Chapter 1- Thea

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Every now and then you have to treat yourself. Counting calories, clean eating, cardio, and weekly weigh-ins be damned. Indulging your cravings, in moderation of course, is healthy. Which is why I just scarfed down a bowl of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.

The king of all flavors.

I sink into my chair, licking the sweetness from my lips while the seductive voice of gluttony urges me to have another scoop. A year ago, I would've cleared through half a tub and a year ago I was thirty pounds heavier. So, no more sweet minty goodness for me.

"Thea! Are you listening?"

I tear my gaze from the glass dipping cabinet to my best friend, Lindsay.

"Not really."

Since the topic at hand concerns her secret crush, Chase Palmer- que gag reflex- I've been tuning her out for the last ten minutes.

Dumping the mop back into the yellow bucket, she drops a hand to her hip and the little wrinkle on her forehead turns into an irritated scowl.

I release a long winded sigh, straighten in my chair, and astutely fold my hands on the table. "Apologies, Miss Cooper, you now have my undivided attention."

"I was asking if you heard about Noah's party Saturday night?"

Well, there goes my attention span again.

Noah Jenson. A good looking kid with a mop of wheat curls and soft blue eyes. He's also a bit of an idiot but I expect nothing more from a teenage boy especially when he's the sidekick to the biggest jackass to walk the halls of Westlake High.

"I did, and-" I hold up my hand, knowing what she's about to say. "Before you ask, I'm not going."

"Why not?"

I give her a droll stare. Has she suddenly come down with amnesia?

She knows full well the why and who I'm trying to avoid.

Devon 'Douchebag Extraordinaire' Ryker.

That waste of human space has been a thorn in my backside since middle school when he poured chocolate pudding down my shirt.

Words can't describe the flaming hatred I have for him, a hatred that will only be doused with my last breath.

Or his.

"Because, I would rather coat my arm in honey and stick it down an ant hill than celebrate another year of Noah's existence." I huff. "Besides, there's a Golden Girl marathon this weekend and I need my Sophia fix."

She rolls her eyes so hard I think they're going to pop out of their sockets. "Are you serious?"

I nod. "Oh, quite, and don't try to talk me out of it. My plans are set in stone."

"If this is about him, he may not even show up."

"Have the fumes from the disinfectant muddled your brain?" I swear the optimism of this girl is staggering. "Of course, he'll be there. It's his best friend's birthday party. Where else would the Brain be but at Pinky's house?"

Confusion knits her brows at the reference and I shake my head.

Unlike me, Lindsey didn't spend her formative years parked in front of a TV enjoying many hours of cartoons and sitcoms. The Coopers just got satellite a few years ago and even then her parents blocked all the good channels because they were afraid she'd be corrupted by the loose morals of today's modern world.

"Uhhh, I don't know who this Brain and Pinky are but I'm not taking no for an answer." She does her best to appear intimidating. Too bad it falls short since she's as cute as a button.

With green eyes a little too big for her face, a dusting of freckles on her cheeks and thick strawberry blonde hair, my best friend reminds me of one of those porcelain dolls old ladies display in their curios.

"And the football team will be there." She says, as if that'll sway me. "Since you're the manager you have to go and show team spirit."

"Manager? I'm nothing more than a waterboy in charge of fetching Gatorade and carting equipment to and from the field."

"Fine." she concedes. "But I still think you should stop hiding in your room like a hermit and live a little."

"I'm not a hermit. I'm just comfortable in my own element."

She cocks a brow and I glance away.

Okay, I am a hermit but why venture from my comfortable little nest to hang out with a bunch of superficial jerks who think they rule the world because they can throw a ball or look like Instagram models?

The better question is why does she want to go?

Oh, yeah, Chase Palmer.

I love my friend but her taste in boys suck. Chase is fuck boy with a slick smile and always the first to do something stupid, like back flipping off a roof into a pool. At the rate he's going, her crush wont be alive for long.

"Whatever, you're going." She drops her hands on the table ready to play hardball. "Now the real question is, are you coming willingly or do I have to knock you over the head and drag you there?"

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. The girl couldn't intimidate a squirrel.

"Aren't you just precious." I put on my best Southern drawl and tap her button nose.

"Thea!" She stomps her foot like a two year old and my laughter bounces off the pastel checkered walls. "I'm not playing around. This summer we promised that our senior year would be different and since this is my first weekend off in a month, I want to get dressed up, let my hair down and have fun. You know, that thing teenagers do."

I tamp down my amusement hearing the seriousness in her voice and realize she makes a good point.

Between my anti-social behavior and her father, the owner of Sweet Creams, who suspiciously schedules her on the weekends to curb any chance of Lindsay becoming a teenage delinquent, we both need a night out to whoop it up.

However, I'm still not ready to cave.

"Alright, I'll think about it."

"No thinking, just do." She raps her knuckles on the table. "Plus, I already told Vic to pick us up from your house around nine."

Now that my second best friend, Victor Reynolds, is involved I can kiss my Golden Girls marathon goodbye.

I grumble out, "Fine" and cross my arms over my chest.

"So happy you see things my way." She smiles, all smug and triumphant.

While she resumes her closing duties, I gather my trash and get up to toss it in the waste bag by the back door.

"I'm taking out the trash." I yell over the music she cranked up.

The moment I step outside, the cool Autumn air caresses my face. I love this time of year when the sweltering Virginia humidity dies down and you can actually breath without feeling hot steam clogging your lungs.

Stopping in front of the dumpster, I grimace when the aroma of Italian herbs from the restaurant next door is ruined by the stench of garbage. Grabbing a stick, I lift the top and make quick work chucking the bags into the bin.

On my way back I hear angry voices coming from the alley sprinkled with a few curse words.

Being the Nosey Rosey that I am, I tip-toe closer and peer into the shadows finding two imposing figures in a heated argument. The man dressed in a bespoken dark suite is chewing the other guy out.

While I can't see his face, something familiar prickles the back of my mind. When he turns, revealing the sharp lines of his profile, I know why and a shiver travels along my spine.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil -or rather the devil's spawn- and he shall appear.

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