I just don’t understand.

  Or is it because you don’t want to?

  I turn on my heel, pulling the door open roughly and ready to walk out until his voice stops me in my tracks.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I fucked it all up.”

  My brain is not in the mood to process whatever that means. I take a step forward.

  “Just…whatever you do…don’t leave Mountford,” he says gruffly.

  “Why?” I say without turning back.

  He pauses, not answering that question. Half of me is relieved to hear nothing; the other half wants to know what is hiding behind those conflicted, blue eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “What’s going on with you, Miss HInch?”

  Principal Carmichael levels me with a concerned stare. Does it make a difference? If he cared, showed some interest in my school life, would that have changed things? All these years, the problem was right under his nose and now, when the queen bee is covered in red like a reincarnation of Carrie, now, he wants to know what’s going on.

  It’s laughable if it wasn’t so sad.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, sir. I threw the paint over Madison and I’d gladly do it again.”

  He baulks at that. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Talk to me, Kennedy. You’re a good student. Never in any trouble -“

  “Just always on the receiving end of it. Tell me, how often has Madison got into trouble at Mountford? Roman? Kyle? Would you be disappointed in them too?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He frowns. “Are you implying that I play favourites with students?”

  “Yes,” I inhale deeply.

  “Well, you’d be wrong,” he leans back on his chair. He’s studying me. “Look, I don’t want to put this on your record so I’ll let you off with a warning but this cannot happen again. Whatever issues you have with the students, you raise that with the teachers. You don’t take matters into your hands.”

  “I hear what you’re saying but I won’t do it.”

  “So, you’re not hearing me then,” he lifts his brow.

  “Just…suspend me and get this over with.”

  He knits his brows together. “Suspend you?”

  “That’s what happens when you do what I did.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he quips. “Why are you doing this? Your teachers speak highly of you. I looked at their references for your college applications and they are something you should be proud of. Your English scores are brilliant,” he picks up a folder on his desk, opening and rummaging through the sheets. “Full score on the latest Romanticism assignment. A 3.9 GPA. This is impressive, Kennedy. So why throw this all away? For a moment of anger?”

  My hands are clenched into fists, the nails digging into my skin. “This isn’t a moment of anger. I’ve had to suffer for years but not anymore. Not this time.”

  “Don’t throw your future away.”

  “I’m not throwing anything away.”

  “Have you heard back from UCLA?” He says suddenly.

  “No,” I frown. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “ I’m just trying to understand your goals, Miss Hinch. I want you to know that life gets better after high school and all this…this is a necessary survival route all kids gotta take before they choose the life they want. I hope you get into the college you want - UCLA or not - and forget all of this. But I don’t want any more fights. Graduation is less than ten weeks away. Pick your battles.”

  “I am,” I tuck my hair behind my ear.

  “And what are you choosing?”

  “I choose to fight back.”

  He sighs, drooping his head a little before he raises it back, tightening his mouth. “Until you’ve changed your attitude, I suggest you go home and clear your head.”

  “And if I don’t change the attitude?” I ask anxiously.

  Ah, so much for a confidence made of steel.

  Staring in the face of permanent suspension is a lot more scarier than I thought.

  “Then don’t come back until graduation, Miss Hinch.”

  —

  I walk out of the school, taking Carmichael’s advice. My attitude is here to stay until further notice so I pretty much have no choice.

  Well, I did create this for myself.

  And I don’t regret it.

  I head out of the school grounds, out of the parking lot and straight down the street. It’s weird being outside during school hours. It’s liberating and terrifying all at the same time. I don’t ditch. It’s just not something I ever considered.

  But the last seventy two hours have flipped my previous way of thinking on its head. Now, I’m technically suspended. I let out a giddy laugh, muffling it behind my hand as a couple of bystanders give me strange looks.

  I head into a small cafe on the corner of the road, grabbing a peanut butter milkshake and sitting by the window. It’s quiet inside this quaint cafe. Only a couple of elderly customers sit further down in their booths and a few waitresses linger around, cleaning up.

  It’s probably the only moment of peace I’ve had in a long time.

  My phone pings.

  I tuck it out of my jacket, unlocking the screen.

  An Update On Your UCLA Application Status - Kennedy Hinch ID: 2034134

  I choke on my milkshake, coughing. I grab a couple of napkins, wiping my chin as my eyes stay glued to the phone.

  Oh my God.

  I’m going to shit my pants.

  It’s finally here.

  A rejection.

  An acceptance.

  Waiting list.

  Anything.

  What if Carmichael emailed the admissions office and told them what a piece of work I am? What if he told them that the references were baloney and that I’m a troublesome student after all?

  No, it doesn’t work like that Kennedy.

  Even still, my brain runs at a hundred miles per hour. The future resting in the contents of that email.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  SHIT.

  I thought you didn’t care if you got in or not, Ken?

  I didn’t until I saw the email, brain.

