Page 18 of Come Break My Heart Again

He doesn’t try to stop me this time, just nods.

I stop in the locker room to grab my backpack and then head straight toward the parking lot, which is still full. I appear to be the only one eager to get out of here. Countless groups of students are clustered around expensive cars, socializing. The largest cluster is right by the obnoxiously oversized entrance to the high school. Twin columns frame the double doors that keep opening as more students spill outside.

Elle Clarke stands in the center of the crowd, laughing at something the girl next to her said as she slips on a pair of sunglasses. I recognize the blonde beside her vaguely. Her name is Julia? Maybe? She and Elle have been friends for a while.

“So, you survived, huh?”

I glance over at Reese Porter, who’s approaching me. She’s a fellow Two, which is what the rich snobs we attend school with call us. Better thantrailer-park trash, I guess.

“Yeah,” I reply. “This town is all bark and no bite.”

Aside from some whispers and stares, most people ignored my return.

Reese snorts. “Not much has changed.” She follows my gaze to the large cluster of our peers by the main entrance. “Same pecking order. Same hero worship, starting with Queen Elle.”

I say nothing. I’ve never told anyone what happened between me and Elle, knowing exactly what my friends thought—think—of her. But she’s different than most people see. Or she used to be at least. People change. I have.

“Oh goody. Here comes the jock parade.” Reese scoffs. Saying she harbors some resentment toward the wealthy section of town would be a massive understatement.

I watch several guys head toward the crowd congregated around Elle. Archer Hathaway is in front. He pushes his way right to Elle, then kisses her in full view of the entire parking lot.

My abs clench as the invisible hit registers. It feels like I was just kicked in the stomach.

“She’s dating Hathaway?” I don’t mean to ask the question; it just comes out.

“Oh, yeah.” Reese rolls her eyes. “He asked her to prom in front of the whole school. They were crowned king and queen. It was a vomit-inducing spectacle. Be glad you missed it.”

I am. And I’m not surprised Elle is dating someone or that he’s rich. I didn’t think it’d be Hathaway though. Freshman year, Elle agreed with me that Hathaway was a self-centered asshole.

“Youwent toprom?”

Reese’s face appears pinker than it did a minute ago. “It was lame. Whatever.”

I smirk. “Are there pictures?”

Reese is a tomboy through and through. I’ve never seen her wear a skirt, let alone a dress. Right now, she’s wearing jean cutoffs and a faded David Bowie T-shirt.

“Bye, Ryder.”

I chuckle as she walks off, resuming my surveillance of the parking lot. Finally, I spot Tucker’s green truck parked on the far side of the lot. Before heading in that direction, I steal one last look at the commotion near the main entrance of the high school.

Elle is looking this way. Not just this way. She’s looking atme.

There’s an unexpected jolt, an electric paddle to the chest, as our eyes connect. The sunglasses Elle’s wearing do nothing to diminish the impact of her stare. She’s surrounded by her adoring subjects, standing next to her king, but her attention is all mine.

I break the connection first, turning and walking toward Tucker’s truck. Surprised he hasn’t left my ass here by now. I haven’t been late once in the two weeks I’ve been working at the garage. Hopefully, that streak isn’t about to end.

“Ryder.”

I freeze, not because someone’s saying my name. Becauseshe’ssaying my name.

I spin around to watch Elle approach me with confident strides, her expression purposefully smooth. The blue dressshe’s wearing flutters around her thighs in the slight breeze created by the movement.

Fuck, she looks hot. My fourteen-year-old self would have told you Elodie Clarke was the most beautiful girl in the whole world, and that’s an assessment I’m sticking by at seventeen.

Her dark hair is shorter, falling just past her shoulders in curls I know are manufactured. I prefer her hair wavy. Messy from my hands.

The careful curls make her look older. Maturer. More untouchable.

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