The Hoodie Girl, page 3
“Ever!” I call out. “Don’t open the—”
But by the time I’m at the bottom of the flight of narrow stairs, I hear voices.
Too late.
Both sound familiar. One belongs to Ever. The other is deeper.
That is . . . not Victoria. Unless, you know, she got a voice box implant on the way back. Peeking from the hallway, I can just make out Ever in her dress and fairy wings. She stares up with absolute adoration at a boy.
“All right, Ev,” he says. “Cough it up. I know you’re only acting like an angel ’cause you’ve been bribed.” He yanks the fairy wings on her back. “And what’s with the wings?”
“Don’t touch them!” Ever exclaims, swatting his hand away. “I like Wen. She’s really nice to me. She gives me popcorn, and fairy wings, and she lets me watch SpongeBob. And she’s pretty. And I really like popcorn.”
I bite back a smile at the ringing endorsement, and decide to come out of hiding. But the smile drains from my face when I realize who the guy is. Eyes widening, I freeze.
It’s Asher Reed—and he’s staring back at me with equal curiosity. This time, I take in the dark-wash jeans and black long sleeve rolled up his forearms, revealing tanned skin. And I sense the cogs turning in his head while those deep-blue eyes don’t hide his surprise. “Little Red?”
I glance uneasily at him. “You’re Ever’s . . .”
“Stuuupid brother!” Ever fills in for me.
“Watch it,” Reed says, flicking his sister’s forehead, ignoring her vibrant squeal of protest. When his eyes slide to mine, I avert my gaze quickly, fidgeting with the bracelet in my grasp. My plan to ignore him until the end of forever? It’s already failed. Horribly.
“Ever.” I clear my throat and hold out my hand. In my palm is the tiny pearl bracelet, just big enough to fit on her wrist. “This is for you, if you want. It used to be mine a long time ago.”
Ever’s eyes are glued to the bracelet. I take it as a good sign, so lean forward to fit the piece over her hand. Trying my best to ignore Reed’s hard gaze, I focus on Ever as she immediately fiddles and gawks at her newfound trinket.
Reed sighs like this whole situation is nothing but an inconvenience to him. “Time to go, Ev.”
She looks up at him with sleepy eyes and crossed brows. “But I wanna stay.”
He shakes his head. “No can do, princess. Besides, you’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
Ever pouts with a hard-set look on her face that’s meant to be intimidating but isn’t, not really. Then she crawls into Reed’s arms and up across his chest until she’s settled on his shoulders. He holds on to her ankles, and when she tugs at his hair like Remy from Ratatouille, he doesn’t protest.
As he walks to the door, I trail behind, my hands stretching out instinctively to make sure Ever doesn’t fall. When Reed’s gaze flickers to them, I catch myself, dropping them slightly to fidget with the doorknob instead as I shift my weight from left to right.
Reed tilts his head slightly as his eyes land on me. “Turns out the world is a big, scary place where you’re going to bump into people, too, huh?”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that he’s using my own words against me. Frowning, I open my mouth to reply, but my throat is impossibly dry, and nothing comes out.
“And since we both agree that the world is big and scary,”
he continues, edging closer, “I think we’ll also agree that you shouldn’t let the four-year-old open the door the next time.” He leans down so our gazes are level, his deep-blue eyes so piercing my breath catches in my throat. “Okay?”
I nod slowly, lost for words, but amusement just flares in his gaze. My jaw slackens as I watch him turn and walk away. Ever fumbles in his grasp, yelling a bubbly, “Bye, Wen!”
Managing a smile, I wave back halfheartedly. But deep down?
I’m cursing her stupid brother. Reed hasn’t changed much from middle school. He’s still a jerk. But if I don’t want my first job to be a failure, I need to tolerate him. For the time being.
