Chapter 3

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Mother is sitting on the couch in the theater room with her laptop; one leg is tucked underneath her, while the other is propped up on the coffee table. She tells me to have a great day, which has basically been her go-to sentence since my first day of school, and I proceed to the garage, stopping by the kitchen as I pass by to grab the car keys off the wall rack.

The garage door shudders and hums as it rolls up. I squint just a little as the light bursts into the dark room. It's a three car garage, but we only own two vehicles. Father drives a silver Porsche, which is what he takes to work, and mother drives the Benz. The Benz was father's car initially, but upon landing his current job at the firm, he bought the Porsche as a present to himself. He said he wanted to make his image appear more professional, but I know it was simply because he's wanted a sports car all his life. Since the time that I've had my license, the Benz has slowly gone from being mother's vehicle to mine. The only time she drives anymore is when she makes the weekly grocery run.

The engine roars to life as I turn the key. I make a conscious effort to slowly back out of the driveway, turning my head in each direction to make sure there aren't any other cars passing by. Father will ground me till I'm thirty if I scratch this thing, or worse, wreck it entirely.

The neighborhood is just waking up. Most of our neighbors are elderly, so they're early risers; mainly because they go to sleep at like six every evening. I could never go to bed that early; it would be a crime. The night is just getting started by that point.

Mr. Driscoll, our next-door neighbor, who is a retired orthodontist of thirty-five years, waves to me as I drive by. I lightly honk the horn in greeting. He turns back to his car and loads a set of Callaway clubs into the trunk in preparation for an early round of golf.

Our house rests between the fifteenth and sixteenth hole of Emerald Fairways Golf and Country Club. It's a Tudor-style home: six bedrooms and eight bathrooms with an ellipse-shape swimming pool. The problem with the suburbs, in my opinion, is that every house within the community looks identical to one another. Each lawn is kept manicured and greener than a stalk of celery, while every driveway is paved with multicolor stone pavers, and each mailbox is enclosed within a brick structure with the resident's surname hanging from a laminated sign. If it were up to me, I would grab a bucket of paint full of every color imaginable and slap it over the exterior of each house. At least that would give the neighborhood a unique appearance.

Stardust High is an approximate four miles from our house. Calculating an extra five minutes for the reduced speed school zone, I should be there ten minutes before class begins, and with any luck, pull into the parking lot at the same time as Xander. But as I make my way down the last street, I see that it's backed up bumper-to-bumper with school buses, which is weird. It's never this backed up.

After several minutes of standstill traffic, the car behind me grows impatient. The driver holds their fist to the horn, blaring it for as long as they dare. I shift my gaze to the rearview mirror and see a boy about my age driving the car. It looks like a beamer; all black and shiny. He revs the engine, which propels the car forward, then breaks abruptly; inches away from rear-ending me. He does this two more times before jerking out into the opposing lane to pass me. I'm forced to a halt, my tires squealing and skidding on the asphalt in order to give the boy enough room to slide inside the slim space between me and the next car.

I shove an angered fist to the horn. "You selfish jerk!" I know he can't hear me, but it feels therapeutic to release such an outburst, even if it doesn't change the outcome. The boy does the same maneuver to the driver in front of him and the one after that before cheating his way into the school parking lot. Seeing his success, I'm almost envious I didn't think of using such tactics myself.

After several more minutes of stop-and-go motions, the traffic has yet to subside. Students, ranging from freshman age to senior status, pour out of the long line of school buses. I glance down at the digital radio clock on the dashboard; class is going to start in less than seven minutes and I still haven't even made it into the parking lot.

Coming from the opposite direction, I see Xander on his motorcycle. He pops a wheelie over the curb and bypasses all of the stationary traffic, skidding across the sidewalk and into the parking lot. The sun glistens off his shiny helmet, while the black visor hides his face from view.

