Chapter Ten

That night, Abbie invites me out to a movie with the same group of girls. Afterward, we stand in the parking lot, and I listen to them making plans for the weekend. None of them think to include me in the conversation, so I’m not sure if it’s just a given I will hang out with them or not.

“White trash,” one of the girls mumbles, and I glance up to see a skinny woman in flip-flops and a stained T-shirt. With her limp ponytail, barefoot baby on her hip, and toddler trailing behind her, she has to be younger than she looks.

The ice cream shop they all emerge from has probably been the highlight of their whole month.

White trash. How many times have I been called that over the years? Too many to count.

All the other girls I stand with snicker, and I feel so ashamed to be standing with them.

Abbie glances at her watch. “Everyone ready?”

They pile back inside the BMW, and I wave them off. “I’m going to walk. It’s such a pretty night. Y’all go on. It’s only a half mile back to the academy, anyway.”

And frankly, I don’t want to be with them now.

Abbie closes the door. “You got my cell if you need anything, right?”

I nod and they pull away. How different my life is now than it was just weeks ago. It almost seems unreal.

White trash comments aside, I have a real chance for a different future with the academy and my new life. Coming from that family, it says a lot.

I turn toward the sidewalk leading back to the academy, and I spy my cell phone provider a few stores down from the ice cream place. Perfect. I head straight there, and it doesn’t take long to switch my number. No more calls from Manny.

I fire off a quick text to Momma and Levi, letting them know my new number, and as I emerge from the shop, my eyes collide with Riel’s. He stands on the opposite end of the parking lot near his Jeep, staring right at me.

My stomach does a slow roll of awareness. My God he looks amazing. Tall and tan, his hair doing that perfect natural thing. Faded jeans hanging just so, leather flip-flops, and a white tee. I’ve never seen him in jeans. He wears them quite nicely.

But his face looks tolerant as he holds the passenger door open for Cassidy, the girl from our economics class who sits behind him and whispers in his ear. She climbs into the Jeep, pouting her lips and pushing her boobs against his arm as she slides past. How long did she stand in front of the mirror perfecting that ridiculous ravage me look?

Clicking her seat belt on, she starts griping about something, and he shuts the door right in the middle of her sentence.

I catch my laugh as he leaves the Jeep and jogs toward me, and oh, Lord, he even has a nice jog. All athletic and perfect.

“Need a lift?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m okay.”

He glances around. “You out here alone?”

“I just said bye to Abbie and some others.”

“It’s a safe area, but I wouldn’t advise hanging out in a dark parking lot alone.”

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” Hell, I’ve been taking care of myself pretty much my whole life.

He studies me for a second, like he can’t quite figure me out. “Some friendly advice, that’s all.”

A couple of seconds tick by, and awkward silence fills the air between us.

I glance across the lot to his beat-up Jeep. “You’re keeping your girlfriend waiting.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he immediately corrects me, and that makes me happier than it probably should.

“Well, she’s looking over here, and she doesn’t look pleased.” I check my watch. “It’s getting late. I need to head back.” With a little wave, I walk off.

“Sure you don’t want a lift?” he calls.

Without turning around, I give him another wave. “I’m good.”

“Riel!” Cassidy yells out the Jeep’s window. “You coming or what?”

A few seconds later, he passes me on the way out. Even though I don’t look over, in my periphery I see his face turned in my direction, and I’m more than curious of his thoughts. Does he feel this thing, whatever this thing is, between us like I do?

I can’t help thinking about that first time we met in the library with my butt up in the air. We’d been harmlessly flirting until he found out I got his scholarship. Since then it’s been very professional, polite, on the up-and-up. Which is fine. I didn’t come here for anything else.

Yet I can’t help wondering how that first meeting would’ve gone if it hadn’t been derailed by the scholarship I took from him. Guilt perks up its nasty little head. Sure, I omitted personal information on my application and stretched the truth in other areas. Academically, though, I’m the real thing.

People who justify themselves feel guilty about something. My momma said that once, and how right she is. I’m justifying winning the scholarship. If Riel wasn’t such a good guy, I probably wouldn’t be justifying anything, and that makes me feel even guiltier.

But the fact is, when I first set my eyes on the academy’s scholarship it had been academic focused, and I knew I had a solid chance. Only this year did it change to contain a new clause involving citizenship and family values. What was I supposed to do? Give up everything I’d been working for because my “white trash” family has anything but citizenship and family values? Absolutely not.

So okay, I’ll admit it, I lied. I outright lied on my scholarship paperwork. My momma works as a secretary. We go to church. Hell, she even teaches Sunday school. Me and my twin little sisters have the same daddy. He died serving his country. I volunteer at the YMCA in their after-school program.

What was I supposed to say? Momma’s a stripper and she’s been married six times. My older sister’s a meth addict. All of us have different fathers. My daddy’s in prison for dealing drugs. I was raised in public housing . I never volunteered anywhere because I was too busy working and making money to help Momma pay bills. And, yes, I was there that night Manny stole a car, and I didn’t try to stop him. I learned a long time ago that when Manny’s been drinking, you stay out of his way. Granted, I was fifteen and let off with probation, but still.

All of this does nothing to alleviate my guilt.

Riel’s left with no option but to pay for this on his own. But how exactly is he doing it? A loan? I hope not. This place is expensive. But what other option is there?

Perhaps he’s got some family money and there’s no loan involved. I can only hope that’s it. At least then my guilt won’t gnaw at me as much. I won’t feel like I’ve turned his life inside out and back again. Like mine would be if I lost my funding.