"You ungrateful bitch. I keep a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You could have killed her," I retort, trying to muster up confidence that I don't possess. "What if she goes to the cops, Dad? That bruise on her face is enough to...
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The weeks following the shooting are some of the hardest Starkton High School has ever seen.
Elowen is awaiting trial. Since she's almost eighteen, she'll be tried as an adult.
Rob endured emergency surgery—something he and I have in common—but he's going to make a full recovery. He's expected to return to classes soon.
Both traumatized, Wesley and Shenae are continuing the rest of their high school education at home. After everything, I don't blame them.
Declan, Cordelia, and Effie have all made a conscious effort to acknowledge my existence. They regularly say hi to me in the halls and even sometimes sit with Damian and me at lunch.
As for Jose, he's taken a newfound interest in me, too. He initiates conversation whenever the opportunity arises. Foolishly, I gave him my cell phone number, and he calls at least once a day just to "check in"—something he never even did when we were together. My gut tells me that he might want to reignite the spark between us.
And for some reason, the thought of picking up where we left off two years ago doesn't make me happy.
"At one point, you wanted to get back together with him," Damian recalls as we walk to our lockers.
I shrug my shoulders. "Yes, but that was a long time ago. I don't have those feelings for him anymore."
His cerulean eyes widen. I swear that I see a flicker of hope in them. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," I reply. "Fifty-one and forty-nine might equal one-hundred, but Jose and I are not a perfect match."
"But he knows about Hank now. Wasn't that what held you back before?"
"You know, I almost forgot about that."
"That you told an entire room of hostages about your piece-of-shit dad?"
"Don't worry," I assure him, "I'll just use my maniacal mind power and make them forget."
Before he can finish rolling his eyes, Cordelia rushes toward us, her high heels clacking against the tile. Despite her popularity, I've grown fond of the Queen Bee. Underneath the superficiality, she's bright, hard-working, and compassionate.
She kind of reminds me of an old friend.
"Layla!" she exclaims, almost crashing into me. "Layla, what are you doing over spring break?"
"Um, nothing," I respond. "Why do you ask?"
"My family owns a cabin in Cheboygan. Some friends and I are travelling there for the week," she tells me. "I was wondering if you and your boyfriend wanted to come?"
I blink. "My boyfriend?"
She points to Damian. "Are you two not—?"
"No," we say in unison, both blushing a shade of red that matches her lipstick.
