Page 13 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

VALENCIA

Mom was on my case before my alarm had gone off. Banging on my door like the zombie apocalypse was nigh, Volley jumped off of the bed and fled in terror.

“I need your suitcases downstairs,” Mom said, “we want to get them to Dani's as soon as possible.”

“And good morning to you,” I muttered beneath my sheets, before pushing back my cover and wrenching myself from my cozy bed.

“Let’s get moving,” Mom said, her gaze stopping on the open red suitcase on the floor. There were some clothes in it, but I’d not finished packing yet. “Valencia!” Mom’s cry was as dramatic as a Shakespearian tragedy, “I told you to pack yesterday. You said you were all done.”

“Geez, I’m only going next door. What’s the big deal?” I said, wrapping my fleecy robe around me. “I’ll be coming back to feed Volley everyday.”

Mom gasped in exasperation, staring at me like I was a brat. “I told you we needed to get your suitcases out early. Can you, just for once, follow instructions?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, randomly flinging some clothes out of my drawers into the suitcase, “I’ll get it done.”

“Your father and I have to drive to Falls Creek,” Mom fumed as if it was a mission akin to climbing Mount Everest, when it was less than an hour’s drive to the airport. “I’ve made a list downstairs, there’s a few things I want you to keep an eye on.”

With the suitcase stuffed, I zipped it up and stood it on its wheels. “There!” I huffed, “All ready to go.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed with my display of petulance, but my rage had been simmering since Paris had video called me last night. He’d be meeting Mom and Dad at Miami International this afternoon so they could fly out together.

“You’re not coming on the tour?” he’d said bluntly, his jaw clenched firmly like he was angry with me. When it was totally the reverse.

“Well, I’m not allowed to miss too much school.” I scrunched my nose and sneered at him, my sarcasm thick, “I’d hate to be a distraction.”

Paris scratched his chin. “Is that what Mom said?”

“Yesssss,” I hissed, giving him a wide-eyed stare before mimicking Mom’s voice. “It isn’t a vacation, Valencia, it’s work. Paris needs to be able to focus on his tennis.”

“Yeah, well, it’s an intense schedule, for sure.” Paris sniffed and scratched his ear, seeming to be distracted by something or someone off screen.

“Well, good luck, I guess,” I said, unable to suppress my dry tone. It was obvious my brother had other things to do, people to talk to, dreams to conquer, and I was an inconvenience.

“Yeah,” he said, sniffing again like he had a cold. “Uh, so I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yeah,” I tutted.

“Behave yourself with the Sinclairs,” Paris said. “And say hi to Jade for me. I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“He was in London on a school exchange thing last semester,” I said, trying to show that I knew more about his friend than he did.

But he said, “Yeah, I know.”

I shrugged dismissively. Of course Mom would keep him up with the play.

“Okay, I’ve gotta fly, Vali,” Paris’s voice cracked and his video jerked as he moved, his sound muffled so I couldn’t hear properly, “...ya.”

And he ended the call before I had a chance to say goodbye properly.

I’d sulked after that. Paris didn’t care that I wasn’t coming on the tour.

He wouldn’t miss me one bit. It kind of hit me that this was the beginning of the end.

That everything was changing. Paris’s career was now becoming a reality.

Joining the tour meant he would be traveling extensively, like forty weeks of the year.

Traveling cost money, coaching cost money.

There was no room for me on the tour. I’d no longer be included in my brother’s dream.

My heart broke a little but that was overshadowed by a moment of darkness, anger at being left out.

I loved Paris, but at the same time, I now loathed him.

I wanted him to be successful and everything that came with it, the travel, the free tickets, the fame, meeting famous tennis players, the merchandise perks.

But a part of me also wanted him to fail, for Mom and Dad to be mad at him, to resent him for all the effort and time and money they’d plowed into him.

Because that would make me the good child, the glowing child.

I was a horrible person for having such warped thoughts, but I couldn’t let them go.

Mom dropped me to school, still bleating out instructions— you can o nly use my car in an emergency, take the trash cart out, be respectful to Dani and help with chores— but I was firmly entrenched in surliness, angry to my core.

All morning it had been nothing but demands and commands, the tour the only important thing in their lives.

Even Dad had been too busy on a phone call to give me little more than a rushed hug and kiss goodbye.

As soon as the car came to a halt, I opened the door for a fast getaway.

“Valencia?” Mom said as I was about to slam the door.

