Page 21 of Chaos at Westbrook High

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because—”

“Because the baby king has a crush on you? You think I didn’t see the way he chased you out just now? Is that why you wanna be there?”

“Don’t give me this shit, Der. You’re just as bad as he is when you act like this.”

“I’m an asshole because I give a fuck about you, Hailey. Kai’s an asshole because that’s who he is.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, and I’m not staying because of him. I’m staying because I need to graduate. I want to graduate.” I take a breath and soften my voice. “I’m almost there, Der. Just a few mor?—”

“Is he the one texting you?”

“What?”

“Is he the one texting you?” he repeats slowly, pinning me with a blank stare that makes him look a lot like Elijah.

He already knows the answer. He just wants to test me, to see if I’ll lie to him about it.

“I don’t text him back.”

“How did he get your number?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter, scrunching my nose at the several tiny bits of tobacco, weed, and old cocaine bags scattered all over the interior. “You need to clean this car.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“There are drugs everywhere, Derek.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“Jesus, will you get off my ass for five fuckin’ minutes?” he snaps, and I get out of the car.

I walk toward the shop and open the door, not missing the way he doesn’t leave before he knows I’m safe off the street. He calls my name before I can enter, and I stop with my back to him, bracing myself for his next words.

“I’m warning you,” he says. “You think the way they looked at you just now was bad? Wait until they get their hands on you tomorrow.”

Chapter 8

KAI

The state-of-the-art gym inside the penthouse has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side, overlooking the beach, the ocean, and the little wooden pier my mom used to read on in the distance. I remember Derek and I sneaking up on her one afternoon, dripping wet from our swim in the water, and wrapping ourselves around her from behind. She screeched and whacked the backs of our heads with her paperback. We laughed our little asses off, which made her laugh. Then we hit her with our sweetest grins and convinced her to come upstairs to make cookies for us and my brothers. Room service would have brought us whatever we wanted, but my mom’s cooking was the best. No one made cookies like she did. Well, no one until Callie came along, which is funny considering my mom was the one who taught her how to bake. I bet they had all kinds of fun together in the shifty motel room they were hiding out in, laughing and teasing each other and flicking each other with flour. I bet my mom was sweet and patient with her, and I bet Callie listened to every word she said, every instruction, the straight A, overachiever she is.

I wish I’d listened when she’d tried to teach me.

“Kai.”

Regret makes my ribs ache, and I tear my eyes away from the pier, protectively folding my arms over my chest as I lean back against the window.

“Kai,” Callie says again, dipping her head to catch my gaze. “You okay?”

I nod.

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