Page 1 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

VALENCIA

“Ooh, it’s freezing,” Mom said, shivering as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her pale pink cardigan.

We’d flown in from Florida, two weeks of wearing tanks and shorts, sipping on iced tea and eating outdoors—and watching tennis. And it had been the worst Christmas of my life.

Christmas break was supposed to be about last minute gift shopping, wearing ugly Christmas sweaters, watching festive movies, all surrounded by the smell of a real fir tree covered in glittering decorations.

It was about being wrapped up in puffer jackets and mittens and sledding on the hills, then drinking hot chocolate snuggled around the fireplace.

But no, we’d gone to Florida to be with my brother at a coaching academy.

Paris was touted to be the next big thing in tennis circles.

He’d gotten a wildcard into the US Open in August, and in his first round he’d beaten a player ranked 126 places above him.

In the second round he’d lost in five sets, but his achievement had boosted his profile and opportunities were flooding in, his reputation growing.

Which is why we’d been in Florida. Paris had been invited to the prestigious Juan Duran Academy for a month of intense coaching.

And Mom and Dad thought it would be fabulous if the whole family went too, Christmas in the sun.

I’d protested, naturally. Christmas in sweltering temperatures wasn’t my idea of fabulous at all.

I looked forward to winter break for the very reason that Covington Heights would serve up cold, wintry days, and I’d layer up and wear a coat and scarf and beanie and visit the annual Light Festival over in River Valley.

But no, I missed out on that this year, instead getting sunburn on my shoulders and breaking out in hives after ordering crab legs at a restaurant.

With my first taste of crab, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, the juicy messiness part of its appeal.

I told my parents it was a travesty that they’d never fed me such a delicious dish before, but as soon as we got back to the condo we were renting, my arms and stomach were covered in angry red itchy welts.

Mom diagnosed an allergy to shellfish—just my luck—and I was smothered in calamine lotion and given antihistamines.

Not the best way to start a vacation. Seemed I couldn’t catch a break.

And now I was gritting my teeth and biting my tongue as Mom moaned about the cold weather the minute we arrived home.

“Oooh, I’m going in to heat up the house,” she said, scurrying inside, leaving me and Dad to unload the suitcases from the trunk.

Dad held up his phone and grinned at me like he was a tech genius. “Timer,” he said. “It’ll be toasty warm in there.”

“Ahhh, I’m so glad to be home,” I said, breathing in the crisp cool air. It was so bracing, so refreshing. And I couldn’t understand how people liked to exist in blistering heat and wanted be in a constant state of perspiration at Christmastime. Ughh!

“I know you are, Poppet,” Dad said, handing me my carryon bag.

“Can we go sledding tonight?” I asked. “They have lights at Oak Brook Hill.”

“I’ve got a few things to sort for work tomorrow,” Dad said. “Ask your mother.”

“Hmmphh,” I snorted, knowing the answer I’d get to that.

“It’s been a long day,” Dad said, showing more interest in the suitcases than me.

“Pleasssssse,” I ended up hissing. “We just sat in a plane for five hours and another hour driving home. That’s hardly tiring. And you said you miss the snow.”

“I’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Dad said.

“Fine,” I snapped with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll call Gabby.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dad said, eyes bright with relief. “See if your mother will let you take her car.”

“You fly half way across the country for Paris,” I muttered as I scuffed my way to the front door, dragging my suitcase, “but you won’t even drive over the bridge to River Valley for me.”

I doubted Dad heard me over the wheels of the suitcases he was pulling, probably just as well. Mom stood at the door ushering us through and saying she had the coffee pot on.

“Have you seen Volley?” I dropped my bags and headed straight to the laundry room to check the cat’s food bowl. Volley was Paris’s cat, but now that he was hardly around I claimed him as my own, giving him the most attention. Pretty sure he liked me the best now.

“I’ll let Paris know we’re home,” Mom said. Typical, her thoughts were always on Paris, who was staying in Florida a little longer.

“Did Dani come and feed her?” I called out.

There was water in her bowl but no food.

I grabbed the container of dry food and shook it.

That usually had Volley running in. I called out his name several times and was rewarded with his pale green eyes peeping through the cat door.

He hesitated, uncertain, which was to be expected after we’d abandoned him for two whole weeks.

Mom’s best friend and our neighbor, Dani Sinclair, had come over daily to feed Volley while we were away.

“Hey, Volley. Look who’s back. It’s me.” I had a completely different voice when speaking to the cat.

It was squeaky and a pitch higher than normal with a sing-song lilt.

I poured some kibble into the bowl and he cautiously came through the flap door.

He swirled around my legs, seemingly in approval and sniffed at the salmon and tuna flavored food.

“Did you miss me, Volley?” I asked, bending down to pat him.

His black and white tail swished, clearly not impressed that I was disturbing his feeding time.

Volley had been a gift for Paris after he went through a phase of wanting to give up tennis.

