Page 9 of All Your Pucking Secrets

I jerk at the unexpected noise and bite my tongue. The metallic tang of blood fills in my mouth. I glance at the ceiling, listening carefully, but apart from muffled voices, nothing seems amiss.

I rinse my mouth out to get rid of the bloody taste.

Please let no one be hurt.

My instincts scream at me to go and check, but I can’t. If I do, it will only be worse. So instead, with my insides tangled in knots, I take the weight of the squat bar on my shoulders and lift it off.

My thighs and ass burn as I perform the reps. I’m on my second set when there’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” I call.

My sister appears around the corner. Her usually golden skin is waxen, and a furrow is etched between her eyebrows. I position the bar over the rack and slot it back into place.

“He’s gone,” Soraya says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Thank fuck.” The house is always a better place to be when he’s not here. “Is everyone all right?”

She rubs her lips together. “Yeah. He just smashed one of the vases on the shelves in the foyer.”

“Typical. How’s Mom?”

Her upper lip curls. “She’s already cleaned it up. She’s shaken, but you know how she is.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. I love Mom, but sometimes I want to grab her and demand to know what’s going on in her head. I don’t understand why she stays with Dad. It’s sure as shit not for us. If she cared about us, she’d have gotten us out of here years ago.

“So, you’re getting a tutor?” Soraya asks, dropping her arms to her sides as I position myself beneath the squat bar again.

“Seems like it.” I’d rather not think about it. I suppose I’ll have to soon, since she’ll be here tomorrow.

“Who?” she asks.

“Dad said it’s the top of the class, so I’m guessing Echo Dean,” I reply.

She bites her lower lip and her forehead crinkles. “The scholarship girl?”

“Yeah.” A pint-sized super-brain with holey jeans and threadbare sweaters. Cute, but wary of me and my friends from the hockey team—especially our first-line winger, Eric, who’s been low-key pursuing her for months.

“I mean, at least he chose someone who could use the money,” Soraya says.

“I’m pretty sure she’s scared of me,” I admit.

I’m also pretty sure I’ve done nothing to alleviate that. Girls like her and guys like me don’t mix. It’s best that way.

ECHO

I clutch the textbook to my chest as I walk down the drive toward the Kinseys’ massive house. All of my instincts tell me I shouldn’t be here—nothing good comes of contact with the school’s elite—but I need the money.

Apprehension tightens my chest as I approach the imposing front door. There are windows everywhere and the back of my neck prickles, telling me that someone is watching.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

After all, keeping my head down is how I’ve managed to get through three and a half years at a school that prioritizes wealth and social connections above all else. It’s bad enough that Eric Weston has started harassing me—I don’t need to be on anyone else’s radar.

Shuffling the textbook to one arm, I raise my hand and knock. There’s no doorbell, and I can’t help wondering whether anyone will actually hear me. I almost hope they won’t.

Unfortunately, a moment later, a lock clicks, and the door handle turns and moves inward. The woman inside has to look up to me—not something that happens often. A furrow forms between her eyebrows and she tucks a lock of salon-blonde hair behind her ear.

“Mrs. Kinsey?” I ask.

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