~
The next day, I take a seat toward the back of the English classroom. Seeing as there’s still five minutes until the lesson starts, I ease in my earphones, and the first few chords of “Stressed Out”
by Twenty One Pilots hum through my ears. Today, my timetable tells me that I have English lit in the third period. Other days it’s in seventh, but either way, I find myself looking forward to it.
Rumbling and laughter slip over the sound of music, and I glance up from my desk as Asher Reed and his two best friends, or what I like to call the Pretty Boy Trio, step into the room.
“Yo, Miss Hutch,” Zach murmurs by way of greeting.
She offers him a small smile in return. “Morning, Zachary.”
Zach walks past me, flanked by the other third of the Pretty Boy Trio, Brody Knight. Brody’s just as frustratingly good looking as his friends. With dark-brown hair and a warm, sun-kissed tan, he has that boy-next-door appeal nailed to a T. They take seats in the back row of the class but Reed stays back, his gaze dropping to me. My throat seizes, and I avert my eyes.
Then, he does the unthinkable. The unheard of. The dreaded.
He walks over.
Edges closer.
And slides into the seat right next to me.
Trying my best to ignore the lurch of my stomach, I lift my hand to my face in an extremely lame attempt to seem too busy to acknowledge him. But in actual fact? I’m hyperaware of how close he is to me. His friends are murmuring behind us while I pull on the frayed sleeves of my hoodie.
Reed turns in his seat to face them. “I’m gonna take a break from the back for a while,” he says. “I think I need contacts.”
Zack flips him the bird but Asher just laughs it off. “Seriously.”
“Now I’m stuck with Brody,” Zach laments.
Brody scoffs. “More like I’m stuck with your dumb ass.”
I block out their banter. Once you get a seat it’s a nonverbal tradition that you keep it for the rest of the year. Students, especially seniors, don’t exactly like it when their routine is interrupted.
Does this mean Reed is going to be sitting next to me for the entire year? Great. A dull ache is starting at my temple already.
Not long afterward, people file into the class. Some are clearly confused about why Reed isn’t sitting at the back with his friends.
Their eyes hop between their beloved hockey captain and me; I want nothing more than to sink into my seat.
Miss Hutchinson assigns us work and sits at her desk. I’m about to start writing when something tugs at my hoodie.
Glancing sideways, I find Asher staring at me pensively. He cocks his head. “How do I not know your name yet?”
I stare at him blankly, offering him a noncommittal shrug.
“What is it?” he presses.
My brows pull together. “What’s what?”
He sighs. “Your name.”
I deadpan as I glance at him. “Beyoncé.”
As soon as the word falls from my lips, I regret my very existence. The exact time at which life was breathed into my infant self. This is bad. This is very, very bad. If I could simply dissolve into the air, I would. Yep, I’m pretty darn sure that’ll solve most, if not all, of my problems.
It’s the longest period of my life.
But the universe is on my side, because after a torturous thirty-something minutes, the bell rings. I scramble from my desk and out of the classroom without a second thought. I don’t look back, stopping only when I notice Mia waving me over from the lowest level of the cafeteria.
The shape of the cafeteria is a circle—a unique type of architecture of levels shaped as rings filling the space. The levels rise conically to meet at the highest point of the cafeteria. The more popular you are, the higher you sit. It’s a food-chain kind of system that everyone falls into, because as much as people hate to admit it, they crave social hierarchy. Even if it means them not being at the top. We always want someone to place on a pedestal.
Placing my food on the table, I force a smile, but Mia knows something’s up.
She reaches over and pokes my shoulder. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so.” She raises her brows. “Quit avoiding it.”
I exhale, figuring Mia’s not going to let it go easily, so I meet her dark gaze. “Reed sat next to me in English. And I blurted out something really stupid. Really, really, really stupid—”
“Hold up.” She pauses, mouth open, fork in hand. “Reed as in Asher Reed?”
I make a face. “Well, are there any other Reeds you know who go to this school?”
“That boy is pretty as hell,” she says, forking a baby tomato from her pasta into her mouth. “Why’d he sit next to you?”
