Pink is definitely your colour.
Concerned at what the hell he’s implying, I snatch my towel from its hook and quickly run it over my body and hair to dry off. Of course, my first instinct is to get dressed, then pound on his door to ask him what kind of crudeness he’s hinting at.
But the moment I open my top dresser drawer, my question is answered. My vision blurs with a red haze of anger, my face feeling hotter the longer I stare.
There, laid out perfectly on top of all my unmentionables, is the hot-pink, glittery thong Savannah had bought me as a gag gift for my sixteenth birthday—a gift no one else ever saw or knew anything about, and that I clearly should’ve thrown away instead of tucking it in a drawer that Kingston apparently snooped all the way in the very back of.
That son of a bitch!
Donned in only my robe after throwing my towel angrily across the room, I run to my window when I hear a car horn. Clay, the mysteriously over-eager chauffeur, is waiting outside.
It takes no thought or effort on my part to shove open the window. I pop my head out at the same time Mr. Super Sleuth, now AKA Panty Burglar, struts out of the house.
“Invade my privacy again, and I swear to God you’ll need to sleep with both eyes open!” I scream, not caring who hears me, my pulse racing with irritation.
He peers up, a devious dance on his lips, and has the audacity to actually salute me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!?” I shout back as he swings open the door to Clay’s car. “Are you serious right now? How dare you! You arrogant—”
“Echo?”
My mother’s voice emerges from the front porch, followed by her perplexed face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if your father wakes up, he’ll be giving you both a full interrogation!”
Crap. I grip the window ledge, struggling to reel in my unleashed fury.
“Forgive us,” Kingston says to my mother, then looks up at me as he continues. “I borrowed the toothpaste from her bathroom drawer without asking this morning. I didn’t realize how offensive that would be taken. My mistake.”
“Oh.” My mother smiles, obviously not having caught all of my yelling before or she wouldn’t be buying such a simple explanation and seeming so relieved right now. “Well, I’ll pick you up some of your own today. Is there anything else you need?”
When he gives a quick head shake, she glares up at me. “Echo, apologize. Now.”
If looks could kill, the one I have pinned on Kingston would incinerate him on the spot. He’s ballsy—I’ll give him that. If I tell the truth, my dad will have him shipped back home within the hour, which in turn would ruin things for Sebastian.
And that’s the only reason I tamp down the venom in my next words, instead spitting them out as sugary sweet as possible as I leave the clear promise of revenge to my glare.
“I’m sorry,” I lie, before slamming my bedroom window shut. I decide to try and pretend the incident never happened, because today is about tackling the atrocity of high-school cliques and I don’t have the energy to focus on both. Kingston’s real lecture will have to wait.
~~~~~
Maybe it was the sparring match with Kingston that changed my hopeful determination to a glum, grouchy mood. Or perhaps I’m lacking the carefree chip in my brain that every other person surrounding me seems to have. But at least all I have to do is keep a friendly distance from everyone except Savannah and a few other girls I have cordial acquaintances with until graduation. Then I’ll never walk these halls again. It’s what I remind myself of all morning, but unfortunately, it’s barely working.
My mother worries I’m missing out on the “best years of my life” by being a social introvert. I prefer to think of myself as socially selective; less than a handful of people, fellow students or otherwise, make the cut. My father, on the other hand, loves that I am focused and have never dated a single guy. Sebastian’s even more delighted about that latter fact.
I suspect that’s a big part of the reason I’ve always been friends with Savannah: I never have to worry that the spotlight may accidentally fall on me when she’s around. Except when I perform, of course—that’s the place I’d like to think I shine, but not for the audience as much as for myself and my family. It’s what I was born to do.
“Am I about to be gob smacked by some amazing trick that only your locker performs?”
The unmistakable accent is accompanied by a captivating laugh, and I glance over my shoulder to find Kingston standing directly behind me.
“What in the hell are you doing here? And what are you talking about?” I slam my locker shut, then whip around. “You have classes…at another school…don’t you?”