Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,5

started coughing.

My eyebrows came together. “Are you high?” I glanced at the time. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

“Nooo.” He burst out laughing.

“Ryde,” I admonished.

“Yes. ‘Brose and I decided to make a night of it.”

In the background, I heard Ambrose laugh and say, “Hey, ‘Brose before hoes, right?”

My eyes were physically unable to roll around my head as much as I wanted them to. “Ryde, take a shower, drink some coffee, and get your act together,” I said and hung up. It was way too early to be dealing with this.

I dialed my dad’s number next and said, “Hey, guess what your number one boy is doing.”

I wasn’t above tattletaling, especially when my future rode on proving to my dad that Ryde was not the guy for me.

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting from my father, but it wasn’t the chuckle coming through my car speakers.

“You’re laughing?” I demanded. “Your star actor and soon-to-be son-in-law is wake-and-baking and you’re laughing?”

“Honey, he’s a kid still. Let him get it out of his system before the big day, then we can do something about it. But as long as he’s showing up to work on time and doing a good job, I’m not worried about it. It could be medicinal for all I know. I don’t know his medical history.”

My gut dropped at hearing my dad reference the wedding. Even though I was only a few minutes from the school, I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to compose myself. In all the fantasies I’d had about the man my parents would pair me with, none of them had looked like this.

My parents had been in love—and not the kind of love Dad said you “created.” The kind of love that kept him at Mom’s bedside every waking hour when she was sick. The kind of love that made her eyes spark every time she saw him walk into a room.

With my marriage coming up and a host of failed dates behind me, that kind of love was looking far more impossible than ever before.

“Zara,” Dad said.

I jumped, realizing he was still on the phone. “Yeah?”

“The plane’s about to take off. I’ll talk to you later.”

Five

“Guess what my soon-to-be husband is doing right now,” I said to my friends, leaning against the wall of navy lockers.

Jordan smirked. “Confessing his undying love for Ambrose?” At my deadpan look, she said, “Come on, you have to admit they’re close.”

I rolled my eyes. “A regular bromance, waking up and getting high together before eight in the morning.”

Callie’s mouth fell open. “They’re doing what?”

Ginger snorted. “Who said they woke up to do it? Maybe it was an all-nighter? I saw them talk about you on channel six last night. Looked like they were going out to party.”

“Ugh.” I groaned. “I cannot wait for this new relationship thing to blow over. I just want to worry about graduating high school.”

Callie patted my arm. “Hang in there.”

I was, but by a thread. “Thanks.” I readjusted my bag. “I better get going. I have a meeting with Birdie.”

Rory kissed her fingers and held them up like in The Hunger Games.

With a laugh and a shake of my head, I did the same. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Say hi to Ralphie for me,” Jordan called.

“I will,” I promised over my shoulder.

We’d only shared a few minutes together, but my friends had already made my day better. I dreaded the day when graduation would come and I’d be on my own again. I’d never been a girlfriend person. Girls seemed to be jealous of the money my dad had or out to get something from me, and it was always easier to focus on school or my life at home than stepping on land mines and waiting for one to blow up.

The bell rang, and the halls immediately began thinning. Tardies weren’t accepted at the Academy—five in a semester and you were expelled.

Our guidance counselor’s door was already open, but I knocked on it anyway.

“Come in,” she yelled at the same time her bird squawked.

She shook her head, her carrot earrings swinging. “I swear he talks, sometimes.”

I wanted to tell her she should have that checked out, but I kept my mouth shut.

“How are you doing, Zara?” she said, sitting down and indicating that I should do the same.

“I’m fine.” That was a lie, but the last thing I needed was a woman wearing vegetable earrings psychoanalyzing me. I slid into one of her wooden chairs