My joy begins to deflate. I'm gonna miss the opportunity to walk into the building with him. And this is the last day of school, too. I'll never get another chance. Ugh! This isn't happening.

He parks his motorcycle next to the curb of the school's entrance, where it is clearly written in white paint: Emergency Vehicles Only – No Parking. Ooh, he's such a bad boy. And he somehow always manages to slither his way out of getting fined.

It takes another four minutes and a lot more honking before I'm able to cruise into a parking spot. I grab my backpack from the back seat and hop out of the car, hoping to catch up with Xander. Fortunately for me, he had taken his sweet time in securing his helmet to his bike, not to mention checking his appearance multiple times in the side mirrors, but I'm still too far away. I watch him pass through the glass doors and into the school.

Ugh! This is so frustrating. If it wasn't for all that traffic, I'd be walking hand in hand with him right now. Stupid traffic. Stupid people. Stupid . . . something!

School buses take turns pulling up to the curb and unloading dozens of students. One bus in particular, pulls up and Stardust High's basketball team, the Shadow Hawks, leap off the bus. They look like an army of crusaders marching into battle, each one wearing their scarlet and gold letter jacket. The Hawks' cheer team—more formally known as the Blue Jays—hop off the bus behind them. A girl with brunette hair fixed in pigtails enthusiastically waves a pair of turquoise pompoms at me.

"Hey, Bestie!" She sprints over to me.

"Hey, Aurora."

She slaps her arms around me in a tight embrace. A small groan is squeezed out of me from feeling my rib cage nearly collapsing inward.

Aurora Ardenaux: co-caption to the cheerleading squad and my best friend since the day she puked on me in kindergarten. It's kind of a long story. Day two of kindergarten: twelve of us kids sat in a group circle with our teacher explaining how the sun gets its energy. Aurora had been timidly playing with a stack of counting cubes and nibbling on her snack when the teacher called on her. I, much to my misfortune, was sitting next to Aurora within the circle. You should have seen the horrified look in her eyes. She was so nervous from having all of the attention focused on her. Her tiny hands trembled as she glanced from one kindergartener's face to the other. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak, but words weren't the only thing that came out. Yep! All over my new sundress that mother had bought me the week before. Nothing brings two people together like already been chewed Cheetos.

Aurora excitedly jumps up and down, while clapping her hands together. "Guess what, guess what, guess what?"

"Your parents bought you tickets to a Justin Bieber concert?"

"Eww! No." She unzips her backpack and pulls out an iPhone, which is housed in a sparkly case. "My parent's got me the newest iPhone as a graduation present!" She proudly holds it up in display, like she's showcasing an Emmy Award.

"Oh, that's so cool." I fake my interest.

I guess I can't really blame her for being excited. It's not something I would get excited about; I get a new phone every six months, but I also know the Ardenauxs live hand-to-mouth, so it's a rare event for Aurora to receive something special. I think her dad still stocks shelves at Walmart or something and her mom works as a checkout clerk there, too. It's kind of weird how Aurora and I became friends. We're not really all that much alike, nor do we share the same interests. She's more of a tomboy; Swiss army knives and capture the flag battles is more her thing, whereas I prefer things like nail polish and prom dresses. Honestly, when I asked her to join me for cheerleading tryouts in our sophomore year, I was surprised to hear her agree to it.

"We have to take a picture!" She yanks me in close, jamming our cheeks together. "Cheese!" we gleefully scream. "Aw! We look so cute. I'm gonna send this to you." My phone jingles a moment later. "So, what'd you get for graduation?" Her narrow eyes light up with curiosity.

"Dunno. I haven't been given anything as of yet. Pretty sure my lame parents forgot to get me something."

"Oh, I'm sure they will. Maybe they're just waiting to surprise you?"

"Uh, yeah. I won't hold my breath."

Jace Thompson, the Shadow Hawks' point guard, jumps in front of us to open the school door. "After you, ladies." He waves us inside with a smile. I return the smile, tossing my hair in a flirtatious manner as I walk by him.

