Chapter One
NOW
All things considered, high school’s been pretty good to me. Granted, if ever I get too whiny about anything, my mother will start comparing my woes of not having my own car toherwoes of not having her own shoes growing up in Russia, but even in my worst moments of spoiled bratdom, I know that having good friends, decent grades, frequent party invites, and perpetually clear skin makes me one of the luckiest of the lucky.
Sure, my dad’s a disappearing shithead and I didn’t get the pony I wanted for my ninth birthday, but overall, I’d say life’s delivered pretty nicely.
So why is it, when I walk into Stratford High on the first day of senior year, I am immediately reminded of what I don’t have? Why must all six feet three inches of Chase Harding, unreciprocated love of my life, be the very first person I see? Why must he be right down thehall from the school’s entrance, cracking up guys from the football team, stupid-hot calves on blatant display of stupid-hotness?
How dare, universe. How dare.
“Watch that drool, Rissy. Someone might slip.”
“I was hoping you would,” I reply without shifting my gaze one iota. I don’t need to look up to know that Shannon Salter is speaking. She’s the only one who’d dare to call me Rissy. The only one who could without taking my gel manicure to the eyeball, really.
Still, after another beat, I turn away. Even I know I’m bordering on pathetic.
“I missed you, you bitch,” Shannon says, pecking my cheek. “I hate your tan.”
“You wish you had my tan.”
“Of course I wish I had your tan.” Shannon winds one of my shoulder-dusting butter-colored curls around her index finger and tugs. “And look how cute this haircut is! And how blond! How dare you spend the summer at the beach without me.”
“You were literally in Paris, Shan.”
“Oh right, I was.” She smiles widely enough to make dimples pop on her peaches-and-cream-skinned cheeks. “Shit, I am cool.”
She is, unfortunately. Even during this brief conversation, randos have dropped little “Hey, guys” in our direction, but mostly it’s “Hi, Shannon!” with a wave or a smile, careful not to disturb our post-summer reunion, but eager to start the year off right by cozying up to the most popular girl at Stratford.
As if Shannon’s desperate for new friends.
It was weird spending the entire summer apart. We haven’t done that in years, and certainly not since high school began. But then, my mom had never been asked to accompany her boss to the Outer Banks for the summer. And she’d never dragged her daughter with her, rather than let her stay home alone in Stratford.
It was a summer of firsts.
“So cool,” I confirm, giving her a smooch on the cheek that leaves a coral lip print. “And we’re reunited, so that’s what’s—”
“Hey, ladies.”
The greeting isn’t a tentative drive-by like the others, and it comes complete with a shadow. A six-foot-three shadow. I am not the squeeing type, but if I were, I’d be shattering some eardrums. “Hey, Harding.” Do I sound too flirty? I might sound too flirty. But the way he’s leaning against my locker is definitely flirty, so really, I’m not being weird. “Did you get taller over the summer?”
Okay, now I’m being weird.
“I did, thank you for noticing.” He squints at me like he’s scrutinizing my face. “You look different too, Bogdan.”
“In a good way?”
He flashes me a smile, revealing the crooked teeth that only make him cuter. “In a very good way.”
“That’s what I was just telling her,” says Shannon, looping an arm around my shoulders. “Look at this hot bitch.”
“I am, I am,” Chase says with a grin, but I barely hear him. A ghost is walking through the door of the school. A ghost with smooth bronze skin and full lips and lushdark waves and amber eyes that I know from experience can convince you to do things you never, ever dreamed you would.
Things you liked. Things you loved. Things you’ve thought about with the lights off every night since.
Why is there a Jasmine Killary–shaped ghost haunting Stratford?
Haunting me?
