I walk back from dinner alone, not knowing where I'm going, just that I don't want a front row seat to whatever Tyler and Marina are up to right now. I feel more restless than usual, which is really saying something. The picture was sent sometime after the sports committee meeting today. No doubt, word got out that Brooklyn's pitch was a hit, and someone decided to see if they could dig up a little dirt on Eastwood's newest attraction. We don't get many students who transfer as seniors, and those who do don't magically end up on one of the most competitive committees out of the blue.
I couldn't believe it when I saw her again outside the library. Even though I didn't know Brooklyn's name, I never forgot her. She looked so damaged; it mirrored the way I felt inside, and that was agony. I've tried every way possible to forget that day and all the pain associated with it, and then bam, out of nowhere comes a living, breathing reminder of it. Just fucking great. Exactly what I need is to be forced to work with the one person who saw me at my weakest, who reminds me of one of the worst days of my life.
Needless to say, I wanted nothing to do with her, so I wasn't exactly thrilled when Tyler texted me a picture that someone had taken of us in the courtyard. A picture that has apparently gone around the whole school. You would think it was a photo of us fucking from the attention it's gotten because, apparently, that's what everyone thinks happened. As if I would have even looked at another girl on the day of Imeria's funeral.
And now I have to deal with her. Every week for the rest of the damn year, I'll have a walking, breathing reminder of the worst day of my life in front of me. That's why she aggravates me so much, I tell myself. That's why I notice whenever she enters a room or talks in class. She's simply a reminder of a time I've tried my best to forget. She triggers me. That's it, plain and simple.
YOU ARE READING
Eastwood Academy
Romance"I have to bite back a gasp as River's hand comes up, brushing my long hair back behind my ears. He doesn't stop there, letting his hand travel to my cheek and stroking lightly. His thumb brushes over my lips, parting them, and I barely stop a moan...