"Thank you very much!" Aurora says to Jace as she walks through the doorway.

The school hallway is stuffed with students. It's times like these that I'm reminded of how much I don't like people. If no one is standing around admiring my beauty, then what good are they to keep around?

A group of nerds are standing in a circle, gawking at the cover of some new comic book. It's so stupid! They're practically salivating over a fictional character, someone who doesn't even exist. Soooo juvenile. You would think that after four years of high school some people would learn to grow up. Clearly, that isn't the case.

My nose twitches at the all too familiar scent of Gucci cologne. With a quick scan of the crowded hallway, I spot Xander casually leaning against one of the school lockers talking to Samantha Strauss. My hands clench with jealousy. Samantha is arguably the prettiest girl in school, aside from me of course. She has olive skin and raven colored hair, which today is held together in a French braid. Her petite height makes her look like a child in comparison to Xander's stately frame. I don't like her. Never have. She's Greek, I think. Not that I don't like Greek people. I do, I guess. I just don't like her. Her presence is . . . irritating.

Xander says something next, which makes her laugh. My jealousy spikes. Samantha's laugh is this lighthearted, bubbly kind of laugh. As much as I don't want to admit it, it's kind of a cute laugh. Why can't she sound like a starving hyena or something?

My locker is six down from Samantha's. I spin around and begin walking backward, pretending to not notice where I'm going. The back of my shoulder bumps into Xander's. "Oh! I'm sorry, Xander. I didn't see you standing there."

He looks down at me and grins. "No worries." My insides flutter.

Samantha gently taps me on the shoulder. "Hello, McKenzie!" Her eyes crinkle as her perfect lips reveal a set of straight, white teeth.

"Oh. It's you. Hi, Sammy." I know from previous experience that she hates it when people shorten her name from Samantha to Sammy or Sam, but I don't get the irritated reaction I was hoping for.

She clasps her hands together and rests her chin on her fingers. "Xander and I were just talking about how fast time has flown. I can't believe tomorrow's graduation day! It feels like just yesterday I moved here from San Diego and walked through the doors of this place for the first time."

"Uh, huh. Yeah. Whoop-dee-do for you." I turn my attention back to Xander. "So, you nervous about the big game tonight?"

He stuffs a hand inside his jeans pocket. "Nah. Coach has us running some new plays and screens to trip up the Knights. It should be fun."

"Speaking of fun, Hollywood Ending is just a few weeks away. You going with anyone special?"

He leans forward, the scent of his cologne growing stronger. "I am now." A smile finishes his words. The bell signaling the start of first period shrills throughout the hallway. All the students frantically rush to their desired classrooms. "I guess that's our cue," he says. "Hey, I wanna tell you something later. I'll see you out on the court, okay?"

"I'll be waiting." He leaves in the direction of Mr. Harold's chemistry class. I flash a smirk at Samantha before heading to English Lit.

As I turn the corner at the end of the hallway, some girl rushing to class collides with me. I'm shoved backward, my head slamming into the row of lockers behind me. The girl tumbles to the ground as well, her textbooks scattering across the speckled linoleum floor.

"Watch it, you little freak!" My voice carries throughout the almost vacant hallway. The girl hides her face from me and quickly picks up her books.

Aurora hears my screech and rushes over. "What happened? Are you two okay?"

"No! This oaf wasn't watching where she was going." I rub the back of my sore head.

"Sorry," the girl mumbles, still gathering her textbooks from the floor.

Aurora kneels down to help her. "Here ya go."

The girl grabs the books from her, then darts down the adjoining hallway.

Aurora stands to her feet. "I don't think I've ever seen her before."

"So what? It's a big school. There's gotta be like five thousand students here or something." I rub the back of my head once again. "She's probably just a nobody. Forget her. We need to get to class before we're given a tardy slip on our last day of school."

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