Page 18 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

I hid out in the bathroom—becoming my favorite place of retreat—retouched my makeup and huddled around a sophomore’s phone watching a bunch of videos as I waited for the next period to start.

It was Art History and I was keen to have Mrs. Bullock back.

But as I came to the classroom door, standing there in her outdated navy pumps was Mrs. Fox, nose tilted in the air.

Moving faster than a mob at a Black Friday sale, I joined a crowd of kids heading down the hallway.

There was no way—not in a million years—that I was going to sit through a whole period with that battleaxe again—she’d already ruined my life once!

I kept walking, having no idea where I should go.

I had never skipped a class before, but I knew I had several options.

I could go to Mrs. Wainwright and feign illness or perhaps camp out in the library.

Chances are no one would ask for a pass.

Or I could risk going to Study Hall again.

There had been so many kids in there that it was possible the teacher wouldn’t query me.

Or there was Plan D. And that was completely ditch the class and ‘vanish.’

The hallways emptied and time was running out. Common sense told me to run back the other way, go to my Art History class, sit down the back and suck it up. Probably Mrs. Fox’s memory was so bad, she wouldn’t remember me.

“Quickly,” I heard a male teacher’s voice say, his hands clapping as a few kids scurried past me into Study Hall.

The decision was made and I attached myself to them and filed through the door.

It was a different teacher at the desk and I wandered around the room, finding a secluded spot in the corner.

I pulled out my sketching pad, staring at the shelf in front of me before flicking through the pages.

I had some sketches of Paris that I’d done in Florida while watching his training.

It was actually a thing that artists got commissioned at tennis matches, in particular Wimbledon, to draw the players in action.

They sat courtside and captured players and the crowd in the moment, similar to what I’d been doing at Paris’s matches.

Ha, that was an idea—I should have insisted on going on tour to be Paris’s personal artist. The sketches were fairly raw and I pulled out my pencils to polish them up.

With my head down, I was on high alert for what was happening around me and had an excuse ready in case the teacher pounced on me and demanded to see my schedule. I’d say that I was told to come to Study Hall while my new schedule was being sorted.

But as the minutes ticked away and nobody queried my presence, I became engrossed in my art. Before I knew it, the bell was ringing, and I studied my work with a critical eye. I didn’t like the way I’d drawn the fingers on the racket handle.

“Hey, nice,” a girl said behind me. “Is that Paris?”

I turned sharply to see a familiar face, a senior who had been in the parking lot with Jade. But I didn’t know her name.

I nodded, about to close up my book.

“I hear Paris is playing in Europe,” the girl said, putting her hand on the page preventing me from closing it. “Hey, it’s really good.”

“Yeah, he’s in France now,” I muttered, shy at someone seeing my art.

“Awesome,” the girl said. She smiled and breezily walked away.

My phone pinged and I fumbled in my pocket for it, reading a text from Kelsey: Where are you? Why weren’t you in class?

Crashing back to reality, I made my way to Algebra. I had no idea what I would say about my absence and decided to wing it. With a bit of luck, Mrs. Fox may not have noticed. For now, I was more invested in how Gabby would act. We always sat next to each other in Algebra.

One of the first to the room, I sat in my usual desk. I pulled out my phone and texted Kelsey: Can you send me the lesson plz?

Kelsey responded straight away: We only watched a video, where were you?

Me: Something came up.

I couldn’t risk incriminating myself by revealing where I’d been. Better to play dumb, the less anyone knew, the better. That way, no one could snitch on me.

My chest jittered as kids filtered into the room, nervous as to how Gabby would behave.

She came into the room her usual sparkly self, but her gaze was deliberate in avoiding me.

She chatted to Tom Richfield like they were friends, yet she’d once called him a jerk.

Her footsteps were tentative as she slid into her desk, her interest more in her backpack zipper than me.

