The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,11
titters, elbowing Kace, and my ex-best friend fucking winks at me. Her green eyes are blazing with defiance, and I’m reminded very clearly that Kacey Winters earned her nickname: if you’re lucky enough to find yourself on the right side of the Ice Queen, life can be a marvelous thing. Find yourself on the other side of the line she’s drawn in the sand, however, and you’ll quickly be suffering from frostbite.
My expression’s appalled, I know it is, but I can’t keep it from my face. Slowly, I stoop down and pick up the cigarette butt. My feet carry me towards the girls, unbidden. I can’t fucking stop them. Billy Joel falls quiet as I remove the earbuds and clear my throat. I address Kacey. “You smoke now? Leon must love that.”
Leon’s been her boyfriend since freshman year. Already on track for a swimming scholarship, Leon’s the clean-cut, extraordinarily focused, wholesome type. No alcohol. No drugs. Definitely no smoking. Since he was fourteen years old, his only vice has been Kacey.
Melody rolls her eyes, inspecting her French polish. “Fuck. She’s so out of touch. It’s a miracle she even knows what day of the week it is.”
“Grow up, Mel,” I snap. “The rest of the world grew out of talking about people and pretending they weren’t there back in middle school.”
She looks stung. Immaculately dressed, thick auburn hair styled in flawless beach waves, Melody has always spent way more time on her appearance than she ever spent developing a mind of her own. She looks to Kacey to see if she should retaliate, but Kacey doesn’t spare her a sideways glance. She’s far too busy lasering holes into my skull.
“Leon and I broke up. I’m with Jacob now. Hope you don’t mind.”
Bile rises in my throat. My reaction hits me hard, too quick to rein it in. I can’t fucking breathe. “You aren’t serious?” The words are little more than a startled gasp.
A cunning, sour smile tugs at Kacey’s mouth. Mom used to call her Snow White when we were little. All that jet-black hair, her rosebud lips, and the permanent pretty red blush to her porcelain-skinned cheeks. If she could see her now, she wouldn’t call her that anymore. Kacey bears more of a resemblance to Cruella de Vil with this nasty sneer plastered across her face. “Why wouldn’t I be? Jacob’s hot. He’s captain of the—”
“You know what he did, Kacey. You were there.”
Her shoulders are tense, and for a second I see something shift in her—a fleeting shadow of doubt in her otherwise steely eyes. In a split second, it’s gone, though. She opens her mouth, about to speak, but—
Thunder rolls across the parking lot. Deep, reverberating thunder that vibrates up through the soles of my boots.
Kacey looks over my shoulder, and the other girls follow suit. Halliday’s mouth actually falls open as another rumbling, rolling wall of sound splits apart the morning air, and I realize that it’s not thunder after all, but the snarl of a powerful engine. The sound cuts off, and I grind my teeth together, already knowing what I’ll see when I turn around.
“Monday morning. Loud and clear. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He’d had a motorcycle helmet at his feet in the hallway.
“Who the fuck is that?” Zen mutters. She’s pouting, which means she’s seen something she likes and she’s about to lay claim to it.
At the end of the day, I’m a flawed human being, so I bite. I turn, even though I don’t want to, and I see him there, less than fifty feet away, sitting astride a matte-black Indian motorcycle with his helmet resting on top of the tank. He’s wearing a leather jacket and faded scruffy black jeans—I can tell from here they’re not the kind of ‘distressed’ pants you buy that way. They’re scruffy from extensive wear and tear, which is a little more respectable, I guess.
His dark hair is thick and full of waves, shielding his face from view as he looks down at the phone he’s holding in his hand. I’m locked in place, feet cemented to the ground, breath lodged in my throat, waiting for him to lift his head. For his hair to fall back and give me a proper look at him…but then I’m flooded with a strange sense of panic, and I’m moving, fingernails digging into my palms as I hurry away from the girls and I hurtle up the steps, and into the building.