He’d lost the final of a U10s tournament and complained that his opponent had cheated, calling balls out when they were clearly in.

He promptly declared he was never playing tennis again, threw his racket down and went off crying in a temper tantrum.

You’d think Mom and Dad would’ve gone ballistic at him and he would’ve been grounded for such outrageous, sulky behavior.

But no, Mom and Dad agreed the other boy had been cheating, though nothing could be done because the tournament was self-scoring.

They had a heated argument with the boy’s parents and kicked up a big fuss with the tournament director but that got them nowhere.

Paris refused to play tennis or to go to his coaching lessons for a week, which instigated complete chaos in the Reid household.

Paris became unbearable, Mom and Dad were beside themselves, so much that they resorted to bribery.

Paris wanted a puppy, but Mom and Dad said that it was unfair to have a dog if it had to stay home all day on its own, so they compromised and gave into getting a kitten. Cats could entertain themselves during the day when we were at school and work.

With the arrival of Volley, Paris started back at tennis, Mom and Dad were ecstatic, and our lives returned to normal.

Mom came through with her suitcase, emptying her clothes into the washing machine, the phone to her ear. “Okay then sweetie. Miss you. Love you heaps.”

I grimaced, I mean Mom was so cringe—we’d left Paris all of six hours ago and she was gushing about missing him already.

“Hey, can we go sledding tonight? We could go to Oak Brook?” I put the canister back into the cupboard.

“Really? Tonight? Can’t you wait till tomorrow? It’s been a long day and I’ve got a million things to catch up on. Laundry. And I want to pop around to see Dani. Send Paris a photo of Volley. He asked about him,” she paused briefly. “And bring out your dirty clothes.”

I let out a deep sigh, figuring that was a negative, but took my phone from my pocket and bent down to pick up Volley for a selfie. I’d show Paris just how much his cat loved me. I typed on the photo: Home sweet home. Paris replied straight away with the sad face cat emoji.

I hadn’t spent much time with my brother during the two weeks.

His days were full on with fitness, coaching, and hitting a million balls.

On the one day that he had off, we went out on a fishing charter around the coast. Mom and Dad wanted Paris to relax and have fun.

I would have liked to go on a jet ski or surfing, but everything was about Paris and what he wanted to do.

And he’d wanted to try fishing. It had been okay, I guess, but not my first choice and hardly exciting.

“Go get your laundry!” Mom growled as I stood there sending a message to my best friend Gabby.

She’d posted photos at the cafe earlier, a bunch of girls from our class had been to lunch at Covington Kitchen, or The Kitch as it was known, the most popular cafe in town.

And that was another reason I hadn’t wanted to go to Florida, I missed out on so much stuff with my friends and, most importantly, Gabby’s birthday.

“I’m going,” I huffed, taking time to give Volley one last pat. Odd that Gabby hadn’t replied—she usually responded instantly.

I stood in the living room, looking at the wilting Christmas tree. It had been amazing when we decorated it, but it was now a pitiful example of an unloved and unwatered tree, droopy and shedding needles.

“Arghhh,” Mom muttered, coming up behind me. “What a mess. I’ll have to get Dad to take it away. Think we’ll go artificial next year.”

“What? Are you serious?” I sneered, but I was in no mood to argue with her, and grabbing my suitcase, I plodded it up the stairs behind me, prompting Dad to call out, “Pick it up and carry it, Vali. You’ll ruin the wheels!”

Gah, why were both Mom and Dad so grouchy since arriving home?

I lifted up my bag, nearly breaking my wrist as I lugged it to my room.

I flopped down on my comfy, familiar bed, picking up a fluffy purple pillow and hugging it.

It was nice to be back, stretched out on my four poster bed.

It had been a princess bed once, draped in pink curtains, but I’d grown out of that sweet girly stage.

I’d had a short obsession with the color green, not just any green, but a rich emerald green.

My bed had emerald curtains and an emerald cover and emerald pillows.

I’d finally gotten around to changing it at Halloween.

My friends and I had a progressive Halloween party, going to five different houses for food and games.

We’d had starters at my house and played Hide ’n’ Seek because we had a big backyard with a tennis court and lots of trees and lawn.

Wanting to create an awesome spooky theme, I’d refurbished a black mosquito net into a canopy over my bed and threaded mini skull lights around it.

I’d drawn and printed out lots of pictures of spooky things and hung them everywhere, and I’d worn a black skintight skeleton suit which everyone said looked amazing with the commando style boots that I’d bought online.

I’d dyed my hair purple and Mom hated it, said I looked emo.

I’d had to wash it out because hair at Covington Prep had to be ‘of natural coloring,’ but it had been fun to step away from my usual look which was my school uniform during the week, and jeans, hoodies and activewear on the weekends.

Mom had been hounding me for weeks to get rid of the black canopy and the skull lights, and I had switched them up for snowflake lights for Christmas but I’d kept the black net; and not just because I decided I quite liked the edgy and gothic look, but because I knew it peeved her off.