“Hey,” I whispered, my heart in flutters. “Did you have a drama meeting?” I’d decided to pretend all was good and take the nothing-is-wrong-between-us approach.

Gabby cleared her throat, placing her text book on her desk with pedantic care.

I was desperate to hide my desperation. “I wondered where you were. Are...you okay? Are we okay? "

Gabby sniffed, her lips pursing as she smiled weakly. “Yeah...we are. But it’s Scott you should apologize to.”

I froze, trying very hard not to show the emotion that was brewing inside me.

I should apologize to Scott?

Yet he was the one who’d cut me down, made me out to be a fiery and unhinged maniac! But because my friendship with Gabby was the most important thing, and to prove that I did not possess those abhorrent and undesirable traits, I bit down on my lower lip, my teeth on the verge of drawing blood.

“Sure,” I murmured, coaxing my lips into an upward curl.

I was relieved that we were given a worksheet and ordered to work in silence. But for the life of me, I had no clue of the value of x, y and z, all my energy suppressing the bitterness bubbling inside, not sure if my anger was directed at Gabby or Scott—or both.

Not wanting to lash out and say something I might regret, I kept my head down, but when the bell rang, it was Gabby who packed her books up in a rush.

“I’ve got the community garden now,” she muttered, “and I’ve got early band practice tomorrow so I’ll be going to school with Scott.

” The careless dismissal and precise enunciation of his name caused my heart to crack wide open, creating a rift which had seemed inconceivable, but the fact of the matter was plain to see—Gabby was choosing Scott over me.

And without waiting for me to respond, she dashed off. Stunned at her hasty departure, I stood motionless, confounded how I’d been cast as the bad guy.

Adrenaline raced through me, my heart speeding up and my chest tightening. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, Gabby and I were besties, we should’ve made up. No way would a boy come between us.

Though it wasn’t just any boy—it was Scott, someone I’d liked, which made my blood boil more. I’d been crazy to have a crush on him!

Snatching up my backpack, I crammed my books into it, somewhat dazed. But a fire was stirring in my belly. I decided I’d go and find Scott. Gabby wanted me to apologize to him, but I’d tell him just what I thought of him and his conniving ways.

Guessing he might be in one of the music rooms, I headed across campus to the music department, my blood roaring in my ears.

I followed in a group of students and peered in the windows of the small practice rooms. He’d likely be in one of these rooms with his trumpet, and I’d be telling him just where to stick it.

In the first room, a kid was pounding on a drum kit. I was thankful they were soundproof. I moved along, bypassing rooms of cellos and keyboards. Down the end of the hallway, resigned to the fact that I must’ve missed him, I had a fleeting peek into the last window.

I steadied myself against the closed door, because Scott was in there, but his lips weren’t anywhere near his trumpet. Oh no, Gabby who was supposedly planting kale seeds in the greenhouse, was wrapped in his arms, planting kisses on his lips.

Completely blown away, I shrunk back, my heart not merely broken, but crushed and ground to pulp.

This was it—the ultimate in betrayal from my bestie.

She was choosing Scott over me. Oh boy, was I a fool.

I’d put my friendship above everything, but Gabby had demoted me for her boyfriend, the pinky promise pact we’d naively made back in ninth grade obviously forgotten: If any of us gets a boyfriend, he will always come second to our friendship.

Yeah, well, guess things had changed.

I stormed back to the entrance, elbowing a girl and knocking her guitar—well, it was sticking out and in my way!

Taking the path around the football field, my chest heaved with every step, my rage on the brink of bursting as I tried to reason with myself.

Scott had accused me of being hot-headed and Gabby hadn’t denied it.

And now they were having a secret rendezvous in the music room!

I found myself at the school gate, and though I should have gone to the art room, I was filled with such fury that my legs kept on walking down the street.

What’s the worst thing that could happen for not turning up to Miss Creighton?

Detention? I already had that! The wind swirled and the gray clouds overhead kept the temperature low, and after two blocks I wished I had a coat and a beanie and mittens.

