Pretty Reckless (All Saints High #1) - L.J. Shen Page 0,28

off the doorframe, and we both make our way toward the entrance and out the school gates. I try to tell myself that it is in Penn’s and my best interest to act as if we don’t know each other. This doesn’t have to be a disaster. If anything, it’s an opportunity to prove to Gus that nothing’s going on between us. I would die before ever admitting to dating a Las Juntas rat.

As we approach the gates, I spot Penn leaning against his brand-new silver-blue Prius. I bite down on my lip to suppress a snicker. Dad got him the car from a fair-trade coffee-sipping environmentalist who thinks white sugar is akin to pure heroin. Penn’s arms are knotted on his chest, and he is wearing a pair of Jax Teller Ray-Bans and a frown. His black shirt has a hole where the heart is, and his black skinny jeans highlight how tall and trim he is, especially for a wide receiver. Gus, in comparison, looks like a tank (and has about the same IQ as one).

Gus and I stop in front of Penn, far enough away to indicate this is not a social call on both ends. It feels like wielding a sword, and Gus hasn’t seen Penn’s yet, but it already has my blood on it from this morning when he promised to conquer my land and overthrow me.

“Howdy, asswipe.” Gus thrusts his hand Penn’s way for a fist bump.

“I see you brought some muscle,” Penn ridicules me. He leaves Gus’s fist to hang in the air until it drops. “Is she going to bore me to death talking about hair straighteners? Is that your strategy?”

Gus looks back and forth between us, whistling long and low.

“Oh, shit. I thought you two were banging for sure when Daria showed an ounce of emotion when you got your ass kicked by a sophomore. This bitch’s icy heart wouldn’t melt in a desert.”

“We are in the desert, idiot.” I roll my eyes.

“Exactly!” Gus wiggles his eyebrows. “How’re things, Penn? How’s your girl?”

Penn has a girl? That makes no sense. He kissed me yesterday. My heart starts beating way too fast.

“Not your business,” he snaps.

“Let’s get to the point. I have cheer practice.” I wave my hand.

“I think the point is you don’t belong in this conversation,” Penn says in that lazy, unaffected way that drives me nuts. “Gate’s that way, use it.” He motions for the school entrance.

Gus snickers, clapping Penn’s shoulder.

Okay, that’s it. Being a dick at home is somewhat acceptable, but in public? It’s a declaration of war.

“I think I’ll stay.” It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “To translate your language to Gus. He doesn’t speak fluent white trash.”

“And you do?” Penn curves a devastatingly sophisticated eyebrow.

“Burn!” Gus fists the air, laughing. “Shit, you two hate each other. That’s hot.”

No joke.

Before I can think about the meaning of my words or their effect, they rush out of my mouth in a desperate plea to defend my honor.

“Fluent, actually. Your sister taught me.” I smirk.

In my defense, I hate myself even before the words leave my mouth. After they do, it feels like my heart is a sieve and all the poison gushes out. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m not even surprised when Penn’s face morphs from bored to fuming. His nostrils flare, and he removes his shades, his eyes narrowed into hooded slits.

My hand flies to my mouth. Penn’s expression turns volatile. It makes me think of the storms that rip through roofs and uproot trees.

“My, my, my…” Gus pops his gum, raising his ball cap and running his fingers through his blond hair. It’s so shiny and straight, it looks like dunes of sand flying in the wind. “Penn Scully is making enemies in high places, but I can’t say I’m surprised in the least. You were saying, Scully? I haven’t got all day. Some of us need to practice. The first game of the season isn’t one I want to lose.” He winks.

“Forget it, Bauer.” Penn shakes his head, pushing off his car. He’s leaving. He is leaving angry. Because of me. He slides into his car, and it’s all in slow motion.

I want to cry and scream, but I hit my quota of public meltdowns for this semester at the snake pit. Gus bangs his roof twice, parting ways with my new housemate with one last dig.

“Sick ride, dude. Did you steal it from a philanthropic divorcee?”

“Stole it

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