I’d thought my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend was cute, but this guy… He wore a black tee that molded to his wide, muscular shoulders and jeans that fit over powerful legs. On all fours, I lifted my chin and peeked through my curtain of dark hair.
My palms cushioned my fall, but I winced as pain spiked up my wrists. I ricocheted off the human rock and my backpack hit the wall behind me, throwing me off balance and pitching me forward into the hard, linoleum tile.
Barreling out of the bathroom, I slammed into what felt like a walking boulder. I tossed the makeup bag into my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and whipped open the door. Was it time for my first class already? I checked the time on my cell and realized I’d been holding the mascara brush for several minutes, yet my lashes were still naked. The restroom door swung open behind me, letting in the dull roar of voices and banging lockers, and a younger girl disappeared into a stall. I mean, what kind of parents uproot their kid two to three times a year? There had to be a way to convince them to stay a few weeks more, until I turned eighteen. After the bomb they’d dropped last night - that we’d be moving again in just a few weeks - I didn’t want to speak to either of them. Evidence of sleep deprivation circled my eyes and my normally olive skin was pale.Īs I stared at my reflection, I wondered how to handle my very dead car without involving my mom or dad. Long, dark brown hair cascaded over my shoulders in thick waves. At least I’d had time to do my hair before I’d stormed out of the house. I set it on the edge of the sink, then surveyed the damage. Inside the empty restroom, I rummaged through my backpack for my makeup bag. I’d take the toxic fumes over my former home school days, where my parents had kept me trapped without a social life. My nose detected the bathroom before my eyes did, filling with the smell of disinfectant and… paint? Whatever. The patter of my sandals echoed through the hallway as I smiled at a group of classmates passing by. Scooping up my backpack, I abandoned my geriatric car and forged through the double doors of the school. Immediately following the end of this story, please scroll to the next page for sneak peeks of other books by Veronica Blade.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by author. The places, characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.Ĭrush Publishing, Inc name and logo are trademarks of Crush Publishing, Inc and are used only with its permission.
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