Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,60

and got in. She tossed her bag in the backseat, and I kept mine by my feet. I missed my Rolls-Royce, but it was just another one of the things I would have to grieve and move on from. Thinking of how dependent I'd been on my father hurt. Now I tried not to be overwhelmed at the sheer amount life I would have to figure out on my own.

Jordan pulled onto the highway and picked up speed. “Do you think it's going to be crazy this morning?”

“If the scene at Waldo’s was any indication, definitely. They have to know that I go to school at the Academy. And paparazzi are basically grub worms. They'll do anything they can to get their next meal.”

I said the words, but then realized how similar my family and the Alexanders were to the paparazzi, doing whatever it took to gain more money, more power, more of everything.

Part of me was thankful that I'd gotten away when I could, before I got too entrenched in the survival-of-the-fittest world of my father.

“You know,” Jordan said, “we should have just had Kai heli-lift you to the school so you could just, like, rappel into first period.”

I laughed, thankful for her sense of humor. I definitely needed it. “He’d probably just buy a tank for us to ride.”

Laughing, she said, “Girl, he already has a tank. He just needs to bust it out of storage.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

With her lips pressed tightly together, she shook her head.

Laughing, I reached for the radio dial. “We should play pump-up music.”

“Do you have a playlist?” She asked, reaching for a cord extending from the cassette player. “Do you have a playlist?”

“Of course, don't you?”

“Not unless you want me to start dancing right here.”

“I don’t know, mine’s pretty hopping,” I teased and plugged my phone into her dangling cord from the cassette player. Soon, light-hearted, fast-paced pump-up music was playing in the car. I turned the music loud and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the lyrics and the beats instead of the nightmare that would surely find me at school.

As if sensing my change in mood, Jordan stayed quiet, just sitting beside me and being there like a true friend. Part of me was glad she and Ginger were only going to UCLA next year so we could still see each other. I didn't know what I would do without Rory and Callie when they were away at college in the fall. It wouldn't feel right not having all of us together.

“We're almost there,” Jordan warned, slowing the car.

I blinked my eyes open and saw the chaos that had already begun at school. Headmaster Bradford must have threatened the news crews, because they were lined up along the street in front of our school, not in the parking lot or in front of the building like I'd expected. There were three police cars in the school parking lot, though, flashing lights and keeping the crowd of reporters at bay.

“I thought reporters were allowed on public property,” Jordan said.

I shook my head, remembering something from journalism class. “It's a private school. They can’t get on the grounds.”

“Ah,” she said. “You ready for this or do you want me to make another loop?”

“Go ahead.” If I learned anything from this mess, the pain was going to come one way or another. It was best not to prolong it.

She nodded and slowly turned into the parking lot. One of the paparazzi saw me in Jordan’s car and shouted so loudly I could hear them through the car window. Like a swarm of bees, they surrounded our car, and Jordan gunned it into the parking lot.

I screamed, worrying that she was going to run someone over, but they all jumped out of the way as if they'd practiced it before. Maybe they had.

“That was crazy!” I yelled.

“Girl, I've got you,” she said, a spark in her eye.

“You're loving this, aren't you?”

With a smirk, she shrugged, “I like to live on the edge.”

I laughed but stopped as I saw a police officer coming toward us. He waved us toward the front, and when Jordan stopped, he asked for her keys. “I’ll park for you.”

She nodded stiffly and reached for her bags. Headmaster Bradford approached the car, along with our PE teacher and Mr. Davis.

I stepped out of the car, and the craziness fully reached my ears. From the street, reporters shouted questions at us.

“Are you staying with your friend?”

“Why aren't you staying with your

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