I huff, ignoring her comment about his face, no matter how accurate it may be. “I’m babysitting his little sister, but I still don’t see why he’d—”
Her eyes widen. “You’re babysitting Reed’s sister? Since when?”
“Yesterday.”
“I didn’t think you were being serious about the babysitting thing.”
I shrug. “Well, yeah, of course I was. I need some extra cash.
And I’m also saving up for one hundred books.”
“Why would you want one hundred books?”
I’m about to say “Why wouldn’t you?” but I hold back, choosing to explain. “I’m making those rainbow bookshelves you always see on Pinterest.”
“Okay . . .” Mia passes me a disbelieving smile. “And now you’ve ended up with the devil’s sister?”
“She’s sweet,” I counter. “Not like her brother.”
My friend lifts a brow as she takes a bite from her pasta.
Sensing tension, she changes the topic. “How’re your applications coming along?”
“Okay so far. But there’s this thing—” I reach over to poke my fork in her pasta, and she tries swatting me away. “I have to fill out what community service I’ve done. I’ve written them down but it doesn’t look like it’ll be enough.”
“You’re, like, supersmart,” she says. “Why don’t you try tutoring? The school’s been looking for volunteers.”
I’m about to shoot down her idea when I realize that she’s onto something. Tutoring might be the only thing I can do. I glance back at her as she casually stabs at her pasta bowl.
“Actually,” I say, “not a bad idea, M. You—” I pause as Mia’s kohl-lined eyes widen at something behind me. I feel a presence, and before I can help it, I’m turning around. Asher Reed is leaning at my side. I stop moving—stop breathing—for a second.
Light fills his eyes, turning them crystalline as amusement glazes over them. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh.” I swallow, barely managing to formulate the words in my mind. “Um . . . for what?”
“Wren,” he says, and the way his low voice wraps around my name falls down my spine. “That’s your name.”
My stomach twists but Reed just winks—he actually winks—
before striding to his group of friends at the highest level of the cafeteria. The buzz of the cafeteria morphs from a dull static to an incessant roaring in my ears. I feel Mia nudge my leg with her own, her eyes wide. “What. Was. That?”
But my mouth is all dried up, and by the time I find my voice, all I can manage is, “I have no idea.”
Chapter 4
Asher
As much I try not to, I care about what people think of me. More specifically, I care about what this girl—the one who bumped into me outside the library and now babysits my sister—thinks.
I see the subtle judgment in her eyes every time she musters up enough courage to look at me, and it sends an uneasy feeling down my spine.
I had to do some asking for her name, since she wouldn’t give it up herself. First, I’d tried to get it from my mom. But she was on a phone call, so she unceremoniously shooed me out of the home office. I couldn’t get much there. So I turned to my next resort: Ever.
“Ev,” I’d asked, “what’s your babysitter’s name?”
“Wen.”
I deadpanned. “When?”
She nodded. “Wen.”
“When?”
“Yes, Wen!”
Suffice to say that conversation didn’t go well. Finally, I managed to get it from a guy on the school committee, who knew her from when he was in a group project with her in chemistry.
Wren Martin.
She intrigues me. More than she should. More than I should allow her to, seeing as she has nothing to do with the things that rule my life. The way she looks at me, like she’s indifferent to and frankly bored by my presence—it gets under my skin. No one’s ever reacted to me that way before.
Either way, it’s high school, and I have a few months left to mess around with my boys and focus just enough to get into college.
I’m planning to get into a hockey college like Grover, and in a few years, hopefully bag a contract as a rookie with the Boston Bruins.
When the season kick-starts this year, I’m giving it my all. Sweating it out on the ice is what I enjoy, what I love, and what I’ll never half-ass.
Today’s the first early morning practice. I get up extra early, go for a short jog, and eat a light breakfast before driving to school.
Practice is something I always look forward to. I don’t care if it’s five in the morning; I think it’s pretty cool to start off a day doing something you love.
