Enemies Don’t Fall For Enemies (Invisible Girls Club #10)

Chapter One

Evie

The last person I expect to get a text from this early in the morning is him.

My unofficial nemesis.

Noah: Car broke down. Can I please catch a ride to school with you?

I grit my teeth as I dip my paintbrush into the magenta paint and apply a stroke to my canvas. Sure, he can be civil when he wants to be. Or when he needs me. Which is like never. So he must be pretty desperate.

This individual I’m talking about? Noah Barrington.

He’s the son of my parents’ best friends, so we basically grew up together.

No, that doesn’t mean we’re best friends.

Or friends at all. We never were. We’re just too different.

Every time I’m in the same vicinity as him, I want to pull all my hair out.

And I’ve got beautiful dark hair, so that says a lot.

But as much as he annoys me, I’m not one to leave a guy hanging. So I reach for my phone and tap a response, magenta paint staining my phone and adding to the layers of previous paint that have stained it.

Evie: The Evie Mobile is open to all.

Noah: Did you just name your car this second?

Evie: Been thinking about it for a while. Perfect, huh?

He doesn’t respond. I roll my eyes and set my phone aside, continuing to work on my painting.

It’s for my college portfolio. I got accepted into a pretty good art college, and I’ve been spending every second of my free time down here in my studio in the basement, working on my portfolio.

I’ll be graduating Edenbury High in two months, and honestly?

I don’t think I’m good enough to go to that school.

Which is why I’ll spend every second of my time getting better.

I have no idea how much time passes before Mom yells, “Evie?!”

From her tone, it’s obvious she’s been calling me for a while. When I blink and glance toward the stairs, I find her rushing down.

“Evie?” she says, exasperated. “You’re still down here? You’ll be late for school.”

I wave my hand that’s holding my paintbrush, accidentally sprinkling paint on the floor. “It’s okay. I have time.”

“No, you don’t. Your brother and sister have already left with their friends and I was just about to head out.

” Her eyes widen when they settle on my face and clothes.

“Look at you! You’re a mess. Evie, we talked about this many times.

You can’t let your art take over your life.

You need to go to school.” She glances at her phone for the time and groans.

“I really wanted to get to school a little early to meet with VP Rivera.” Her eyes flick back to me.

“Will you get there on time or do I need to be a police over you?”

With a reluctant sigh, I put down my paintbrush. “No, I’ll be there on time. Don’t worry.”

She keeps her eyes on me for a little bit, like she’s contemplating whether she can trust me. But she probably figures this is wasting too much time because she nods and practically flies up the stairs.

Mom, Ally Hastings, is an English teacher at Edenbury High.

She’s been working there forever. It’s her dream job because she loves books—well, all of us Hastings’s love books.

It’s ingrained in our DNA. But my mom and younger sister, Lily, are obsessed with romance, and Lily’s twin, Liam, enjoys all different genres. Me? I’m a fantasy reader.

I run up from the basement all the way to the second floor and burst into my room, glancing at my reflection.

The paint on my face isn’t so bad—I don’t know what Mom was freaking out about.

My shirt is pretty stained, but it’s not too terrible.

I have no time or patience to change. My jeans are pretty stain-free, though.

After quickly running a brush through my hair, I grab my backpack and sprint downstairs.

The house is empty because everyone already left, including Dad.

He’s a social worker and helps foster kids find good homes.

When he was a teenager, he lived in pretty bad foster homes.

Mom’s dad—also a social worker—helped him and his younger brother, Uncle Zane, find a home together.

Dad has dedicated his life to providing the best homes for kids in the system.

I don’t tell this to my parents often because I’m not the mushy type, but I’m so proud to have Zack Hastings as a dad. And my mom, too. They had a pretty epic romance story that makes even people like me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

My stomach growls. Great, I forgot to eat.

I grab a granola bar and rush to the front door, ready to throw myself into my car and hightail it to school and make it there with five seconds to spare, when I remember I left my phone in the basement.

Ugh, I’m tempted to leave it there. But like any kid my age, my phone is a necessity.

I race down to my “lair,” as Sibling One and Sibling Two like to refer to it, and sweep my phone off the table. That’s when I notice I have quite a few texts.

Noah: Are you here yet?

Noah: We have to be at school in twenty minutes. You plan on showing up?

Noah: Evie, where are you?

Noah: I swear, if I’m late because of you…

Noah: Evie freaking Hastings! There are seven minutes before school starts. Your butt better be in your car or I’ll...

Noah: I should have walked. That’s what I get for relying on you.

Noah: EVELYN HASTINGS! WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU???

Geez Louise. I respond to his text as I fly out of my house.

Evie: Will you calm down? I’m on my way.

Noah: On your way when there are five minutes to class????

Evie: We’ll make it.

He only lives a few blocks away. When I pull up before his house, he’s pacing outside, running his hands through his sandy brown hair like a madman.

As soon as he hears the car, he dashes to the passenger door and yanks it open. “I swear, Evie…” He gets in and buckles up. “If I’m late, I’m going to kill you.”

I scoff. “Maybe you should be late. That stick is too far up your butt.” I press on the gas.

He glares at me. “Don’t speed. The last thing we need is to be stopped by a cop.” He kicks something at his feet. “My gosh, do you ever clean this place? It’s a pigsty.”

“The Evie Mobile is perfect just the way she is.”

He dips his head as far as it can go and scans the floor. “Wrappers and take-out containers? Papers and cups and plastic utensils and…is that your math test from last year?”

