The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,25

mom.”

“Apparently he rented an apartment. I guess he’s going to be here for a while,” she grumbled and I could feel her freaking out through the airwaves separating us.

“How’s Sloane doing?” I asked, taking some of the pressure off Exie.

“She’s freaked. Evaleen turns twenty-one in two months.”

Shoot. I hadn’t thought about anyone other than myself. “Your sister’s already twenty-one,” I reminded her on a whisper. Not that she needed to be reminded. I felt despair settle over me and pushed my forehead against my open locker door, pressing my skin to the cold metal. Ridges in the metal, vents that kept the locker from smelling like dirty socks, pressed into my cheek, indenting my skin with the harsh edges.

“Anaxandra wants this life,” Exie replied and I could tell she was near tears. Her sister was no different than anyone else in our circle.

“Anaxandra’s been brainwashed by Prada and European vacations,” I bit out harsher than I intended.

Instead of getting defensive Exie let out a tired sigh, “So has Evaleen.” There was a long moment of silence while we digested the exact meaning of those words before Exie asked in a shaken, weak voice, “Will that be us one day?”

“No,” I answered immediately, my voice steady and full of conviction. I took a breath and fortified my resolve, “Never.”

More silence on her end. She wasn’t so sure. Damn it, we were stronger than designer purses and expensive cars. Stronger than our sisters. Stronger than our mothers.

So much stronger.

“Talk more later?” Exie asked.

“Give Sloane my love,” and then I hung up.

I stared into my locker full of books and notebooks and loose papers unseeing for a long time, long after the warning bell rang. Students and teachers rushed past me, the overwhelming noise and bustle of the morning faded away. And only I remained. The hall was empty behind me, everyone else carefully tucked away in homeroom.

Eventually I pulled myself back to reality and picked out my American Civilization book and the corresponding notebook.

Crap. I was late. Again…. Mrs. Tanner was going to have my ass for this.

I slammed my locker shut with as much force as I could muster and then kicked it for good measure. I string of curse words flew from my mouth before I could stop them and my hair came loose from the effort I took to attack my locker. I threw my books down in another attempt at getting rid of the stifling anger boiling inside of me, none of it having to do with tardiness. My pen skittered across the tiled floor and bounced into the opposite bank of lockers.

It was too much. All of it.

Breathing was suddenly difficult, the world fading out around me. My vision narrowed to pinpricks and a high pitched ringing pierced my ears. I was so frustrated. So, tirelessly frustrated. I hated it all…. Nix, my mom, this stupid world I lived in, that my hair had gotten messed up, that I had to care about my hair at all. And now a party? I couldn’t do this.

Some days, after everything I had been through in my life, some days eighteen didn’t feel that far away.

But then there were days like today when eighteen might as well have been eighty and the end was nowhere in sight.

“You alright, Red?” a voice asked from just a few feet away.

I hammered my head back against the lockers before I opened my eyes to meet the voice.

Ryder.

Chapter Eight

“Just fine,” I answered Ryder, not trying to hide the despair choking the life out of me. He wouldn’t care anyway. Actually, he’d probably ignore it completely.

Thank God.

“Sure about that?” He asked with a sarcastic edge to his voice that grated across the space between us.

Today Ryder was wearing a long sleeved gray thermal shirt and dark washed jeans over leather flip flops. His hair was layered carelessly at least a good inch off his forehead, pushed out of the way by an obsessive need to run his hand through it. His gray eyes were gunmetal with concern and he was holding a stack of papers divided up with yellow sticky notes labeling them.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I snapped.

“That’s why you’re at war with your locker instead of in class?” he assessed me judgmentally from where he leaned against the opposite wall. I wanted to think he was joking, but there was nothing light or teasing in his eyes. He was radiating worry and it was driving me crazy with the need to prove I didn’t need