“What?”I mumble, pulling myself back to reality.
“Are you still seriously thinking about that boy?”she asks.
I roll my eyes.“Shut up.”
We barely walk through the doors, and it’s already chaos.
Screams bounce off lockers, tearing through the air, bodies pressed so tightly it’s a miracle anyone can breathe.Phones are out, mouths are open.Drama spills down the walls.
Lola yanks my arm, already stretching her neck like a bloodhound catching a scent.“Oh, hell yes.That’s Tia’s screech.I’d recognize it anywhere.”
She squints through the crowd.“And unless my eyes are lying, which they never fucking do, that’s Nicole’s crusty-ass weave in Tia’s hands.”
She pulls me forward, weaving through the crowd until the main event comes into view.
Tia and Nicole.Full fucking carnage.Clawed hands, flying limbs, hair getting snatched like they’re auditioning for some apocalyptic Real Housewives spin-off.One of Nicole’s nails hits the floor.Tia’s got blood on her lip.Nicole’s tit is a second away from making a guest appearance.It’s savage, stupid, and everything this school fucking lives for.
The crowd converges like a pack of vultures fighting over the last piece of meat.
I should walk away.This isn’t entertainment for me.Even if part of me wants to cheer when they rip each other’s hair out, karma’s a bitch, and they’ve both handed out enough poison to deserve it.
But then it hits.
That slow-burning heat creeping down my spine.That hum in my bones.
I don’t have to look around to realize he’s here.
I feel it in my chest, in the way my pulse skips, and how the noise around me fades into static.
And sure enough, when I look up, there he is.Reece Wilson.Leaning against the wall, all easy shoulders and smug smile, arms crossed over that broad chest that’s wrecked more girls than gossip.
He is not watching the fight.
He is watching me.
He doesn’t blink.
Neither do I.
He just stands there, drinking me in with those intense eyes, and I hate that my heart stumbles like some clueless girl in a YA movie.
He’s still beautiful—stupidly, disgustingly beautiful—in that boy-who-breaks-hearts-and-doesn’t-care kind of way.Messy hair.Sharp jaw.That crooked smile that wrecks good girls and dares them to thank him for it.
He wears pain like a damn crown.And I wish I didn’t want to kiss him or ask what broke him before he ever reached me.
“Okay, break it up,” a teacher barks, pushing her way through the crowd.“Tia.Nicole.Office.Now.”
The crowd groans as phones are put away.The show’s over.
Tia spits out a curse so filthy it’d get me grounded until I turn thirty.Nicole shoots back with something about banging someone’s cousin.I don’t know if it’s true, but judging by the gasps of Tia’s little wannabes, she hit a nerve.
Lola is practically vibrating next to me, eyes wide, voice hushed with excited horror.“That was better than reality TV.I swear, next time I’m bringing popcorn and dragging a lawn chair into the hallway.”
She’s absorbing the chaos, energized by second-hand bitch-fight vibes, until she notices my face.
Then she groans.
“Oh no.Not that look again.”
