Page 8 of The Rebel (Covington Prep: The Girls We Love #7)

The next morning Mom was whining about the cold again, repeating for the hundredth time how we’d been basking in 75° heat yesterday and now we were shivering in the 30s. People who complained about the cold annoyed me. My response was always to dress more appropriately.

“Maybe you can wear your long red Italian coat?” I said, heavy on sarcasm at the mention of the expensive designer coat that she’d treated herself to when we’d been in New York for the tennis tournament.

Mom cast a look of disdain in my direction, but I was saved when Dad walked through the kitchen. “Good morning, Poppet,” he said as he found his keys in the fruit bowl. “Have a good first day back at school.”

“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically.

“What? Not pleased to be back with your friends?” He pretended to be shocked.

I conjured up a cheesy smile. “Oh yeah. Can’t wait for another riveting semester of algebra,” I said.

“That’s my girl,” Dad said, tapping my shoulder as he headed out.

“Is that makeup a little much?” Mom said, her frown heavy as she peered up over the top of her laptop screen.

“It’s my normal,” I fired back with a scowl.

Okay, the extra coat of mascara and smoky eye look was an attempt to hide my hooded, swollen eyelids, but it was still minimal compared to what most girls wore.

Light and discreet makeup was allowed in the school rules, but no one abided by it, least of all the seniors.

I quickly turned and stood in the pantry, selecting a box of cereal. I poured a small amount of Frosty Flakes into a bowl and sat at the breakfast bar, my back to her.

I swallowed hard, like I had a lump of coal in my throat, a whole rehearsal happening in my head about how to broach Mom for a ride to school without having to tell her about Gabby’s new relationship with Scott.

Mom would ask too many questions and I wasn’t in the mood to have a discussion with her, mainly because I was still processing it myself.

I needed to sound spontaneous, but the longer I left it, the more non-spontaneous it would seem.

My phone pinged with a notification of my daily phone use, so I grabbed the opportunity to pretend it was a text.

“Oooh, hey,” I said, “Ah, Gabby has to get to school early. For band practice. Can you give me a ride to school?”

There were a few seconds of silence before Mom said, “Huh? What was that?”

I swung around on my stool to see her frantically tapping on her keyboard.

“I need a ride to school,” I said. “Can you take me?”

“Gabby can’t?”

“She had an early band practice.”

Mom’s focus was on her screen and I jumped off the stool and huffed, “Okay I’ll just walk then.”

“What? Wait,” Mom said, finally giving me her full attention. “Vali?”

“I’ll walk,” I said, not hiding my irritation as I tipped the cereal in the trash and slammed the dishwasher door shut.

“Wait a minute.” Mom stopped me with her equally sharp tone. She stood and checked her watch, adding in a calm, if not patronizing voice, “What time do you need to leave?”

“Fifteen minutes,” I said crisply.

“Okay, fifteen minutes, then,” she said on a sigh, closing her laptop. “Gabby’s in band?”

“A jazz band, playing the piano,” I snapped, rushing out.

My moodiness carried on in the car, not helped by the fact that Mom had been on a phone call and I’d waited eight minutes for her, more time to ruminate about the upcoming day.

“ Valencia? ” Only the shout of my name jolted me out of my head—an imaginary conversation on how I’d greet Gabby and Scott. “Do you want me to pick you up?” Mom’s tone indicated she’d asked more than once.

“What? No. I’m going with Gabby after school.” I gathered my backpack and got out of the car, leaning back in to say, “And I’m staying for dinner.”

“Oh,” she said, “You could have—”

But whatever she was going to say, I didn’t hear it, slamming the door with unnecessary force.

I unzipped my bag to check that I had the gifts for my friends.

It was something I’d started after going away on so many trips with Paris and his tennis—the least I could do was bring them back little souvenirs and treats.

The number of kids around my general locker area was unusually sparse, so I guessed first bell had already gone.

I opened my locker, unloaded my bag of gifts into it and sorted my books for my first few periods.

I’d have to endure forty five painful minutes of Algebra before art class, the one bright spark in my morning schedule.

I pulled out my art pad, tucking it under my arm while hooking my backpack over my shoulder.

The locker door swung shut with a loud clank.

“Oh, hey. Locker rage?” Jade Sinclair stood right in front of me, blocking my way.

I was kinda shocked—and speechless—because the senior lockers were far away from here, so it was a weird coincidence that I saw him yesterday and now today, when I hadn’t seen him in months or years even.

The only thing that came out of my mouth was a weak, “Ahhh.” Because I was momentarily fazed by Jade’s eyes, looking straight at me, pale green, fresh like a grass court, mint ice cream, a forest. Like my dream. Was I delirious, making comparisons to the color of his eyes?

“Wanted to check on you,” he said, and as his gaze roamed across my face, my heart rate inexplicably raced and a strange flush came over me, like I was suddenly back in the Florida sun. “No more nosebleeds?”

My hand automatically went up and covered my nose and mouth, my voice muffled as I said, “Uh, yeah, no, it’s good.” And I realized he hadn’t been looking at me so much as being worried about my nose. Or more likely a lawsuit.

“Sweet,” he said. He poked at my art pad. “You off to create a masterpiece?”

I wasn’t sure if he was being funny or insulting—Paris would have made fun of my extra large art pad, called me a nerd because I liked to draw—so I shrugged and sneered and muttered, “Maybe.”

The bell rang but Jade didn’t move and the longer he stood there, I detected a waft of boy perfume, a sweet piney-forest type of smell that Paris could definitely use.

I had a sudden thought I should ask Jade what brand it was and buy it for Paris’s birthday.

But I bit down on my lower lip. Asking Jade what cologne he was wearing would definitely label me as odd.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all good,” Jade said, smiling as he moved off down the hallway.

I should have gone off too, the piercing bell meaning there was about ninety seconds to get to class. But strangely, my feet were planted and my chest heaved, like it was in desperate need of air.

“Hey, Valencia!” Jazmyn came scooting up alongside me, and thank goodness for that. “Ahh, I’m running so late,” she cried and linking her arm through mine, she basically dragged me to class.