“What?” I snapped.

Mom looked taken aback, flashing me her dark puppy dog eyes like I’d hurt her. “Honey? You’ve got everything?”

“Yes,” I seethed, while Mom soothed, “Call me anytime. For anything. Okay?”

I nodded with a stone face, annoyed she was holding me up.

“Okay honey.” She leaned forward, expecting a kiss on the cheek.

I stuck my head in, allowing her lips to briefly brush against my skin, but pulling away before she had the chance to put her arm around me.

“I’ll miss you,” she blubbered, tears springing from nowhere in a rare show of emotion.

Last time she’d cried had been when Paris had won his first round match at the US Open. “I love you. You be good, now.”

“Yep. I’m meeting Gabby.” I shut the door and juggled my backpack onto my shoulder, refusing to show I was affected. Her parting words were to be good?

Hmphh!

I walked along the path, not acknowledging the short toots from her horn.

I surged ahead in a half jog, wanting to get inside the building as soon as possible.

Gabby had said we’d meet in the cafeteria before first bell rang, and right now I needed to vent to her more than anything. But she was nowhere to be seen.

I sent her a text: I’m here, where are you?

I grabbed a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and sat at a table to wait. My phone pinged, Gabby’s text a row of frustrated emoji faces, followed by: Can’t make it. Practice is taking longer than we thought. See you in class!

My heart sunk, like nothing was going my way today. I slammed down my carton, the juice spilling up through the straw and squirting my crisp white blouse. Typical! Just exactly what I didn’t need.

Mopping myself with a paper napkin only made it worse. Adjusting my tie so the knot was looser was the only way I could hide the stain. My day was going from bad to worse, heck, my whole life.

Not for Mom, Dad and Paris though. Just before last period was about to start, Paris sent me a photo of the three of them being upgraded to premium economy class. Mom and Dad looked awfully smug reclining in their extra large seats.

“Good afternoon everyone.” An unfamiliar teacher stood at the front of my Art History class.

The thin, elderly woman with a tight bun and old fashioned silver-rimmed glasses held a bundle of papers in her hand and proceeded to walk down the aisles handing them out.

“I’m Mrs. Fox and I’ll be filling in while Mrs. Bullock is away.

This is a worksheet that you’ll need to complete by the end of class.

” She seemed like a nice old lady who’d probably sit at her desk and read a romance novel while we did our work.

I wrote my name on the sheet of paper and pretended to read it, but was actually glancing at my phone resting on my lap, tucked beneath my desk. Paris had sent a photo of the view of the airport from his window seat.

“Attention please!”

The shrill voice made me jump in my chair, and I only just managed to stop my phone from falling.

Mrs. Fox was standing a foot in front of my desk glaring at me.

It was a shock that a tiny woman had such a screechy voice.

She held her hand out to me, but it took me a moment to understand that she wanted my phone.

“Mrs. Bullock lets us keep our phones,” I said, slipping it into my blazer pocket. There was no way I was handing my phone over to a sub.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Fox boomed with a mortifying death stare, her eyes flitting down to my desk to read my name. “Please pass me your phone, Valencia. I don’t allow phones in my class.”

A couple of sniggers resounded around me, presumably over the mispronunciation of my name. Because Mrs. Fox called me Valen-cha.

I corrected her, crisply enunciating each syllable, “It’s Va-len-see-uh.”

The class laughed and Mrs. Fox scowled before spinning on her heel and clicking her navy pumps to the front desk. I blew out a sigh of relief and whispered across to Kelsey in the next desk, “Is this sub crazy?”

“Sounds like it,” Kelsey murmured with a smile.

“Va-len-see-uh!” My name pierced the silent room and I looked up to see Mrs. Fox waving a piece of paper. “Take this to the office please.”

I stiffened. The piece of paper in her hand looked suspiciously like a discipline slip. I’d never had a discipline slip before.

“Excuse me?” My voice was suddenly weak and hoarse.

“Disruptive behavior. Insubordination. Use of electronic device during class.”

“What?” I looked to Kelsey for support, and over to Luke on my other side, but their eyes dropped to their desks like they couldn’t risk being associated with me—suddenly a villain.

“Take this now!” she shrieked, making me hurry out of my seat, grabbing up my belongings in the process. Approaching the front of the room, I crammed everything into my backpack.

“I will not tolerate your unruly and defiant behavior,” Mrs. Fox said, holding the slip out to me.