My Darling Arrow (St. Mary’s Rebels #1) - Saffron A. Kent
Darling Arrow,
I shouldn’t be writing this.
It’s not as if I’m ever going to send you this letter, and there are a million reasons why.
First of all, I was sent to this reform school as a punishment for a petty, totally inconsequential crime. Not to ogle the principal’s hot son around the campus.
Second of all, you’re a giant jerk. You’re arrogant and moody and so cold. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t even like you.
But strangely your coldness sets me on fire.
The way your athletic body moves on the soccer field, and the way your powerful thighs sprawl across that motorcycle of yours, make me go inappropriately breathless.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is that you, Arrow Carlisle, are not only the principal’s hot son.
You also happen to be the love of my sister’s life.
And I really shouldn’t be thinking about my sister’s boyfriend, or rather fiancé (I overheard a conversation about the ring that I shouldn’t have).
Now if I can only stop writing you these meaningless letters that I’ll never send and you’ll never read…
Never yours,
Salem
NOTE: This book is a standalone and DOES NOT contain cheating.
For every girl who has secretly loved a boy and written him love letters at midnight.
And of course, for the not-so-secret love of my life, my husband.
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St. Mary’s School for Troubled Teenagers
The regular Major League Soccer (MLS) season ends in October. However, for the purpose of this story, this timeline has been tweaked.
When the one you love doesn’t love you back.
A type of unrequited love; when the one you love is in love with someone else.
Some girls are born perfect.
They have perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect skin.
They have perfect grades and high ambitions. They’re popular and admired. They’re adored and revered. And loved.
I’m not one of them.
That’s the first thing to know about me: I’m not perfect.
I have flaws. Many, many flaws.
I don’t have perfect grades. I don’t have high ambitions.
I don’t get why the sum of all the angles of a triangle has to be one hundred and eighty or the world will collapse. Or why when we talk about the heart, we reduce it to a muscular organ with four chambers that’s sole purpose is to pump blood through the body.
I’m far from being popular and I’ve got something called witchy eyes.
Or at least, I call them that.
They’re golden in color and they arch up at the corners, making them look sort of catty, witchy. Which is super poetic because I’ve got a witchy name too.
Salem.
Salem Salinger, and the second thing to know about me is that along with witchy eyes and a witchy name, I’ve got a witchy heart as well.
Meaning, my heart has secrets.
In fact, my heart is swollen with secrets. Many, many secrets like my many, many flaws. And that is why I did what I did.
The thing that landed me here.
The little, inconsequential crime that got me sent to St. Mary’s School for Troubled Teenagers – an all-girls reform school.
Only they don’t call it a reform school anymore.
It’s not the 50s or the 60s. These days, schools like this are called therapeutic school. Because they believe in therapy. And restoration and reformation. They believe in teaching us to be productive members of society.
Who’s us?
We’re the bad and hopeless girls.
We’re the girls who break rules and love rebellion. We don’t like school or classes. So we keep getting into trouble with our classmates and teachers. Sometimes we get expelled multiple times from multiple schools until our parents or guardians are forced to take drastic actions.
Some of us break the law too, which technically I did.
I mean, there were a couple of cops involved. They didn’t handcuff me or anything but I had to ride in their squad car and go to the police station. But there were no charges pressed. Instead, I was sent to St. Mary’s.
I’ve been here almost a week and I’m already behind. In assignments, I mean.
God, the assignments and homework.
They’re very strict about that here.
So I really shouldn’t be falling asleep in class if I want to catch up.
But it’s Friday afternoon and it’s trigonometry and it’s not as if I’m magically going to understand everything to do with triangles and tangents by paying attention in the last fifteen minutes of the class anyway.
Honestly, I don’t think anyone is paying attention even though everyone is quiet and facing the blackboard.
There are probably fifteen other girls besides me in this small beige-painted concrete and cement classroom where I sit in the back.