All-American Princess - Maggie Dallen Page 0,35

weeks had been a humiliating, excruciating exercise in being rejected. He wasn’t rude about it—nowhere near as rude as Jack, who managed to tell me in no uncertain terms every single day that I had no place here.

He was my biggest cockblock in trying to get to Brandon. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when I was about to strike, and he stopped me every time. The guy watched me like a hawk.

Fine. Truth be told, maybe I watched him too. I had yet to forget about that kiss, and two weeks later, I still found myself fantasizing about it. Worse, my thoughts kept drifting back to that kiss along with nauseatingly fanciful what ifs. What if we hadn’t been interrupted? What if I hadn’t been here for Brandon?

But it was pointless to consider. As Tess reminded me daily—I had one job to do, and I aimed to do it.

I looked over to see if my target had entered the cafeteria yet. There he was… with Amber. Like always. The girl was irritatingly close to him. She was cockblock number two. Jack had lunch at a different time than the rest of us, but when Jack wasn’t around, Amber was there, stuck to Brandon’s side like glue. How was I supposed to get all flirty with Brandon when she was up in his business every second of the day?

I saw her look in my direction, and I cringed inwardly. Sure enough, her bubbly grin faded into something far more annoying.

Pity.

Ugh. Here we go. I shoved my tray away as she walked over. I knew what was coming. Just like how every day, Jack sought me out to give me crap—what are you still doing here? Can’t you take a hint? He’s not interested—Amber had been coming up to me every day to—ugh, barf—befriend me.

At least, that was what I assumed she was doing. She was the good cop to Jack’s bad, and she was so good it was revolting. She kept going out of her way to be nice to me, as if to prove that all these backwards hillbillies weren’t as bad as I might think.

They were. Trust me, they were.

They might not have been wearing the Gucci and the Prada, but I knew these people. They were no different from the snobs that graced the halls of Beverly Hills Prep. They just had a different bar for casting judgement.

These kids might not have been bragging about how they were friends with the band playing on the radio, but they judged you on whether the music you listened to was mainstream or not. Pop and country were in, apparently, but indie was out.

A girl might not have been mocked for who designed the shoes she wore, but what type was another matter. Cowboy boots were a win, but Louboutins? Those were laughable.

Don’t believe the hype, people. Snobbery was just as prevalent in middle America as it was on the West Coast—and the East Coast, for that matter. They just had different standards.

Anyway, all this was to say that Amber was a freakin’ nightmare within my nightmare. So sweet, so friendly, so unerringly nice.

God help me.

She headed my way now, and I braced for it—the inane questions about how my first weeks at school were going, the gentle encouragement to come and join her and her friends at whatever lame girls’ night they were planning.

Slumber parties. I swear to God, she invited me to a slumber party last weekend.

Kill me now.

I said no, of course. Nicely. Well, sort of nicely. I didn’t tell her to get bent, and I took that as a win.

See, Jack? I can play nice.

I made a mental note to tell him that. He’d be so proud. The thought of our next bickering match had me smiling as Amber approached, and I was too slow to squelch it, so her smile grew even bigger. Worse, her eyes grew wide with excitement. This was what happened when you encouraged the natives. It was like feeding the squirrels in Central Park—you couldn’t give them ideas or the next thing you know, you’ll be surrounded by excitable, annoying pests.

I tried to steel my features into an icy glare in the hopes that she might be deterred.

Abort, abort. You haven’t won, you silly girl. I still hate you.

It didn’t work. She stopped next to my table where I sat alone, and then she preceded to surprise the hell out of me. “Do you want to come join us?”

I