When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
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SHE WAS A SADIST, Mrs. Palmer and in her three years of surviving high school, Dawn was certain that Mrs. Palmer liked her as much as Dolores Umbridge liked Harry Potter, as much as Miss Trunchbull liked Matilda.
Hence, on 1st October, 2017, 12:09—she landed into her very first detention (Caleb Parker didn't) and broke her unbreakable record of Ivy League worthy clean-slate all because of Caleb Parker and his irresistible charm.
If they thought, one Parker brother was trouble, they definitely hadn't met the other.
She shuffled out of the school, head bent low and her backpack slinging by her shoulder. Her nails dug into the battered cover of, 'The Great Gatsby' in frustration.
Her spirits seemed to have sunken below, hitting the depths of rock-bottom. She was supposed to hitch a ride with Alec but he had to rush home for a band practice, today out of all days. Her mother had to drive her car to work, today out of all days and she had to land into detention, today out of all days.
She kicked a pebble on her way. It was a little after four. The bus wasn't coming, she had to walk home. Just then Caleb Parker trotted up to her through the haze of the late afternoon sunlight. The light breeze made the flop of russet hair blow airily on his head.
Expectant green eyes and a tissue dabbed over his nose.
"He hates me!" he spat bitterly, wincing a little as she gently removed the tissue. His nose was growing a shade of purple and blue; and, blood was trickling down.
"Who did this?!"
"Alec Rogers, your little bitch! Should've warned me that he was your bodyguard and all. The guy is touchy over a single seat! Unbelievable!"
"Alec is touchy alright," she laughed, "and he isn't exactly crazy about you but Mia is a whole different story!"
He chuckled dryly. "Anyways, what are you doing here?"
"I had practice..."
"Nah you didn't," she shook her head, knowingly.
"Right!" he scratched the back of his neck, "—Dawn Marshal, let me take you home."
"What makes you think, after the stunt you pulled earlier, I would be willing to even be near you, let alone ride home with you?" She turned on her heels and stomped ahead and away from Caleb Parker and his princely car.
"The fact that you don't have a ride home," there was this smooth and powerful roar of his black Audi. She thought of her second-hand Toyota, which would've grunted, coughed and wheezed several times by now.
"You do realize, this doesn't change anything. I still hate you," His car was gliding beside her, the windows were rolled half-way down. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips and a thin lining of dried blood, traced down his nose. The door beside her popped open.
