Chapter One
Lacey
Dr. Frievalt walks up and down the aisles of the classroom, handing back our graded tests. I eagerly wait for my own as my fellow classmates’ faces reveal their scores with groans of dejection and accompanying scowls.
It was a hard test, and there had been talk from most everyone after class yesterday that they were sure they’d failed. But I studied my ass off, and I’m anxious to get my test back so I can feel that rush of a hard-earned good grade.
When Dr. Frievalt finally gets to my desk, I look up at him with a timid smile. He’s one of those teachers who is too qualified to be teaching high school. Usually that means they’re doing it out of some passion or love of the education system or working with kids, but for Dr. Frievalt, I think his only motivating factor is that he really enjoys making people feel dumb.
He’s a good teacher, despite his motivations, but about as warm as the lakes this time of year.
He does not return my smile as he holds out my paper for me or when he says, “Top grade in the class. Again.”
“Thanks,” I say, but he’s already gone, moving to the front of the classroom.
My excitement at having done better than my classmates has only started to bubble up when it’s quickly stamped out by the A- on the top of the page.
Staring at it, face growing hot, I quickly scan the test—all four pages of it.
Dr. Frievalt begins lecturing us about trying harder and blah blah blah. I barely hear him because I’m too busy reading his messy scrawl that points out all my mistakes. Which aren’t really mistakes at all. I forgot to show my work on one problem, and on another problem, he took off two points for mislabeling a graph.
I can’t help but feel bummed about my grade, but when the bell rings and we all get up to leave the class, the grumbles from everyone else talking about Cs and—shudder, Ds and Fs—keeps me from voicing that out loud.
In the hallway, I walk to my locker to swap out my books for the next class. My best friend Claire is there with her boyfriend, Austin, leaning up against the lockers together. They have been joined at the hip since they started dating. Literally joined at the hip. If they aren’t kissing or hugging, they’re holding hands and sending each other longing looks.
I clear my throat loudly like I’m annoyed, but a smile tips up the corner of my lips. “Excuse me, can you move the make-out session away from my locker?”
They aren’t actually making out, but he’s gazing at her in a way that tells me that they might have been if I were two seconds later.
Austin wraps his arms around Claire and pulls her against him, then drops a kiss to her temple. “Nope. Sorry.”
Claire giggles in his hold, so happy it’s radiating from her.
“You two are so sweet it makes my stomach a little queasy,” I say, only partially meaning it. I’m happy for my friend. Austin’s good for her. She deserves a boyfriend who wants to smother her in love—unlike her last one.
“How’d the Trig test go?” Claire asks, ignoring my playful jabs.
“A-.” I make the face of disgust I’ve been feeling since Dr. Frievalt handed our papers back. That’s one of the great things about Claire, I can always be myself around her.
Her lips curve down, but I can see she’s fighting a smile. “I’m sorry. I know how hard you studied for it.”
“It’s fine. There’s always next time, right?”
“Only you would look forward to the next test.” The warning bell sounds, and she and Austin untangle.
“See you at lunch?” she asks.
“Yep.” I smile back. I start to head to my AP Biology class, but then remember I’m almost out of lead for my pencil, so I open my locker again and am digging through my backpack when I feel someone’s presence next to me.
I glance over. My hair is blocking half my face, but I’d recognize Vaughn Collins and his broody scowl blindfolded.
My fingers wrap around the lead container, and I pull it out, then shut my locker. I look around, trying to figure out why he’s here, but everyone else has gone off to class.
“Hey,” I say as I meet his stare. Vaughn is not the stop-by-to-chat type, especially with me, so he isn’t just here to say hi and see how I’m doing.
“Hi.” His tone is short and clipped, and he continues to stand there staring at me without saying more, forcing me to ask him, “Can I help you?”
I’ve known Vaughn since middle school when he moved to Frost Lake. It was a big deal because his dad is JudeCollins, the famous soccer player. Even those of us who didn’t follow the game knew who he was. He and Vaughn’s mom were the kind of celebrities who were splashed across every social media outlet. They weretheit couple before I even knew what anit couplewas.
