Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U #1)

1. Wren

PAST

High school is such a bore. I rest my head against my palm.

Mr. Anderson is reviewing the periodic table for the seventieth time this semester.

My eyelids grow heavier. There’s a flick on the back of my head, and I quickly sit up and turn to glare at my foster brother, Evan.

He gives me a jerk of his steely chin, and I roll my eyes.

I mouth the words, “I already know this stuff. Leave me alone.”

He rolls his eyes right back at me, while Stone, Evan’s best friend and the most popular jock in the senior class, whispers something in his ear. I squint but slowly turn, push my hair behind my ear, and try to pay attention.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy Chem. I actually love science, and Mr. Anderson knows that, which is likely why he doesn’t get on me when I fall asleep during class.

Not to mention, I think he and the rest of the faculty at West Ridge High know my life story and feel sorry for me.

The shitty thing about living in a small town and having a druggie for a father?

It’s always on the front page of the paper.

Yay, me.

I’m thankful for Evan and his family, though. If it wasn’t for Rebecca and Stephen, I would still be in my former foster house on the corner of 1 st and 2 nd . How the Rowes became foster parents is still a mystery. They tried feeding me leftover cat food for dinner once.

“All right, there’s a pop quiz during tomorrow’s class. Make sure you study those elements tonight so you can all graduate and avoid summer school.”

The bell rings, but Stone’s deep, smooth voice floats throughout the room and cancels out all the shuffling of papers and scooting in of chairs. “Isn’t the point of a pop quiz that it is supposed to be a surprise?”

I huff sarcastically and gather my things. “He has to give people like you fair warning so you don’t flunk.”

I send Stone a flirty but devilish smile because that’s how our… friendship? … works. He picks on me, and I attempt to pick on him.

“Shut up, Sticks. ”

That godforsaken nickname. Stone started calling me Sticks the first time I moved into Evan’s house before being thrust back with my father for a short time. All the time I spent with my father was brief, but that one took the record because it lasted a total of seventy-two hours.

When I finally asked Stone why he called me Sticks, he admitted that it was because my legs were so skinny they resembled sticks. Naturally, that set a line of fire down my spine. The whole reason I was so skinny was because I was hardly eating due to my father’s bad habits.

Anyway, the nickname stuck, and the only reason for that was because Stone knew it bothered me.

“Shut up. Both of you.” Evan comes over and grabs my books out of my hand.

I follow him down the hall to break for lunch.

I brace myself for the lecture I know is coming.

“How is it going at your dad’s?”

Stone is beside us, but he’s buried in his phone with his heavy brow line furrowed. A few of his hockey teammates bump knuckles with him, and then he goes right back to his phone.

“It’s fine,” I lie.

Evan’s green eyes harden, and his mouth forms a straight line. “Wren.”

I feel my face pale. Truth be told, it’s far from fine, but Evan shouldn’t be concerned. It’s almost summer, which means I can bounce back and forth between his house and Jasmin’s in between my shifts, and then come August, I’ll be at Shadow Valley University, and all will be well.

Jasmin is my other saving grace. She understands me more than most people because she knows what it’s like to be in the system: lonely.

“Stop lying,” Stone says. “Your legs are lookin’ quite thin these days.”

I stop walking and stick my foot out to trip Stone, but he’s just as good on the linoleum floor as he is on ice.

He stops a mere inch from my shoe and smirks at me. “Nice try.”

“Will you two fucking stop for three seconds? I swear, you’re like toddlers.”

I reach for my books, but Evan holds them up above his head so I can’t grab them.

I exhale, blowing my brown hair out of my face, and cross my arms. “He started it.”

Evan laughs. “See? Toddlers.”

Stone continues down the hallway, putting his arm around Cassandra, the junior who has likely slept with the entire senior class. Maybe even with Evan, too, which makes me want to throw up.

Evan is like a brother to me. It irks me to no end when girls try to be my friend just so they can get closer to him, and it irks me even more when they openly admit the things they want to do behind closed doors.

Evan slowly lowers my books and pushes them back into my hands. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes, you’re falling asleep in Chemistry, and your jeans are looser than normal.”

Embarrassment floods me, and if it were anyone else, I’d fool them into thinking I was fine, but Evan knows me too well.

“Wren, what’s going on?”

