Page 24 of Not On Your Life

“Teenage girls.” I bolt upright. “I mean…” Why did I say that? “The younger generation, since they speak your dialect.”

“Which is…?”

“Snark.”

“Ha.”

Maddie doesn’t say anything else. She simply hands me the paper and walks out.

Way to screw that one up.

Chapter 9

Maddie

What am I doing here?

I don’t even recognize the school I pulled up to, and it’s evident why. It’s got all the makings of a prison, without the watch tower. No wait, there is one.

Am I in the right place?

This can’t possibly be a place children come to be inspired.

I guess maybe that’s why they aren’t. This feels like a place where dreams come to die. My dreams are already dead, so I should feel right at home.

You can do this.

The second my foot hits the pavement, a loud bang rattles the earth, and I dive into my car for cover.

That’s it. No job opportunity is worth getting shot at. Lyndi’s husband Ward, the ex-military hero, might disagree, but I have things in life I kind of like. I can’t think of any right now, but they are… important.

There’s a knock on my window, and I scream. The shooter has come for me. And I’m powerless to do anything but cower behind my steering wheel and shake.

“Maddie?”

The killer knows my name.

“Maddie,” he says again, and the recognition dawns on me. It’s not a killer, but I can’t tell if it’s worse.

I jerk upright and throw my door open, right into Connor’s stomach.

In my head, I exude confidence, not a malicious intent to harm.

In Connor’s defense, he did try to jump back. I was just quicker. Like always.

“What the heck was that for?” Connor gasps, holding his stomach.

So dramatic.I didn’t hurt him.

“You startled me.” I grab my purse and stand up straight in my four-inch heels.

“Only because I thought you were having a heart attack,” he fires back, still rubbing that imaginary spot on his stomach.

I get it. He bruises like a peach.

“Clearly, I’m fine.” I glance around, attempting to place the sound that startled me, but the lot is lifeless. It was probably a car backfiring. Most likely.

“Thanks for so kindly telling me that now,” he grumbles. “So what are you doing here if you’re not having a heart attack?”