Coach told us that we wouldn’t be going on the ice because apparently our fitness sucked, so the team and I spend the whole morning running laps and lifting weights.
A towel hits me in the face, interrupting my thoughts. I glance up at Zach, who just shrugs. Shaking my head, I chuck it back at him before pulling on a pair of black jeans and a blue hoodie.
“Yo, does anyone have shampoo?” Harvey yells from his shower, which is now underwear-free. He exits, putting a hand through his hair. “I can’t find mine.”
Daniels shouts from the other side, “Here, bro,” he says, “I got you.” Daniels hands his bottle to Harvey, suspiciously eagerly, then moves back to his spot.
“Thanks, man,” Harvey says over his shoulder, going back to the shower.
Once he’s inside, Daniels grins weirdly and mutters a few words under his breath. He claps his hands, getting back to what he was doing. I raise a brow. Not suspicious at all. . .
“Daniels,” Harvey pipes from the stall. “Why doesn’t your shampoo foam up?”
“It’s just like that,” Daniels shrugs, overly innocent.
A few minutes later, a pink haired Harvey emerges. I snort.
The rest of the team freeze for a moment, then burst into laughter at the sight. As if feeling all our eyes on him, Harvey lifts his head.
“What?” His voice turns panicked. “What is it?”
Miller’s the first to sober. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, man.”
Harvey notices something’s off and ignores Miller, moving to the mirror. He gasps when he sees his blond hair is gone. Raking a hand through his hair, he turns on his heel, looking at Daniels, who’s laughing hysterically.
“If this is your way of getting back at me for using your shoe to move underwear, I’m going to say you failed. I still look good with silver hair.” He folds his arms across his chest, thinking he’s won the battle. Confusion swirls in his eyes as Daniels laughs even harder than before, tears springing to his eyes.
“Harvey,” I say slowly, “your hair’s pink.”
Realization hits him. Horror marks his face as he flips to face the mirror. “Shit, I forgot I’m color blind.”
My laugh blends with the rest of the team’s. Zipping up my duffel, I leave as Daniels and Harvey start fighting. I swing my bag over my shoulder and walk to my locker. The school’s hallways, which were empty and abandoned this morning, are now full and buzzing with noise. The bell rings as I close my locker door, then walk to my class.
~
In the cafeteria, I fidget with the cap of my water bottle, thinking about the upcoming game. We’re going to be playing Lynwood, one of the best schools in the region. Coach may have let my hand coordination go unnoticed, but my passes are a little off and my reactions are too slow. I make a mental note about perfecting them before Friday’s game.
As if on cue, Brody nudges me. “Bro, where you at?”
The guys, Brody and Zach, have had my back since the beginning of time. And if you want to know where they fit in my life, it’s somewhere between family and hockey. They’re blood. But I can’t admit this to Brody because he’ll never let me live it down, so I offer him a noncommittal shrug and lazy grin. “Here and there.”
“Well, gather ’em up, weed,” Zach chimes.
Chandler’s taken to calling me “weed” instead of what the team and the rest of the school call me—Reed—because, well, he’s a dumbass who likes grating on my nerves. But he’s used the nickname so often it’s worn its course, so I just shake my head with a ghost smile as he keeps talking. “We’re on the ice this season and you need to get your head in the game.”
“All right, Troy Bolton,” Brody murmurs.
But I nod in earnest. “Got it.”
“Can’t say shit without this dude mentioning High School Musical.”
Zach rolls his eyes, and I gotta admit, he’s a good-looking guy. We all are. I guess that explains the girls who flock to our table, but Christ, ask me to tell you all their names and I’m out flat. Girls are fleeting, never a permanent fixture in my life, so I never bother to carve out a new facet for something that won’t stick around for long anyway.
“Ha,” Brody scoffs. “So you did watch it.”
Zach shrugs nonchalantly. “I watched it on a date, big deal.”