I look away and watch my peers pile into the lunchroom. “Same ol’,” I admit before shrugging. “It’s fine, Evander. It’s not too much longer until August. I’ve been living in this hellhole since I was born.”

Evan lowers his voice when he bends his head down to the crook of my neck. “But you shouldn’t have to live like that. Just come stay with us. Mom has been worried sick.”

And have my dad show up like a fucking lunatic? No, thank you.

“I’ll stop by later and say hi.”

Evan grits his teeth and starts walking backward into the lunchroom. “Well, put some makeup on those bags, girl. Or else she might lock you in your room and not let you leave.”

My room.

There’s a dip in my chest that I ignore to save myself the trouble. There’s no room for guilt or heartache in a life like mine.

Evan throws his keys from across the hall. I catch them and send him a thankful smile as I turn and walk out the doors.

He knows when I’m struggling. Naps in his car during lunch used to be a thing of the past, but now that I’m back with my dad, they’re starting up again.

Except, the moment I step into the school parking lot, my entire body freezes at the sight of the police car off to the side with a meaty-looking German Shepherd sniffing his drug-smelling nose all around the parked cars like he’s ready to tear someone to pieces.

Oh, fuck.

I whip my attention to Evan’s car—the same car that holds my purse. The same purse that has a secret package inside from my father who pleaded with me to take and deliver . “Just this once, Pumpkin.”

Without even looking inside the package, I knew it was drugs.

My father continues to pretend I’m still that seven-year-old girl he left at a bus stop to go get high one evening. I climbed on a big, black, smelly bus and rode on it until morning—where CPS was waiting for me to place me into foster care.

But I’m seventeen, nearly eighteen. I know what drugs are, and I know what the law does to people who are in possession of them.

I wait until Principal Howie and the three loitering police officers have their backs turned, then I duck down below the bushes and crawl my way over to the third line of cars. My heart flies, bumping harshly against my ribs just as the branches of the bush scrape against my back.

With each army crawl against the ground, my heart beats a little faster. Not only would I get in trouble if the drug dog sniffs out the package in my purse, but Evander would get called out of school, along with his parents.

They are the very last people on this planet that I want to disappoint, and although they know my life isn’t easy, and know I don’t do drugs, they will be hurt that I didn’t turn to them the moment my father started his bullshit.

My fingers go underneath the passenger door of Evan’s car as I continue to kneel against the parking lot pavement.

A piece of gravel has definitely dug into my knee if the piercing pain has anything to say about it.

I stay crouched down and feel for my purse until the thin strap touches my finger.

I quickly pull it out of the passenger door and dig for the tiny package that fits in the center of my palm.

It’s wrapped in a dark cloth, but I know if I lift the fabric, it’ll reveal tiny rocks in a clear plastic bag.

I hate my life.

Stuck doesn’t begin to describe how I feel, kneeling in the school parking lot with a package of drugs in my hand as the police and their dogs slowly approach all the cars.

What should I do?

I scan the grassy hill beyond the parking lot, wondering if I should just throw the package over there, but after turning back toward the snarling dog who is getting closer and closer, I know that isn’t a viable option.

Just then, my eyes focus on a big, black, brand-new F150 three spots down from Evan’s.

It’s Stone’s.

I know it’s his, because it is often outside Evan’s house, and not to mention, it is one of the nicest vehicles in the school parking lot. His rich daddy wanted the best for him.

I gasp.

His dad.

Stone’s father is the hotshot of the town, and if there is anyone who can change the direction of a court sentence, it’s him.

Stone will get a slap on the wrist.

I, on the other hand, with my last name having a reputation—no matter how smart I am and how good my grades are—will lose my academic scholarship, and I will be appointed some washed-up lawyer who won’t care what happens to my future.

I am not going to bring Evan down with me either.

The gravel beneath my knees is now digging into my back.

I slither underneath Evan’s car and continue rolling.

I’m staring up at the undercarriage of Stone’s truck.

I gulp back the guilt I’m sure to be submerged in later this evening and slip the little package in the tiniest nook, knowing the drug dogs will still find it.

My father and Stone are both going to put big, red targets on my back for this.

I won’t be delivering the package to whatever druggie my father is dealing with, and Stone will no doubt know who was ballsy enough to put drugs in his truck with the police yards away.

But it really has nothing to do with being ballsy and everything to do with simply surviving.