Page 1 of The Playbook

CHAPTER1

Grace

“Tell me why we have to do this?” I exaggerated a groan as I walked beside my best friend, Alana, through the mall.

She rolled her hazel eyes and tossed her straw-colored curls over her shoulder. Her low-slung jeans and pink tank top made her look edgy and cool and not like the weird, lopsided muffin I was in my jeans and oversized hoodie.

“Grace, come on. You know it’s a new school year, and we need to look hot as fire when we breeze through those doors Monday morning.Thisis our year.”

“You say that every year,” I pointed out, tugging her to a stop in front of a sunglass hut. I tried on a pair of white, square frames and looked over to her for approval.

She shook her head at me. “Try the round ones.”

Obediently, I pushed the rounded, white frames up my nose as she tried on an orange pair. Turning to one another, we giggled.

“Definitely get those.” She grinned, looking at me from over her neon frames.

I handed the cashier the glasses and my money before stuffing my new purchase into my bag. We continued through the mall. It wasn’t my favorite place to be, namely because it was where all the cool kids hung out. I always felt like I was intruding on their turf. Lana thought I was crazy.Whatever.She’d never been the butt of their jokes. Lana was pretty with her long blonde hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and killer fashion sense. She was also a serial flirt. While she wasn’t drowning in popularity, people at school knew her and a lot of the boys loved her. She was a floater—the kind of person who could be accepted into any group without a second glance.Me?I was lucky if anyone knew my name. I ranked pretty high in the nobody category.

“Ooh, jean skirts are so in right now,” she squealed, grabbing my arm and giving me a rough tug toward a store with mannequins on display wearing tiny denim skirts.

I cringed. My dad would lose his sanity if I walked out of the house wearing something that small. Despite this, I allowed her to steer me into the boutique.

After browsing through the store allowing Lana to load both our arms down with clothing, we went to the dressing room to try them on.

We were laughing about how short the skirt was on me when a honeyed voice interrupted, sending ice shards down my spine.

“Oh, look, girls. It’s Grace.”

I stilled as I turned to face my tormentor. Nikki Devos. The Barbie doll princess herself. School queen. Voted Miss Popularity three years in a row. Head cheerleader.

Her red lips tilted up into a malicious sneer while her blue eyes flashed with the wickedness of the devil himself. She tossed her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder and glanced at her cronies—Abigail Sommers and Piper Warren—also bombshells in their designer outfits. It was like a Barbie Dreamhouse had thrown up and gotbitchall over the place.

The girls all smirked back at me with varying degrees of cattiness.

“I think you got confused. The thrift store is that way.” Nikki jabbed a perfectly manicured thumb over her shoulder. “I heard they just got some really nice, gently-worn kids’ clothes in that might work for you.”

The girls at her side let out a gale of giggles like they’d just heard the joke of the year.

“Eat a dic—” Lana snarled.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her away before she could finish her sentence. “Let it go,” I mumbled, the wind knocked out of my sails.

It wasn’t worth it. No one who got in a tangle with the fem-bots, a name us lowly peons called the girls in Nikki’s group, ever fared well. Mostly because Nikki was creative with her punishments. I was pretty sure she was the daughter of Satan.

“You’re getting those outfits,” Lana huffed as I started to walk out of the dressing room empty-handed. “They looked good on you, Grace.”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” Lana snapped, snatching the clothes up, her cheeks red. “To hell with them. Don’t let them bring you down. They’re just jealous that you have a rocking bod without even trying.”

“Thanks.” I peered down at my hoodie and jean clad body. No one would know there was anything rocking beneath my heavy ensemble of thick cotton and denim.

Marching purposefully past the fem-bots, her arms laden with garments, Lana plopped the stuff on the counter. After we’d each paid for our things, we left the store. I knew Lana was still mad because she’d grown silent, a sure-fire way to tell she was stewing internally. And probably plotting some massive retaliation.

“Lana, it’s seriously not a big deal,” I said as we sat on a bench with smoothies.

“I just hate how they think they’re so much better than everyone else. They don’t even know you, Grace. You’re, like, the sweetest person and don’t deserve how nasty they are to you. Makes me want to kick kittens.” Her pretty face turned down into a scowl. “And you know how damn much I adore kittens.”

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