6
Life at Westwood High was quiet. The days passed slowly.
Sometimes, I’d get stuck in my own head, wondering why nobody loved me. I was a good student. My name
was always on the honor roll.
When I was little, my mother told me that everyone loves a child with good grades.
When I grew up, I learned that teachers love students with good grades. But the people I cared about didn’t.
I poured everything into my studies, waiting for exams, waiting for graduation. I wasn’t waiting for anyone
anymore.
My grades skyrocketed. In the recent inter-school scholastic competition, I took first place. Standing on the high podium, the warm summer wind whipping through my hair and puffing up my school uniform, I looked
out at the sea of students in their blue and white uniforms. I could see the envy and admiration in their eyes
The principal, at the microphone, was showering me with every superlative he could think of.
The vines on the trees outside climbed ever higher, the buzz of cicadas grew louder, and the sunsets burned
redder. In the senior year hallway, the sound of studying was a constant hum. Everyone wished they could just press pause on time, make it slow down, just a little.
I never saw Bill again. It was as if all my connections to my old life, my old friends, had been severed. They were Bill’s friends, after all.
When summer vacation started, I didn’t go back to that house. It was too close to Bill’s. From the day I trans-
ferred to Westwood, the most frequent words from my parents had been a constant refrain: Don’t let Bill see
you. If you ever run into him, walk the other way.
I was seventeen. The next semester, I would be a senior. It never occurred to my parents to ask if I was
anxious about my final year of high school. They never asked about me at all.
Under the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp, I sat on a bench, reciting English sentence structures.
But it was okay. Every formula I wrote, every word I memorized, every practice problem I solved-they were all paving my way out of here. They were leading me to a better, brighter future.
People walked past me, a constant stream of strangers. No one stopped for anyone else.
As I was leaving the library this afternoon, my phone rang. I answered.
Silence on the other end.
I frowned, checking the number. It wasn’t saved in my contacts. “Hello?” I said tentatively.
Chapter 2
Still nothing. I hung up without a second thought.
“Tessa Shaw!” Leo Sterling waved at me from across the street, jogging over from the gym. “Going to get
dinner?”
I clutched my books tighter. I could see his friends behind him, playfully shoving each other and hurrying along. “I’m just getting takeout. You should go with your friends.”
“Come on, eating takeout all the time is so unhealthy. Let me treat you to a proper meal.”
Before I could protest, Leo grabbed my arm and pulled me along.
He led me into a French restaurant. The place was filled with people in formal suits and evening gowns. Ever the waiters wore crisp tuxedos. Then there was us. I was in a loose white t-shirt and denim shorts; he was ir
his red and white basketball uniform.
We stuck out like two dandelions in a rose garden.
“Are you sure about this?” I hissed, trying to pull back. “We can’t go in dressed like this.”
He blinked in genuine confusion. “It’s just a place to eat, isn’t it?”
Hearing him say it so matter-of-factly, I guess he had a point.
Before I could argue further, a waiter approached us. He took in our attire with an unruffled smile. “A table fo
two?”
“Yep,” Leo nodded.
“Very good. Please follow me.”
He led us straight to a table by a large, dark window.
“Would you two care for a view of the city?” he asked.
Lea gestured to me with his chin. I glanced at my watch. It was just after six. There should be a sunset. I
gave a small nod.
The waiter smiled. “Excellent.” He pressed something I couldn’t see, and the tinted window suddenly clear-
ed, revealing a breathtaking view as a beam of warm, yellow light streamed in.
My jaw dropped. It was like magic. By the time I recovered, the waiter was gone.
Leo pushed the menu towards me. “What do you feel like?”
The prices were staggering. I hesitated.
Leo grinned. “Afraid you’ll bankrupt me?”
His face was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, making his eyes sparkle.
“Everything’s… kind of expensive,” I admitted.
Lnaprer
“Don’t worry. I can definitely afford it. Order whatever you want.”
I pushed the menu back to him. “You pick. I’m not picky.”
He took the menu, teasing, “Good. Easy to please.”
“How do you like your steak?”
“I don’t like it rare.”
He thought for a moment. “It gets tough if it’s overcooked. How about medium-well?”
“Okay.”