“Oh, so that’s where it is. My teacher docked some points because I was supposed to get it signed. How silly is it to get a 97% signed by a parent? Some teachers are ridiculous.”

He just gapes at me. “You know who is ridiculous? You.”

I roll my eyes. “And here it comes.”

“Why are you such a mess? You haven’t cleaned your car since your parents bought it for you. Am I right?”

I shrug. “So?”

“And do you know there’s paint all over your face and shirt?”

I shrug again. “I didn’t have time to change.”

“Sitting in this car is making me sick.”

“You’d better puke out the window. One thing I won’t tolerate in my car is puke.”

He huffs and slams his back against the seat. “I should have caught a ride with Mateo or Wyatt.”

“So why didn’t you?” I demand. I seriously don’t need his nagging this early in the morning. Or ever.

“Because they’re driving their girlfriends to school. My luck that my car broke down this morning and not last night. I would have made other plans.”

“Trust me, that would have made both of us happy.”

He grumbles and folds his arms across his chest, staring out the window. I can hear him seething. The dude seriously needs to lighten up. I’ve known him since before we could speak and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh in…years. How could someone live like that?

Neither of us says anything as I drive us to school, which suits us just fine. I’m not one for small talk, and having a conversation with Noah? Ha. I’d rather take five extra tests.

“Finally.” He unbuckles his seatbelt before I even glide into an empty parking space, one of the only available ones left in the student lot. The tires barely screech to a halt, and he’s already shoving the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

Lowering my window, I stick my head out. “A thank you would be appreciated!”

He doesn’t even turn around—he’s practically racing toward the school building. “Ungrateful pest,” I mutter as I kill the engine and undo my seatbelt.

There are no other students around, but I know we still have about thirty seconds before classes start. After grabbing my bag, I hurry toward the doors just as the final bell rings. I sweep in through the doors and am about to zoom to my first class, when I bump into someone.

“Watch it there.” It’s Ms. Nelson, the guidance counselor.

“Whoops, sorry.”

I’m about to sprint to my class, but she says, “Evie? I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Do you mind meeting with me now?”

“Right now? Sure.” I was planning on sketching during history class anyway.

“Great. Let’s head to my office.”

Once we get there, she motions for me to sit down on the chair before her desk and then she lowers herself in her seat.

I’ve only been here a few times throughout my high school life, to discuss classes and colleges.

Considering I’ve already been accepted to a school and don’t have any emotional issues (as far as I know), I have no idea why I’m here.

She smiles as she clasps her hands over her desk. “So, Evie. How is the new semester treating you?”

I shrug. “Fine. School doesn’t matter, anyway. I already got accepted into a good college.”

Her brow lifts, totally calling me out on my BS.

I groan. “Fine. With a mom as a teacher, you know I’m forbidden to slack off.”

“You’ve been pushing straight As all these years, and I’m glad to see you staying at that level. However, there is a slight problem with your transcript.”

“What?”

“You’re short a few credits.”

My heart flops to my toes. “What? You mean, I won’t be able to graduate?

I’ll have to be in…summer school?” The words tumble out of my mouth like I ate something sour.

I fall back in my chair in a total daze.

“How could this happen?” Maybe Mom’s right.

I’ve been spending too much time in my art world.

“Mistakes happen,” Ms. Nelson says. “It was an oversight on my part as well.”

“Ugh, summer school. I wanted to paint and spend time with my brother and sister. Squeeze in as much as I can before I’m gone for four years. I’ll miss them so much.”

Ms. Nelson holds up her hand. “There’s no need to resort to summer school. We’re quite a few weeks into the new semester, but I can get you into an elective last minute.”

My eyes almost roll off my face. “Really? Awesome.”

“I printed out a few options for you.” She slides a piece of paper across her desk to me. “Browse the options and tell me which class you’d like to join.”

Let’s see what we have here. Videography, coding class, public speaking, debate, world languages.

And then there’s this class called LRG, which stands for life, responsibility, and growth.

It’s something our school offers. Students learn to cook and bake and…

I don’t know what else. Liam took it last year because he loves to cook. Yeah, not for me.

“Some list,” I grumble.

“Nothing interests you?” Ms. Nelson asks.

“I don’t have patience to learn how to edit videos and coding class? No way. Public speaking? Heck no. Can I join drama? I can help with the set design.”

Ms. Nelson shakes her head with a regretful expression. “That was the first place I checked. Unfortunately, they don’t need any more help. What about LRG?”

I point at the paint splattered all over my clothes. “Do I look like I can function in a kitchen?”

“You won’t just cook and bake. Students learn skills they’ll need to navigate life and adulthood.

Along with cooking and baking, they will learn house management skills like making a budget and doing taxes.

It’ll be so useful when you’re older. Trust me, every student who takes the class informs me a few years down the line how beneficial it is.

And it’s not very difficult, which means you won’t feel like you’re taking on a big load. ”

I perk up at her words. “So you’re saying it’s not hard?”

“Not at all. It requires dedication, but you won’t need to take tests and no one fails.”

No tests, which means no extra work that will take me away from my art. It’ll be the easiest class I’ve ever taken. “Sign me up.”

A large, relieved grin takes over her face. “Great. Classes are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and tomorrow will be your first class. It works out perfectly because you have a free period then.” She taps something into her tablet. “Looks like you’re all set. Let me write you a late note.”

After she hands it to me, I thank her and leave her office. It’s a bummer I won’t have a free period anymore—I always worked on my sketches—but at least this class will be a piece of cake.