Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,12

tied into several knots. After two months together, Scott just dropped me as if he couldn’t care less.

No, wait—he cared. He cared enough about himself to need someone new. Someone fun. Someone that didn’t need to be fixed.

My cheeks heated to a near painful degree, humiliation rooting itself deep. That was what I struggled with, really. I was more humiliated than heartbroken. I’d been trying to find a way to break up with him anyway, so that was accomplished, but I wished that it hadn’t been like this. So public, so hurtful. So many people witnessed him dumping me—so many people heard every horrible thing he said.

And jeez, everyone saw Walsh step in and declare his undying love for me.

See, this? This was why I didn’t go to parties.

Stupid Walsh Hunter. Stupid Scott. Stupid baseball for eating my newspaper funding. I wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.

All of the air whooshed from my lungs as I realized something. Scott dumping me now meant that he wasn’t usable for my article. Any information and secrets he knew, I could kiss them goodbye. Maybe I could figure out a way to work him into the article, though. Highlight his chauvinistic tendencies, perhaps?

Who was I kidding? The article was a joke now.

I reached for my purse, leaning so fully against the metal railing that it dug into my stomach. My journal with my stickers emblazoned over the cover laughed at me, at my compounding failures.

This notebook, this part of me, was the problem. Looking at it now made everything in me ache. I should’ve left it with Mrs. Gao, given up the shred of hope instead of clinging to my future that was DOA. The pieces of writing inside weren’t good enough to save my class, save my future. Even the fact that I had it at a party was a testament to who I was. Someone who wasn’t good enough.

And the funny thing was that if I hadn’t come to the party tonight in search of secrets, I probably never would’ve found out about Scott cheating.

Without giving it a second thought, I pitched the stupid journal over the side of the railing, wishing it would reach the ocean and I’d hear a satisfying splash. But only silence made its way up to my ears.

I didn’t feel any better. In fact, with the wind brushing against my now-empty palm, I felt even worse.

“Isn’t that sacrilegious?”

The voice, throwing a rock at my perfectly built wall of self-misery and despair, made me jump against the railing. I whirled around with daggers in my eyes, ready to throw my glare at whoever dared to interrupt.

Walsh Hunter stood before me, the boy with epic timing. He looked at me with those blue-green eyes that shouldn’t have been wasted on a guy like him.

“Go away,” I growled, turning back to face the shadowy beach. I couldn’t see my journal, but surely it’d landed somewhere in the sand. My pride kept me rooted where I was, even though I badly wanted to go find it. “Your face is definitely not one I want to look at right now.” Offense intended.

“Took me a minute to find you. You picked a pretty dark corner of my backyard.” Walsh came to lean over the railing beside me, looking below. His elbow grazed mine, only a fraction of skin-to-skin contact, but I tugged mine away almost immediately. “So how did I do in there?” he asked, turning to face me. “Pretty believable?”

“Are you serious?” I demanded, and when I looked at him, I found him grinning. My glare was one that could’ve turned him to stone. “What you did in there was so not cool. And not appreciated. You don’t get to just waltz up, throw your arm over my shoulder like I’m some territory to be claimed, and say ‘oh, let’s bring our torrid love affair to the public. Date me.’”

Walsh laughed at my impersonation of his voice. “Do I really sound so high-pitched?”

I couldn’t help myself—I reached out and smacked his shoulder, hard. It only succeeded in making him chuckle, though, and created an ache in my fingers. “I am not laughing, Walsh! You totally crossed a line!”

Walsh raised his hands level with his shoulders. “Okay, okay, so I should’ve asked. I just thought I was doing you a favor.”

“I don’t need you to do me favors,” I said fiercely, pointing a finger at his chest. “I am not some damsel in distress. And besides, for your