PROLOGUE
“Chance Drummond, please report to the principal’s office. Chance Drummond, please report to the principal’s office.”
“Dude,” Nico said. “This is what you get for cutting class. They announce it to the entire school.”
He sighed. Jesus fucking Christ. If it wasn’t one thing, then it was another.
What the hell did he do now? Aside from cutting class because he hated Spanish. Why did he need to learn another language? It’s not as if he was going to Mexico for anything. The same with art class. Hated that too and wasn’t going to be creating anything to make money when he could barely draw a stick figure.
The only reason he went to that class was because there was a hot chick in there who was way out of his league, but she actually talked to him.
Could be none of her friends were in the class and she didn’t want to be alone.
Didn’t matter to him. It was entertaining enough to keep him showing up.
He heaved himself up from the ground where he was sitting with Nico after putting out his cigarette. If he wanted to go to class, he’d be six minutes late right now. Not a big deal. He could say he was taking a dump. Yeah, that’s what he’d do if they gave him crap about being late. He’d blame it on the shitty lunches that were served.
But they didn’t need to broadcast his damn name like that. He should just ditch for the day and pretend he never heard it. He was close to doing it, but then his grandmother would get a call at home and he didn’t want to add to her stress.
He whipped the door open, popped a piece of gum in his mouth, then strutted down the hall toward the principal’s office. There was a seat in there with his name on it. Been that way for the entire four years he’d attended this school.
He knew he had a target on his back because of where he came from rather than his actions.
If he was going to get shit on by people, might as well give them a reason for it.
And...there was the hot chick from art class passing him in the hall, her smile bright, her ponytail swinging while she held her books in her arms in front of her.
“What did you do this time?” Jocelyn McCarthy asked him.
“Your guess is as good as mine. Just existing seems to do it.”
She laughed, shook her head, that milk chocolate ponytail swishing even faster, then rolled her eyes. “Maybe thinking like that is the problem. Good luck.”
Yeah, luck. Not anything he’d had in his life.
He saluted her and kept walking. Might as well get this over with.
He got to the administrative wing, opened the glass door, the secretary sitting there pointed to his favorite chair and he planted his ass in it as if the indentations were made for him.
Fifteen minutes later. “Chance, come in.”
If they thought him sitting there all that time would make him squirm, they had another thing coming. He didn’t pull his phone out like most did. Only leaned against the wall and took a quick catnap. He worked late last night, then came home and did a bunch of chores while his grandmother was at work. Then she wouldn’t have to do them and could sleep in today.
He didn’t wait to be told to have another seat so sat like he always did for this broken record episode.
“Do you know why you were called here?” Principal Woodrow asked.
“Nope.” He crossed his arms, stretched his legs in front of him, and leaned back again. His usual pose.
Principal Woodrow held his stare. “A student snapped a picture of you smoking weed on the grounds.”
“No,” he said. “Didn’t happen.”
The picture was pulled out of a folder and shoved across the desk for Chance to see. It was printed at the school, blown up and kind of grainy, but it was him in his hangout spot with Nico, only he was alone. Yesterday’s clothing, and yes, that was a joint in his hand, but it wasn’t filled with weed. Not even tobacco.
“This says otherwise.”
He shoved the picture back. “It’s not what it seems.”