Stupid me for thinking I’d get a ride home with Gabby.

I surged ahead, hoping I’d beat the rain and snow showers, but I was mentally scrambled and not in a clear head space.

All I could think about was Gabby in the throes of giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to Scott.

So much for the community garden helping to ‘create a sustainable system’ and ‘increasing biodiversity of plants.’ Likely Gabby’s interest in that was waning as quickly as our friendship.

With a head wind as I turned off the main street, I trudged on.

It was bad enough Mom and Dad and Paris abandoning me, but Gabby?

Did three years of friendship mean nothing?

Where was the loyalty? With my rage rising, I figured I had two options, release all my anger by taking my sketchpad and drawing, or something more physical.

Hitting tennis balls could be cathartic but it was too damp, whereas a ride down the sledding hill would be perfect.

I found Volley sleeping in front of the living room window. His eyes opened as I stroked his fur, but he immediately closed them again. The traitor! Even he wanted nothing to do with me.

I’d packed my ski pants and parka in my suitcase which was at the Sinclairs’ house, so I had to rummage in the back of my closet for last year’s gear, which was a little short for me now.

I bundled up in a scarf and beanie and gloves and grabbed my sled from the garage.

Sledding on my own didn’t faze me one bit—I just needed a shot of adrenaline, a thrill to take my mind off of the stuff that was plowing through it—namely, disloyal friends.

Mom had said I could use her car in an emergency.

This was definitely an emergency—my mental health was at stake!

Besides, I was only going across the bridge to River Valley, a few miles to Oak Brook Hill, Mom and Dad weren’t going to find out—and what if they did? They couldn’t ground me from Europe.

There were lots of younger kids on the small hill, so I made my way up to the top slope. I saw a few boys from school, but with my hair tucked under my black beanie and a scarf wrapped tight around my neck, I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable.

The rush from sledding down the hill was exhilarating, the wind robbing me of breath, the crisp air stinging my cheeks.

The only thing missing was sharing it with someone.

I should have invited Oliver. He loved sledding as much as I did, unlike Jade who thought it was just for kids.

I kept going, lugging my sled back up the hill as the temperature plummeted and snow flurries swirled, my concentration solely on the path of my sled.

I wanted to stay, but it got to the point where my fingers were freezing, even in gloves, and my nose was numb.

I reluctantly packed up and headed to the car.

I turned up the heat, rubbing my hands together to warm them, smiling as I remembered Jade’s heated seats, wishing I was in his truck now.

But my smile evaporated when I saw I’d missed two calls from Dani.

I’d forgotten to leave her a message, and now I was forced to lie.

I texted that I was at my friend’s house and would be home later.

Dani hadn’t said anything about a curfew, and anyway, she didn’t set my rules.

With the blood in my fingers restored, I drove home, and the reality of my situation surfaced. Gabby and I were on the brink of a breakup. There were no texts from her and she wasn’t picking me up for school—tomorrow looked as bleak as the weather.

Volley raced to me when I went inside, probably annoyed at me for being late with his food. I opened a can of his favorite chicken and tuna flavor, but he turned his nose up at it. Trying to entice him to the bowl, I knelt on the floor and called to him in my high pitched voice.

“Volley, Volls, come on, come on, it’s your favorite, come on.” I clicked my fingers, luring him over and sweeping him up, I clung to him tightly, my lower lip trembling.

“It’s just you and me Volley. Just you and me. No one needs us. I’m sorry for leaving you alone, ha, now I know how it feels. I won’t leave you again, I promise.” I rubbed my chin against his fur, catching my tears. “I love you, Voll—,”

The sharp knock at the back door sent Volley flying off me, his claws catching my chin in the process. I scrambled up onto my feet, hastily wiping my tear-stained cheeks as I heard Jade’s voice calling, “Valencia? Hey Valencia, are you in there?”