Chapter Twelve 

 

 

Mom’s comment about the first day being the hardest couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Every hour I spend at Hawthorne Prep is agonizing.  For the first time in my life, I dread going to school and count down the hours until I’m able to flee from the property at precisely half past two. 

By the time Friday rolls around, I could almost weep with joy.  Two blissful days spent away from Hawthorne seems like a much-needed reprieve.  I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to hate the sound of my own last name. 

I sleep late Saturday morning and spend the rest of the day exploring the house.  Mom convinces me to go grocery shopping with her in town where everyone steers clear of us and is unfriendly as fuck.  Mom pretends not to notice, instead smiling and waving at everyone we meet before chatting up the clerk at the checkout.  After we load groceries into the back of the Volvo, she tells me that small-town folks aren’t always open to newcomers and we have to kill them with kindness. 

Honestly, I would just prefer to kill them. 

That muttered comment earns me a frown along with a gentle rebuke. 

Whatever. 

Her tune would change mighty fast if she spent a week at Hawthorne Prep. 

I help cook dinner Saturday night—fish tacos, a family favorite.  Once night falls, I grab a blanket and head outside to get lost in the stars.  It’s one of the few reprieves I have. 

On my way across the yard, I hear voices coming from the next-door neighbor’s property.  Raucous laughter mixed with shouting.  With a flash, I remember the red convertible Mustang that zipped past us the first day of school.  With everything else going on, I had forgotten about him. 

Hmmm.  My eyes narrow.  Is he one of the assholes that egged my SUV? 

I really hope not. 

Sunday morning, I finish my homework and help Austin with a few assignments.  He still won’t tell me about the blackeye or if there have been any other problems at practice.  It’s beyond frustrating. 

While unpacking the last few boxes of my belongings, I come across my running shoes and decide that now is as good of a time as any to get back into it.  I search through my drawers and find a black crop tank that hugs my chest, camo mesh running shorts, and a pink cap to shade the sun from my eyes.  Then I grab my AirPods and head to the front door. 

“Going for a run?” Mom asks, carrying a vaseful of fresh flowers to the black Steinway by the staircase. 

“Yup.” 

“Good.”  She nods before setting down the Waterford crystal container and rearranging a few stems.  “I think that’s exactly what’s needed to make you feel better.” 

“We’ll see,” I say evasively. 

My mother is an eternal optimist.  I was too before moving to this hellhole. 

“Use your GPS if you get lost.” 

“I will, but I don’t plan to run that far,” I say before closing the front door behind me. 

As I leave the house, I shove the buds in my ears, choose a playlist, and move through some quick stretches.  Then I hit the driveway before turning onto the tree-lined subdivision road.  I don’t have a particular route in mind as I set out.  After about a block, I pick up the pace and explore the entire subdivision.  It’s one monstrous mansion after another, which is strange, given that the town of Hawthorne is in the middle of nowhere. 

Do all these people work for Hawthorne Industries or are there other businesses in the area?  When I find a second way into the sub, I head out onto the main country road.  After about a mile, I hit the front entrance that Austin and I take to school. 

By the time I wrap around, I’m winded and have to push myself to finish strong.  It’s been months since I laced up my running shoes.  My chest is tight, and the muscles in my legs burn with fatigue.  The endorphin high has hit me hard and I’m zoned out as the music blasts in my ears.  From the corner of my eye, I notice a car pull alongside me.  I glance at the driver and nearly stumble when my gaze locks on Kingsley.  He’s wearing the aviators I recognize from the beach along with a scowl. 

As much as I want to turn away and ignore him, I’m powerless to do so.  Even though I can’t see his eyes, their intensity burns a hole in me. 

After a handful of seconds, I realize there are three other guys crowded into the convertible with him.  The blond sitting behind the driver seat makes lewd gestures with his hands as he leers.  It makes me wish I’d worn looser fitting clothing.  I gnash my teeth together and curl my upper lip at him.  Not put off by my reaction, he grins.   

The tires spin as Kingsley floors the gas and takes off.  Gravel spits up from the road, spraying my legs. 

“Fucker,” I mutter, keeping my gaze pinned to the red Mustang as it zips through the neighborhood. 

Oh no.

Red Mustang. 

No.

No.

No.

A burst of adrenaline shoots through me as I pick up speed, pushing my legs so I can keep an eye on the sports car as it screeches around a curve before whipping past my driveway. 

Keep going. 

Just keep going. 

I hold my breath, hoping it’ll zoom past the neighboring property, but deep down, I know that won’t happen.  My feet slow as I watch him zip into the driveway next to ours.  I’m slammed with the realization that it was Kingsley and his friends I’ve heard partying it up. 

Goddamn it! 

Kingsley is my neighbor. 

Ironic how I spent most of the summer wishing I could see him again.  Just one more time.  And now... 

Now I wish I’d never met the guy.