The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,64

Sometimes, they stay buried. And sometimes, they pop up like daises and bite you in the ass. “Could one of you give me a ride?”

“We'll give you a ride,” they reply together, and when I turn around, I see that Tobias has also removed his shirt, and they're both wearing matching sweatpants.

Too bad for them: I can still tell them apart.

“Micah.” I point at the brother on the right, using Tobias' spoon and bowl. And then I swing my finger over to his twin. “Tobias. Sorry, but I'm not fooled.”

They blink at me in surprise as I slide past them and head up the stairs to pack my stuff.

This shitty trip is about to get a whole lot worse.

The boys drive me over in the same car again, but this time I sit on Tobias' lap. The tension between us is different, not quite that blinding hot passion I felt for Micah, but a fragile, breakable need that makes me subconsciously wet my lips and wiggle in his lap.

He acts like he doesn't notice or care how close we are, and I let the farce stand. I'm not about to suggest anything, not when I just broke up with my boyfriend of two years last night. And not when I think about Spencer every fifteen minutes or so.

“Thank you guys … for everything,” I say, exhaling as I climb out of the car with my bags. They both look at me from matching emerald gazes, and I try to decide if maybe … just maybe, we might be friends now?

“You're welcome, Chuck the Micropenis,” they say, and then Tobias reaches out with that damn skin marker and slaps a quick dick on my arm before I get a chance to pull back.

“You freaking pricks!” I shout as they pull away, and I frantically dig around in my bag for a hoodie. I'm not about to explain to Archibald Carson, Headmaster of Adamson All-Boys Academy why I have a giant, red penis drawn on my forearm.

Once I've got the sweater on, I head inside and take the elevator to floor six, knocking on the door and then scrolling through my messages while I wait for Dad to answer it.

There's not a single message from either Cody or Monica.

Not one.

They don't even care enough about me to apologize.

With a sigh, I tuck my phone away and force a smile as Dad opens the door with his brows raised.

“Charlotte, what are you doing here?” He moves aside for me to come in, and I scoot past him, depositing my stuff on the perfectly made queen bed on the left. The other is rumpled and has his suit laid out for the day. Dad's still in his pj's.

“Cody and I broke up,” I tell him, spinning around to face him and tucking my hands into the pockets of my new dress—ugh, don't you just love dresses with pockets?—and smiling. “It was necessary. I'm over it. I just … Monica wasn't very supportive, and I felt like I'd rather be here.”

Dad nods, but he doesn't seem entirely convinced.

“Okay, Charlotte,” he says with a sigh. “Look, I was about to call you …”

The blood drains from my face, and I sit down hard on the edge of the bed. No sentence that begins with I was about to call you ever turns out well in the end. My heart starts to race like crazy, and my hands begin to shake.

“What? What is it? It's not Mom, is it?” The way Dad's looking at me, however, tells me that it is, in fact, Mom. “She's not dead, is she?”

“Don't be dramatic,” he chastises which really isn't fair of him. Mom does drugs. She puts herself in dangerous situations. It's been a fear of mine for years. “She's not dead, but I'm taking her today to enroll in a rehab program.”

The air rushes out of me, and I put a hand to my chest, feeling like a deflated balloon. Too many emotions in too short of a time. I'm sort of … numb now. My plan for the last three months was to dig my heels in and stay here, return to my life in California.

Now, all I want to do is sit in that abandoned girls' dormitory and read a book. Pushing my glasses up my face, I give Dad a raised eyebrow.

“Can I come?” The way he frowns answers that question for me. “Why not? You said I could see her for Christmas, but if she's