  My hands clam up with sweat. I swallow deeply, my hands trembling over the email. I should swipe up, start reading what it says and not just staring dumbly, unsure of what to do. My stomach swirls with anxiety. Any second now and I’m about to puke up the contents of the milkshake.

  I’m not aware of my surroundings but the door opens, a clinking sound. A couple of footsteps head my way and a hand waves in my face but I’m not processing.

  “Kennedy?” A faint, rough voice calls.

  A push at my stomach.

  What if it’s a rejection?

  Tug at my gut.

  “Are you okay?”

  It happens too quickly.

  The contents of my stomach heave out. I puke right on the floor, on the shoes of the person in front. The remnants of the peanut butter milkshake are splattered on the tiled floor and on the white sneakers of Roman Johnson.

  My horrified gaze looks up. His bewildered stare is glued to mine.

  “Oh fuck,” I whisper.

  I wipe my mouth, heading straight to the bathroom. I muffle a couple of apologies to the waitress and slam myself inside a bathroom stall.

  This is so embarrassing.

  I can’t go back there. I puked my guts out on Roman and I’ve still got a UCLA email calling my name, waiting to be opened. I thought I was fine. I thought it didn’t matter whether I got in or not, remember? What happened to the ‘I might not go to college this year’ talk?

  Right down the drain.

  I’m still nervous as ever.

  It’s a ticket out of here. A ticket far away from Mountford, from the ghosts of my past, from everything and it’s potentially in my inbox.

  Or not.

  It could be rejection and I’d be back to square one. I could take that year off like I planned. But the weight of a negative outcome feels more daunting, the possibility of my choice to leave cut off by a letter of rejection.

  Come on, Ken.

  Don’t run away.

  Don’t be afraid.

  Rejection can’t hurt you.

  He can’t hurt you.

  Inhaling deeply, I head out of the bathroom and back outside. I grimace at the waitress cleaning up after my mess. Roman’s sitting in my booth, right on the opposite side, watching me.

  “I’m sorry, let me help you,” I wince apologetically.

  The waitress shakes her head, giving a soft pat on my back. “It’s fine. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She heads back to the kitchen as the mess is cleaned up. I give Roman a tentative glance, taking my phone from the table. I make a move towards the exit. Roman stands up, his tall frame right in front of me.

  “Are you okay?” He says gruffly.

  “I’m fine,” I move around him and to my surprise he doesn’t stop me. Although that doesn’t mean my guard is down. Once we’re outside, I walk down the street, towards my house and Roman follows, keeping up with my pace.

  “What do you want?”

  He bites the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine. Please leave me alone.”

  Roman doesn’t listen. He continues walking with me.

  This has to be another prank. Roman Johnson walking with me. Right after I got suspended.

  A suspension that he’s definitely responsible for.

  That sounds about right.

  I stop in my tracks, putting my hand on my head.

  Count to ten, Ken.

  Relax.

  He faces me, watching with a piqued interest. His cerulean eyes scan my face; his sandy blonde hair looks stylish rugged; before it was styled immaculately but it looks like he’s run his hand through it a number of times. His cheekbones and jawline are prominent in this sunlight, making him look every inch the Greek god that women fawn over.

  Not me, of course.

  Just an observation.

  Objectively speaking.

  No attracted to him. Whatsoever.

  Liar.

  “What do you want?” I snap.

  “You gonna open the email?”

  “Come again?”

  “Your UCLA email,” he nods to my phone.

  “How’d you know that? Were you spying on my phone?” I advance forward. I would look intimidating if I wasn’t so short in comparison to his towering frame. I scowl with all the anger I have but Roman doesn’t flinch, almost softening his face in endearment.

  Not the reaction I wanted.

  “You had no right.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He bows his head but it’s not out of shame, he’s just mulling over his next words. He peeks up from under his eyelashes. “So, are you gonna open it?”

  “In front of you?” Over my dead body.”

  “Why not?” He frowns.

  “You’re seriously asking me that - have you lost your mind?” I keep walking, determined to lose him. But it’s pointless. The stupid jock keeps up the pace. I forget he’s an athlete and that this speed will not deter him. “Go away -“

  He moves to stand in front of me, putting his hand up in a ‘I come in peace’ gesture. It’s strange considering peace is something I wouldn’t put in the same sentence as Roman.

  “I just…” he runs his hand through his blonde locks and my eyes follow the movement distractedly. “Look, I’m sorry for everything. I am.”

  “Apology not accepted.”

  “I’m trying here,” he grinds his jaw.

  “Do you want a medal or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then leave me alone. It’s bad enough that you actively go out of your way to make my life miserable and congratulations, you’ve succeeded! So, you won’t be needing to see my face anymore, okay? But this,” I motion between us. “This is borderline harassment.”

  “Just answer my questions and I’ll leave you alone; are you going to UCLA? Are you going to accept?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Kennedy -“

  That’s the first time he’s said my name. In a non-threatening way.

  My stomach flips at the sound.

  “Just stop,” I put my hand up. “Stop.”

