their mission to make my life hell.
I suddenly snap back to reality as Donovan’s voice breaks through the fog.
“Hellooooo. Earth to Star. Mi Bella, did I lose you?”
I groan, rubbing my forehead, “Shit, sorry, D, my phone must’ve cut out. All I am saying is when your dad is the King of Caskets, you aren’t immediately everyone’s best friend.”
“Stella Bella, you can’t honestly believe people don’t like you just because your dad owns the world's largest luxury casket business.” Donovan’s voice is full of disbelief, and the doubt in his tone is deafening.
Anger simmers in my chest as I snap into the phone, “You know what, Donovan D’Angelo, I have had a shitty enough day. I do not need you calling me a liar on top of it.”
I pace slowly back and forth in my art studio. “How long have you known the Three Bees? Two years? I have known them for ten—ten years, D! Ten long years of them making my life a living hell! And now you’re going to side with that peppy little cheerleader over me?” As I take another long look at my pathetic face on that stupid flyer, I whisper, “Do you even really love me?” I let out a shaky breath before I finish my sentence. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I am done with the Three Bees, and I am done with you! Go rot in hell.”
Hours have passed since I hung up on Donovan, ending our year-long relationship. I’m not even sure what we see in each other. We are complete opposites. And yet.. We lasted a year and a half.
I try to push him out of my mind, but it’s useless—Donovan is 6'2", 210 pounds of pure muscle, the golden boy quarterback of Cordova Linda High School.
His dream? Getting recruited by a top SEC team. And honestly, he's close. The scouts have been circling for weeks. He’s the top-ranked quarterback in Central Arizona. The real deal.
We live in a town full of politicians, retired rock stars, B-list actresses, and people with more money than common sense, and Donovan? He fits in effortlessly.
And then there’s me, the reluctant heir to Carrington Caskets.
I’m a walking contradiction: jet-black hair, pale skin, and piercing green eyes, wrapped in a soul that’s always beenannoyingly peppy, and no matter how bright I act, everyone still sees the goth girl.
I’m the casket princess. Dating the star quarterback. People are already buzzing about prom court like it’s some kind of prophecy.
