My phone pings as I’m walking out. Anticipation and nerves burst to life inside me when I see who’s messaging.
Stanley: Got early word on the fight location. Be there at 10PM sharp.
Another text immediately follows with a map pin.
I click it and zoom in, nodding to myself. The fight is at an abandoned factory I’ve been to before. It’s on the other side of town, sandwiched between businesses that haven’t been so unlucky as to go bankrupt in this economy. By ten, though, it should be all cleared out.
Me: Got it.
I switch over to my text thread with Tyler.
Me: Need some last-minute prep before my fight tonight. You around?
Tyler: Yeah, just leaving my ma’s
Me: Race you to the gym
Tyler: You’re on
Running drills and hitting something will help me feel better—especially since I’m going to be taking a beating later tonight.
[ 6 ]
SCARLETT
My inbox isfull of junk, and by junk, I mean emails from thehilariousflyer that Cross has pinned all over campus. Another ping and I mutter under my breath how much I hate him. I crumple yet another flyer on my way to the parking lot and throw it into the trash before spotting my car.
It’s dark, but thankfully, there are several streetlights lining the walkway. My lucky architecture compass stays in my purse as a steady reminder that I have some sort of protection, but it does nothing to calm my already rising blood pressure from the substantial number of students who now have my email.
Doesn’t Cross understand that I’m a private person?
I quickly shut my door, relishing in the safety of my car, and lock it.
Of course Cross doesn’t understand that I don’t want people privy to my life. He doesn’t know me, and the little bit that he did learn was from a judgmental standpoint at our parents’ wedding where I was much different than I am now.
I was the life of the party, clanking glasses full of liquor with my dad and his mother, dancing most of the night away. Where I once smiled a lot and didn’t meet a stranger, now I’d rather beholed up in my bedroom with that new security system set so no one can touch me.
Shit, that’s right…
I consider calling my dad to tell him that Cross has the code and has yet to give it to me, but that’s something a bratty stepsister would do, and that’s not how I want to play this game with him. He’ll just throw it in my face that I went running to Daddy Dearest and call me a spoiled brat again.
After clicking on Cross’s name, I quickly type a message.
Short and to the point.
Me: What’s the security code?
My phone doesn’t buzz until I pull up to the curb of our house. There aren't any lights on–not even the porch light. Either Cross isn’t home, or he’s being his typical asshole self and wants me to fumble in the dark.
Cross: emailed it to you
I roll my eyes.
Me: You can’t even text in complete sentences? Probably shouldn’t have ditched your tutor.
With a pleased smile, I open my inbox. I check my spam folder when I see nothing but a few emails from professors with updated syllabuses. My lips flatten immediately. There are evenmoreemails in my spam from people on campus finding those flyers. I flare my nostrils, exhale deeply, and delete them all.
Eventually, I find the email from Cross.