  Both of us go quiet, locked in a staring contest.

  “You probably already know I’m going to USC,” he says roughly. He scratches the back of his head. An almost self-conscious gesture.

  No. Guys like Roman are not self-conscious.

  “So?” I cross my arms.

  “I don’t want you to not go just because I’ll be in the same state…I figured you might reject it.”

  Is this a dream?

  Have I woken up in a parallel universe? Am I still asleep after binging out on Netflix?

  But as I press my nails into my jeans, I realise this is all very much real. He bites his bottom lip and the heat rushes to my stomach again, a familiar feeling.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  He’s not attractive.

  I don’t find him -

  Oh, stop lying to yourself Ken.

  I clear my throat, taking a step back. “I don’t even know if I got in. Besides, if I got rejected, I’m sure you’ll throw a little happy dance in there.”

  He narrows his stare. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Sure.”

  He exhales impatiently. “Look, I -“ He rubs his hand over his face. “I just want to make things right.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Okay, how about this?” He takes a step forward, encroaching my personal space. How do I know he’s getting too close? I can smell that delicious spicy cologne he always wears. It’s intoxicating and infuriatingly distracting. “You open that email and tell me if you’re going to California. You tell me where you’re going and I promise I will never reach out to you again.”

  My mouth becomes dry.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” he lifts a brow. Cocky and arrogant Roman is slowly returning. His upper lip curves in a casual smile. “Pretty tempting offer, right?”

  “Why’d do you want to know where I’m going so badly?”

  He shrugs.

  “So you can torture me some more?”

  He rolls his eyes. “No, Kennedy. Part of me never reaching out to you again involves not having contact. That’s the basis of its appeal.”

  I bring out my phone, unsure. I glance up. “This is pressurising and not the least bit reassuring.”

  “Sorry,” he smirks.

  “You’re not sorry.”

  “True.”

  Call me crazy but I consider the offer, swiping my phone and hovering over the email notification. This is absolutely awful of him to make a bargain for my sanity, just so he can find out whether I’m going to UCLA. After he snooped in my phone.

  Asshole.

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes.

  It’s okay, Ken. Whatever the outcome, it’s fine.

  You’ll be fine.

  My thumb taps on the email and I crack my eyes open. My heart pummels out of my chest as each second goes by. I click on the application status and brace myself for impact.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I didn’t get in.”

  The lie falls out. Roman blinks twice, his mouth opening a little.

  “Oh.” He says blankly.

  I shrug, tucking the phone back into my pocket. “Happy now? Since I’ve done my part of the deal, you can follow up with yours. Starting with leaving me alone.”

  Roman stays speechless. He probably didn’t expect this part of the plan; he thought I’d say that I got in, making his speech about leaving me alone somewhat negotiable considering we would be studying in the same state. Now that’s blown up to smoke, he’s flailing without a plan B.

  “That sucks,” he frowns.

  “Yeah, it does,” I reply.

  He gives me a searching look. That same one that rips through my layers and stubbornly forces its way through, trying to see what I’m hiding, what lies beneath my gaze. I avert my eyes, focusing on the cracked ridge on the pavement. I kick my foot against it, mindlessly following the pattern.

  “I’m a man of my word. I won’t reach out to you anymore. I’ll leave you completely alone. That’s the deal.” He nods solemnly. It almost sounds robotic. Forced but necessary.

  “And your word is what I’ve got to work with.”

  “Yes,” he stares intently.

  “Well, I’m going home now unless you’re planning to stalk me?”

  Roman tilts his head, smirking. “Is this your indirect way of asking for a chaperone? But I joke, I joke.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “I’ll walk you home and then this deal starts.”

  “Oh, go away.” I roll my eyes, moving down the street and towards my house. To my surprise - or not really - he follows me. I’ve sort of accepted that nothing I say gets through his head. Once we’re outside my house, on the porch, I give him a pointed stare.

  Roman takes a step forward.” This is where I leave you.”

  “Great,” I grin, moving to puts the keys inside the keyhole when Roman takes another step forward.

  I jolt a little, glancing up. “W-what are you doing?”

  “This is our last meeting. Aren’t you sad? Even just a little?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You’ll never know.”

  He grins, dimples on display. This is so weird. This is like a different Roman. It’s unnerving.

  “Okay, I…I am going now. Is there anything else?” I murmur.

  Roman’s eyes soften, wandering down to my lips, staying there. He clears his throat, his pupils dilated. My stomach flutters, unused to this situation. Unused to this proximity.

  His azure blue eyes scan my expression avidly. He holds my arm, grabbing the back of my head before smashing our lips together.

  My heart goes wild.

  It’s hungry and desperate, pouring all the pent up passion inside his being. His mouth nips at my bottom lip. I open my mouth in shock and he takes advantage, his tongue eagerly stroking and tasting mine, devouring my taste. I try to stifle any sound but a traitorous whimper escapes me, further spurring him on. A groan of relief escapes his throat.