Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Well, shit. Maybe our parents were paying attention after all.
Erica gives me a smug grin as if she’s in on a secret that I know nothing about, and when my mom breaks the silence, I couldn’t be more grateful. “So, my little warrior,” she says to Zoey, making my brows furrow at her use of that old nickname, something I haven’t heard in what seems like a lifetime. “How’s school going? Still kicking ass in all your classes?”
Zoey scoffs. “Kicking ass is not exactly how I would put it,” she says before explaining herself. “It’s been one week, and the homework and assignments are already piling up. I thought they might ease us into it, but apparently, my teachers are the throw them straight in the deep end type.”
“Ah, that sucks,” Mom tells her. “Just give it a little time. I’m sure you’ll find your groove.”
“Let’s hope.”
Erica smirks toward her daughter. “I’m sure if you didn’t spend your afternoons talking on the phone and committing grand theft auto, you would have plenty of time to get on top of that pile of homework.”
Zoey reaches for her glass of water again, sparing me a quick glance before lifting it to her lips. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” she says dismissively as if my car keys aren’t currently burning a hole in her pocket. At least, that’s where I assume she’s keeping them. She’s not going to make it easy for me to get them back.
Mom and Erica share a glance, and it’s clear they already know every detail about Zoey’s afternoon activities, and it grinds my gears that Mom didn’t think to even mention it to me. Though I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Mom and Erica gossip like a bunch of old ladies. They live for it, and as for Zoey, she tells her mom everything, even knowing that most of the time, anything she tells her mom will somehow get back to me through mine.
Moving right along, Erica glances back at me. “How are you settling in at East View? I’m assuming Coach Martin was thrilled to have you join the team?”
A harsh scoff rips from the back of my throat, and I find my leg stretching out under the table and settling right beside Zoey’s, her bare skin resting against mine, and damn it, she doesn’t even try to pull away. “Thrilled is one way to put it,” I mutter. “He thinks I’m more trouble than I’m worth, but he’s also thirsty for the championship trophy, so he’s putting up with me. He’s making me work for it though.”
“Good,” Zoey’s father says, barely able to meet my eye after our little chat out on the front lawn on Friday night. “What good is a coach who doesn’t push his players to their limits? He might be hard on you, but he’s making you a better player.”
I press my lips into a hard line and nod. “He’s holding me to a hundred percent attendance and a B+ average as well. If I start to slip, I’m done.”
Zoey leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, her dinner still untouched. “The way I heard it, Coach Martin isn’t the only one putting limitations on your enrollment,” she adds, but how she knows about my conversation with Principal Daniels doesn’t sit well with me. Our conversation about my enrollment was private, especially considering the end result was forcing me into counseling, and it sure as fuck isn’t something I want to openly discuss at her dining table.
I don’t respond, just hold her stare, daring her to push me on this. Electricity pulses between us, her leg practically burning hot against mine, and that tether tightens between us once again.
“Speaking of school,” Mom says, defusing the situation before it gets ugly. “Have you guys had a chance to hang out much?”
Zoey sputters again, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s going for a record. “That’s a joke, right?” she asks, gaping at my mom and pulling her leg away from mine, sending a searing pain through my chest that I can’t quite understand. “Noah and I certainly aren’t hanging out at school. I’m the straight-A student who spends her days memorizing every single lyric of Taylor Swift’s ten-minute version of ‘All Too Well,’ while Noah is a heathen who spends his days burning schools down. We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”
“You only wish we did,” I murmur, earning a spectacular eye roll out of her.
“Would it really be so terrible if you did hang out?” Zoey’s mom suggests, taking a sip of wine. “I know there’s social circles and a hierarchy at high school that I can’t even begin to understand, but you guys don’t need to lower yourselves to those standards. Your friendship has spanned over your whole lives. Perhaps it’ll be good to reconnect, and instead of glaring at each other across my dining table, you could find comfort in one another like you used to.”