Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
SINCLAIR
T he past
“Flat-chested little freak.”
I hear the words despite his low-spoken tone and I lift my chin, trying to pretend I didn’t. He wanted me to hear them though. I know he did.
God, I hate August Lancaster.
I’m walking along the path that winds through campus, headed for the dining hall. I’ve been at Lancaster Prep for two weeks and while I’ve made a friend—singular—I wish I knew more people. That they would accept me into their cliques. I thought this place would be a fresh start, that we would all be on equal footing, but that’s not the case. Most everyone went to middle school together or their families move within the same social circles, while I’m new on the scene. Thanks to my parents coming into such a windfall, my mother wanted me to go to the best school I could possibly get into. Did my father buy my admission?
I think so, though the words have never been said.
Hearing heavy footsteps behind me, I pick up the pace, hurrying toward the dining hall. I can feel his presence looming, drawing nearer and suddenly feeling a flash of courage, I whirl on him, causing August to stop dead in his tracks.
“Leave me alone.” The words are firm, despite the way I’m quaking inside and out. My knees are practically knocking against each other and I lock them, praying he doesn’t see any sign of weakness.
“Ah, so she does speak.” He tilts his head, his gaze running over me from the top of my head, all the way down to my loafered feet. Reminding me of how he looked at me on the first day of school. “You have freakishly long legs.”
I know I have long legs, but his comment makes it sound like a bad thing. I hate how he examines me. The longer he stares, the more I want to squirm under his examination. “Why am I only the sum of my body parts?”
“What exactly are you trying to say? Are you—standing up for yourself?” He sneers the words like they’re a curse, and oh God, I’m now irrationally angry.
“What’s wrong with that? No one else defends me, so I need to learn how to take care of myself.” I stand up straighter, hoping I look strong. Fake it till you make it, right? Guess that’s what I’m doing.
“If you actually stood up for yourself, you’d tell me to fuck right off.” His expression is amused, like I’m a plaything he enjoys toying with, and I curl my hands into fists, wishing I could hit him. Not that I could do much damage. He’s tall and broad and could probably squash me like a bug. “See? Look at you. You’re so mad, you can’t even manage a single word now, can you?”
An infuriated noise leaves me and I turn away from him, marching like a soldier toward the dining hall, blinking away the tears. I refuse to cry in front of him. It’s not that he hurt my feelings just now. More like I’m frustrated. He antagonizes me every chance he gets, usually in front of his friends.
Today though, he’s solo. Why? Does he hate me that much? What did I ever do to him?
“Hey.” He’s caught up to me, grabbing hold of the crook of my elbow and turning me around so I have to face him. I jerk out of his hold, hating how my skin tingles. Burns from his touch. It means nothing. My body reacts because I hate him so damn much. “I shouldn’t have called you a freak.”
I go still, waiting for the apology that will follow.
“But you do have freakishly long legs.” He grins, the sight of it stealing my breath and for a moment, I get lost in that smile.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I hate you,” I hiss at him through clenched teeth.
“I know.” His grin doesn’t falter. “It’s kind of fun, right? This whole enemies thing we’ve got going on?”
Enemies? We’re enemies? He’s got to be kidding me.
“You’re a dick.” I turn and walk away, and this time he doesn’t chase after me or call my name or even call me by a name. He remains eerily quiet and I’d never admit this out loud, but…
I’m disappointed.