Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,8
tongue, physically and metaphorically, and try to push down my insecurities. I feel like I’m being judged, and it sucks that the one person in the entire school who’s paid absolutely no attention to me in the past is the one doing the judging.
“Groups of two, not four,” the teacher yells, waving a hand toward us. “And since none of you can take basic direction, I’ll make the choice for you. Ava and Connor. Rhys and Karen.”
Rhys curses under his breath, his lips pressed tight as he eyes Ava. “You going to be okay?”
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “Way to make a guy feel good.”
I watch Ava for a response, but I don’t get one. At least not to me. Rhys does, though, in the form of a painstakingly slow nod from her.
In front of me, Karen stomps her foot, spins and walks back to her seat, Rhys following after her.
I turn to the girl next to me, my insecurities switching to annoyance. “I’m not stupid.”
Her gaze locks on mine, her head shaking slowly. “I’m sor—”
I interrupt because I don’t need her sympathy. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to disappoint you before you even get to know me.” I take a breath, try to regain some composure. “I’m not stupid,” I repeat, calmer. “Just because I’m new and I’m here on an athletic scholarship doesn’t mean I’m a dumbass. I’ll work just as hard as you, if not more, because I have something to prove. I don’t expect you to carry the weight if that’s what you’re thinking.” I keep my eyes trained on her, watching the confusion settle across her face.
“It’s Connor, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“Let’s just get this clear, Connor.” She spits my name. “I have no assumptions about you at all because I haven’t thought of you once. Not even for a second. And I don’t care enough about you to judge you. So, let’s just get to work.” She slaps a sheet of paper between us and scrawls my name and hers across the top, then glares up at me. Daggers upon daggers. “Do you think it’s nature or nurture that has you believing that your woe-is-me attitude isn’t just another form of self-entitlement?”
My head spins, but I can’t come up with a retort. Not even a decent response. All this time I spent wondering what it would be like to burst her bubble, and now here she was… completely obliterating mine.
Chapter 7
Ava
One of the only two friends I have left belongs to my brother. He was there the first day I met Trevor—when I was nothing but a kindergartener in a bright purple dress and rainbow-colored socks. He’s been there pretty much every day since. From grade school to middle school to high school, wherever Trevor Knight was, so was Peter Parker. Yes, that’s his real name.
When he and Trevor graduated, they both took off to Texas A&M. It’s safe to say we all grew up together, but the four-year age difference meant we experienced things at different times. While they hit freshman year of high school, I was in fifth—and back then, I was trying to decide between Harry Styles and Justin Bieber while the Glee soundtrack blasted from my bedroom.
The point is, now that I’m older, wiser, and the experiences of my life have forced me to grow up, the four years between us don’t seem so vast anymore.
Peter comes from the “right” side of town, the same side where Trevor and I grew up before we had to sell the house to cover my mother’s medical bills. The same side with the fancy, big houses and boats in their yards. His parents usually go away for the summer, a new country every year, and every year he’d join them. Until last year. Last year, he spent his summer helping Trevor with his business. Trevor’s offered to pay him what little he can. Peter refuses every cent, knowing we need it more than he does. He’s become a good friend to me, a solid wall of dependency that for so long, I refused to believe I needed.
And that’s the difference between Trevor’s friends and mine: when our worlds came crashing down, Peter stood by our sides. My so-called friends stopped coming around, too afraid of the woman with the half face and stub for an arm.
Soon enough, they stopped calling altogether.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Peter jokes, throwing his entire weight on the couch next to me. “It’s very—”