The Rush (2 page)

             
Like now.             

             
“This is my natural color,” I offered that piece of personal information free of charge and wildly out of character for me. It would be the only one he got. “After everything that, uh, happened last year, my mom made me dye it back. Believe me when I say I desperately miss the black. I preferred the way it washed me out.”

             
Oh I was wrong, he would get two pieces of personal information.

             
It must be his lucky day.

             
Except he would disappointingly not do anything with it. He may be smart, and now that I noticed the pins on his letter jacket weren’t all sports related but actually included some academic endeavors, I started to believe that maybe chemistry was an AP class last year, but he wouldn’t be smart enough for this game we were playing.

             
And that was just disappointing.

             
He laughed, thinking I was joking and I sighed, hating that I was right about him.

             
We reached the top of the stairs. Finally…. that was seriously a long walk from Dodge Street upwards to the entrance. “Grrr” to my mother and her refusal to let me get a driver’s license.

             
She didn’t believe in driving, if you could believe that. Like driving was some weirdo religion. Or like you could actually choose not to believe in it.

             
But she claimed that was what boys were for.

             
Yep, I just threw up in my mouth.

             
She was like the anti-feminist. She’s was sexist, but in the opposite way.

             
I was still walking backwards, you know in that flirtatious way that only really coordinated girls can pull off, giving Chase my undivided attention and choosing to believe the busy hallways of the ancient and decrepit school would simply part for me. They did, with no doubt every single eye watching my every move.

             
This was high school after all. And I was something of a legend….

             
No, that wasn’t the right word.

             
Hot topic.

             
I was something of a hot topic.

             
I was like the definition of notorious; famous but with negative connotations
- very
negative.

             
Or at least I had been when I took my little six month sabbatical at the end of last year, over the summer and part of this year. I was banking on coming back, amping up the gossip mongers material and adding mystery to my every growing nefarious reputation.

             
“What’s your first class, Chase?” I asked as I slowed down near the office doors.

             
“Calculus,” he answered, slowing down with me.

             
“Not slacking off in your last year? You must be undecided about good schools then,” I remarked, narrowing my eyes on him.

             
His cheeks reddened just a bit in response.

             
“What about you?” he asked coming to a complete stop with me in front of the long set of glass windows sandwiching the glass door that led into the school office.

             
“I’m not sure yet,” I nodded in response to the office. The bell rang and he was officially late for class. Not that I thought he would mind. “I’ll see you around.”

             
“You’ll see me later,” Chase clarified boldly. “Ride home, remember?”

             
“Oh, I remember,” I smiled coyly and then turned my back on him.

             
The glass door closed behind me with the tinkling of bells overhead and I visibly shivered against that interaction. Breathing deeply and counting to five again, I promised myself that the minute I graduated high school and had access to my trust fund I was so beyond out of here.

             
But the worst part, the part outside self-disgust and recrimination, outside the monotony and easy simplicity of all this was the guilt. The guilt that crept up slowly in the shadows of my heart and spread like a black sickness through my veins.

             
The only thing I knew about Chase at this point was that he was smart, good looking and way too easily impressed. Nothing about our interaction should have him enraptured by my every word, not even my looks, which were unfortunately way too pretty for my own good. It so wasn’t his fault and I felt bad for that.

             
He didn’t really get a say. And I got absolutely no say.

             
In the end I would leave him heartbroken and he would leave me shattered just like every single guy before him.

             
And believe me when I say there were a lot of guys before him.

             
It was my job.

Chapter Two

“Ah, Ms. Pierce, I wish I could say I was happy to see you,” Mrs. Tanner, the evil witch of a secretary, acknowledged me with a smug smirk that seemed to confirm the fact that yes, in case you were wondering, high school
is
the ninth ring of hell.

“Oh, Mrs. Tanner, I wish I could say the same thing,” I replied as sweetly as I could. I met her halfway with a long counter in between us.

She was not amused with me.

“You can’t miss anymore school
Ivy,” Mrs. Tanner warned and I realized it was practically painful for her to give me advice to heed. This must be coming from the principal, the
male
principal Mr. Costas. “At least not this semester, unless you have a written note from your doctor. Mr. Costas would like to remind you that you are going to have to work hard enough to catch up this late in the quarter and that skipping, ditching or taking unnecessary sick days will not benefit you toward your goal of graduation.”

“Tell Mr. Costas, I appreciate that he’s looking out for me,” I answered in that same sickly sweet voice I used to annoy the hell out of her.

She ignored me. “Here is your class schedule.”

“Thank you.” I snatched it from her hand and turned on my heel before she offered anymore unsolicited advice.

“The faculty of this school would also like to ask that you not send any more of its students to the hospital,” she called out snidely to my back.

I tensed immediately, my back ramrod straight and my nerves shot to sudden hell. “I’ll do my best,” I ground out and picked up pace.

I just needed to get to the glass door, push it open and get to class.

Fifteen more seconds.

