I’m all kinds of fucked up. I know that. Wrongs and rights have never made sense in my world, and I’m a product of that.
None of it matters, though, because I don’t give a flying fuck about any-damn-thing.
Never have.
Never will.
CHAPTER 4
WAVERLY
I push my breakfast around on my plate, staring at the empty seat across from me where Jensen is supposed to be. Water whooshes through the pipes above. By the sounds of it, I’d say he’s just now finishing his shower.
We need to leave in five minutes. If he’s not down here by seven-thirty, I’m leaving without him. I’ve never had a tardy in my life, and I’m not about to get one for him. Summer can drop him off in the freshman lane, for all I care.
Loud thumps coming from the stairs a minute later direct my gaze to where Jensen is running down two steps at a time. His finger combs his dark hair into place as he rushes through the kitchen. He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and slips a backpack over one shoulder.
“Ready?” The green apple fills his palm, and he takes one giant, crisp bite. The juices run down his chin, but he wipes them away with the back of his hand.
“I thought you didn’t eat breakfast.” I rise up and grab my bags.
“Jensen,” Dad says from the head of the table. “Missed breakfast, buddy.”
My dad calls him “buddy” like they’re a couple of old pals. He’s trying to make an effort. I just wish Jensen would try, too. It’s not like my dad to give people multiple chances or to tolerate flippant attitudes, but he’s doing it for Kath’s sake.
“My alarm didn’t go off.” I know he’s lying. “My bad.”
It’s seven thirty-one now. My heart sprints. I hate being late. I hate risking losing my favorite parking spot in the front row of the senior lot. It’s the entire reason behind why I need to arrive at school at precisely seven forty-eight each morning. I get my spot, head to my locker, grab my things, drop off my jacket, and head to my first period class where I find my favorite seat by the window in the third row with a little extra time to spare. If I’m a minute late, it throws off my entire morning.
What makes matters worse is that today, I have to find time to show Jensen to the counselor’s office to grab his schedule, and I’m sure I’ll get roped into showing him to class, too.
I pull in a deep breath as we head to my pearly white Jetta. I’m trying so hard to be positive. Good AUB girls don’t have opinions or complain or get upset. We “keep sweet,” as my father always instructs.
I’m a good AUB daughter. At least, on the outside.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jensen snorts as he plops into my passenger seat.
“We’re going to be late because of you.” I start the car and let it run for a few seconds before checking my mirrors, buckling up, and shifting into drive. He reaches for my radio, messing with the stations. “Hey. Don’t do that.”
“God, are there any decent radio stations out here?” He twists knobs until some classic rock song blares from my speakers. The singer’s screechy voice and wailing guitar hurts my ears.
“The polite thing to do would be to ask if you could turn my station.” I place my hands at ten and two after adjusting the volume using the steering wheel.
“Sometimes you have to forgo politeness when you’re trying to save somebody.”
“Save me from what?”
“From yourself. You need to loosen up. I’ve never met anyone so tightly wound.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a good person. I don’t need to be saved.” My blood boils. I can’t go to school all worked up like this.
I momentarily close my eyes when we approach the next stop sign and suck in a cleansing breath like my life depends on it. If I don’t collect my nerves, I’m going to have to kick him to the curb and make him walk the rest of the way.
“You look in the mirror and see a good girl,” he says. “I look at you, and I see someone who’s so molded and shaped she doesn’t know who the hell she’s supposed to be. You’re like one of those Stepford wives. You’re a Stepford daughter. Everything about you is too perfect. It’s fucking creepy.”
I slam on the gas and turn the radio off. “Stepford?”
“Never mind.”
He grips the handle above the passenger door as I slide into a parking spot in the back of the senior lot far away from my usual spot. Jensen climbs out and slips his bag over his shoulder. For someone heading into their first day at a new school, he doesn’t show a lick of apprehension. His eyes are a lot less swollen, his gash is virtually gone. The plastic girls are going to eat him up with his dark hair, golden eyes, and those permanently upturned corners of his smug little smile. I can practically hear them scrambling to secure dates with him before the rest of the school catches wind of what just rolled into town.
“If anyone asks, you’re a family friend.” Dad gave me instructions that morning as to how we were going to address the newest member of our family. I couldn’t exactly say Jensen was my stepbrother when my parents have been happily married for over twenty years. For all intents and purposes, we’ve led the outside world to believe Summer and Kath are neighbors and our families spend a lot of time together. There are a few other families like ours in town, but we all live in secrecy. Dad says we live in troubled times where too many of us have deviated from our original teachings, pressured by society to abandon the heart of our religious principles. It’s up to us to restore faith in the old doctrines and combine them with modern times.
“That’s pretty much what I am,” Jensen says. He turns to me, catching my stare. My cheeks redden. “You know we’re not really family, right?”
I shake my head, vehemently disagreeing with him. “Kath is one of my mothers. The twins are my siblings. So are you. We’re all family.”
“Not in the eyes of the law,” Jensen says. “I could say I’m married to you right now but it won’t mean a damn thing because it’s not legal. This is the adult version of playing house, kid. It’s all pretend.”
“Please don’t call me ‘kid.’ We’re the same age. And you’re insinuating you’re smarter than me on some level. It’s rude.” I can say things like that to him as long as my father isn’t around.
“I’m smarter than everyone.” He shrugs. “Can’t help it. Just the way your God made me.”
“That kind of talk is what gets a person in trouble.” I’d tell him to keep sweet, but that rule only applies to AUB women. Men are a little less restricted when it comes to emotions. They’re governed by a different set of rules. It’s not fair, but I’ve never been allowed to question it. Mom compares it to asking why the sky is blue. It just is; the reason doesn’t matter.
“Oh, no, the morality police is here,” he laughs. He sticks his wrists out like I should handcuff him. I grip the straps of my backpack until my knuckles whiten.
“You’re not cute,” I tell him. I sound like I’m in third grade. Jensen brings out the worst in me. He’s testing me. I need to shower him with kindness and patience, even if it’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do. He’ll lead me down a path of frustrated destruction if I don’t keep myself in check. Jensen presses buttons. He’s a button presser.
“Not everyone can be cute and sweet,” he says, implying that I am, in fact, cute and sweet. He pulls the heavy doors leading into the east entrance of Whispering Hills high and lets me go in first. Maybe he’s not a total jerk.
“Guidance counselor’s office is this way.” I point down a long hall filled with orange, red, and yellow lockers. A group of gossiping sophomore girls silence themselves the second they see us walking in their direction. A hush falls over the hallway with each step we take, like a row of tumbling dominoes. All eyes are on us—on Jensen, actually. He doesn’t look like anyone who belongs here, and truth be told, he appears older than eighteen. There’s a worldliness on his face, in the way he carries himself. He wears the confidence of a man much older than eighteen.