A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(11)

“Fucked her a couple of times.” I say that on purpose, and it has the effect I want. The offended look on Wren’s face is so extreme, I’m concerned she might burst into tears. “Nothing serious.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“No, little birdy, it’s perfectly normal. We’re hormonal teenagers. We’re supposed to fuck anything we can get our hands on. Something you don’t have a clue about.” I decide to ask the question that’s been lingering in my mind since we started this absurd conversation. “Have you ever been kissed?”

She lifts her chin. Appears ready to bolt. I wait for her to run, but surprisingly, she stands her ground. “That’s none of your business.”

The obvious answer is no.

My gaze finds Sam Schmidt, who’s currently being tortured by Natalie as she drones on about her meaningless life. Though he doesn’t appear miserable over it. He’s too busy staring at her glossy lips as they keep moving. He’s the guy that took Wren to prom last year. Two boring people who most likely had a boring time together.

Jealousy flickers deep inside and I shove it away. How can I be jealous of Sam? Because he got to dance with her? Put his hands on her? Have her smile at him and want to actually talk to him for an entire evening?

“What about Sam?”

Wren flinches, as if I said something that hurt her. “What about him?”

“He didn’t try to kiss you on prom night?” I’m sure that would’ve met her dreamy, romantic expectations, though I get the sense Sam isn’t particularly romantic. The guy is too in his head for that.

That fucker is scary smart.

“How did you know Sam was my prom date?”

If she really wanted to leave me and this conversation, she would’ve done so already. She almost did.

“It’s a small school, and we’re a small class. Everyone knows everybody.” I hesitate, my gaze drifting down the length of her. The blazer and button-up shirt completely contain her tits, and what I remember from seeing her in the fairly demure dress she wore to the dance, the girl is stacked. “Do you remember who I went with?”

“Ariana Rhodes,” she immediately says, biting her lower lip the moment the words are out.

“See?” I incline my head toward her. “We know what everyone else is doing at all times.”

“I only knew because I was friends with Ariana,” she says.

Poor Ariana. She left the country after our junior year, banished to England to a finishing school in the remote countryside out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. She was a broken girl with a talented mouth, who had a minor drug problem that blew up into a big one last summer. Her parents got her the hell out of here before it became worse.

“Well, maybe now we could become friends,” I suggest, sounding like a goddamn villain, even to my own ears.

“I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m talking to Ms. Skov after class.” She slings her backpack over her shoulder. “Be prepared. You’ll most likely be partnered with Natalie tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss you, Birdy,” I call after her as she walks away.

She doesn’t bother saying anything. Doesn’t even look back at me.

Whatever she thinks she’s going to say to convince Skov we shouldn’t be partners, isn’t going to work. I know Skov—and deep down, so does Wren. Our teacher’s mind has been made up. This is how it’s going to be.

Whether Wren likes it or not.





FIVE





WREN





I wander through the empty halls of school, trying to hold back the tears that threaten, but it’s no use.

They’re streaking down my face, and I wipe them away as best as I can, irritated with myself. With my teacher. With the entire day.

Thank God no one is really around to see them, since school let out almost thirty minutes ago.

I stayed after class, just as I told Crew I would, and spoke again to Ms. Skov, trying to plead my case. She wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t mean about it, but she refused to listen to my reasoning as to why I couldn’t work with Crew. It didn’t matter to her that he was vulgar and said crude things to me to get a reaction. That he didn’t care about the project and just assumed he’d get a good grade because he’s a Lancaster.

He didn’t necessarily say that, but when I asked him about it and he didn’t deny it, I can only assume.

Something I hate doing, but I did anyway—and mentioned it to Skov too. Her skeptical look told me she wasn’t falling for it, but whatever. I was trying to think up every reason imaginable why I didn’t want to work with Crew.

And I’m still stuck with him.

Stuck with his hateful attitude and his mocking gaze. His disgusting vocabulary and the way he looks at me. Like he can see right through me.

I hate that most of all.

I dash away another streak of tears, sniffing loudly.

“Wren!”

Turning, I spot Mr. Figueroa standing in the open doorway of the faculty room.

“Oh.” I come to a stop, hoping that I don’t look too terribly upset. “Hi, Mr. Figueroa.”

Slowly he approaches me, his brows lowered in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I smile, hating how my chin wobbles. Like I’m going to burst into sobs at any second. “I just—had a rough afternoon.”