“If you have any extra cash on you, that canister by the door is for Sam’s recovery fund,” she finished on a high note.

I couldn’t help myself. I should have just bolted
; and not just from the office, from school, from Omaha, from America…. I should have just gone.

But instead of listening to the sound voice of reason my inner conscience was screaming at me, I let the rotting guilt spread
its ugly, vicious wings and glanced down at the canister. There he was. Sam. Smiling and happy in his senior picture that was not at all indicative of what he looked like now…..

The canister was covered with construction paper asking for donations to help with his physical therapy and explaining that he
used to be a senior at this school, that he used to be a basketball star, and that he used to be able to walk…. The same life he never got the chance to live before a car accident changed his world forever. The plastic cover had a slit cut out of the top so you could drop money into it, long enough for coins and wide enough for folded up dollar bills.

I couldn’t do this.

I didn’t want to do this.

I felt my breakfast lu
rch in my very upset stomach. I lunged for the office door knowing even a second more spent trapped in the same room as that canister was going to send me into another breakdown.

Only this time there would be serious consequences to pay.

I threw the door open without seeing. I mean literally I couldn’t see anything. My mind had slipped into the horrific memories of the past and I was pretty sure I could make a solid plea for temporary insanity at this point.

So when I
shoved the door with as much force as I was capable of and met shouting resistance and then found myself tripping, toppling over something on the floor, I was completely taken off guard. The situation was made worse when in the middle of my fall I was drenched with severely hot liquid and landed painfully on my back, soaking wet.

I lay there for several moments sprawled out awkwardly on the
hard tile before the clearest, deepest gray eyes I had ever seen hovered over me. His thick brow line and hard edges to his tanned face prove he was male, definitely male. Our gazes locked together and I felt uncomfortably immobilized as the liquid I could now identify as coffee started to cool on my shirt and against my skin.

And then
those eyes narrowed on me. My eyes flickered to a face that was completely unreadable, in that I couldn’t identify his expression except that it wasn’t good. Like…. he was mad at me. Like, he was
pissed
at me.

“Let me up,” I growled, confused by his less than stellar
reaction.

“Excuse me?” he asked politely, schooling his expression and
realistically sounding polite, like he hadn’t heard me correctly.

“Let me up,” I slowed my speech down, thinking he just hadn’t heard me, probably because he was so disconcerted from staring into my eyes.

I’m not being stuck up here. That’s just usually what happened. I was speaking from experience.

“No problem.” He scooted back from me and I scrambled to my feet. He joined me seconds later with two empty coffee cups in his hand.

We both side stepped the spilled coffee puddled in the hallway and I thought for a second that I heard him huff an impatient sigh, but I knew that had to be wrong.

The halls were empty now, and we were left to stare each other down in front of the office. I prayed Mrs. Tanner had gone back to hiding in her hole of a break
room; otherwise I needed to be concerned with her swooping down at any moment to haul my ass to the principal’s office. If I was lucky she would demand a detention, but more than likely she would be petitioning for a suspension. She would use this or any other thing she could find against me.

Like I assaulted
gray eyes with his hot coffee in an attempt to end any promising future he might have. Like this would be related in some way to Sam.

             
Realizing that could be the case, I looked down at my shirt hoping to have evidence that I was actually the one assaulted. And then hope turned to irritation when I noticed that it was completely ruined, and uncomfortably sticky and cold. Not that it was a designer shirt…. but the tight fitting, scoop neck black long-sleeved tee looked great with my gray bubble skirt and knee high charcoal boots. And the only extra piece of clothing I even had with me was my favorite hoodie that I wasn’t supposed to wear.

             
“What am I going to do now?” I bit out, while mystery man watched me from a few feet away.

             
“Excuse me?” he asked politely again, only this time I heard the faint tones of aggression and confusion.

             
Not possible.

             
“You spilled coffee all over me; I don’t have a change of clothes, what am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?” I asked not at all politely.

             
“I spilled coffee on you?” he asked slowly, his patience growing thin.

             
I stopped then, in that moment and lifted my eyes to meet his again. He wasn’t looking at me though, his arms were crossed and he was looking around the hallway as if he couldn’t actually believe what was happening and he needed someone else to clue him in. I took his distracted second to look him over.

             
He was all bad boy with thick layered dark brown hair that was clearly not styled and left messy and sexy from sleep. He had the thick kind of eye lashes that made most girls go crazy, with tanned skin completely in contrast to his silver gray eyes. His gray t-shirt that was just a little too tight, stretched over his biceps deliciously. His low slung jeans completed what might as well have been the uniform for all things wicked.

             
“Are you seriously going to blame me?” he asked in disbelief, drawing my attention away from the hollow of his throat.

             
“You spilled coffee on
me
,” I pointed out, pulling my shirt away from my skin mostly because it was so uncomfortable but also and a bit calculatingly because I knew it would expose my stomach and I was dying to see his reaction to a little skin.