Page 17 of The Surprise Play
Fuck it! Graduatingispart of the plan, and now I can’t!
And that fucking sucks.
Thumping downstairs, I stalk into the kitchen, pushing up my sleeves as the smell of frying bacon and scrambled eggs hit me.
Grady is at the stove, cooking up a storm for all of us.
Usually, he’ll have music pumping and be humming along, but he’s quiet and morose this morning.
“What’s up with you?” I mumble, instantly ashamed of my grumpy tone but too pissed off to do anything about it.
“Nothing,” he grumbles right back, and we leave it there.
As much as I want to rant with the guy—Grady’s a great soundboard, always so calm and easy to talk to—I just don’t have it in me this morning, especially if he’s in a foul mood too.
I should stick around and make sure he’s okay, but I can’t.
I just want to get the fuck out of here.
I bypass breakfast, figuring I’ll eat later, and head out the door, snatching my various bags and going to the truck. I’ll beat everyone to the gym, but maybe that’s a good thing. I can get in some extra sets and really burn off this irritation inside me.
I’ll need to finish my workout early anyway, especially if I’m gonna check in with all my professors.
Why bother?
The question is still burning in the back of my brain, but for some dumb reason, it’s not enough to stop my plans. If Callie hadn’t come along to distract me yesterday, I would have gone to all those classes, even though it’s a hopeless waste of time.
“Shit!” I bang the steering wheel. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
And that’s when I see her.
Elizabeth Satchwell.
Miss High and Mighty.
She’s shuffling down the sidewalk, her shoulders hunched against the cold, carrying a take-out coffee… and all this foul, dark energy inside me seems to rise to the surface at once as I swerve up to the curve, slamming on my brakes and jumping out of the car.
“I failed!” I shout, flicking up my hands as I bark at her. “I fucking failed, and I’m so pissed off with you!”
CHAPTER 6
ELIZABETH
This voice is roaring behind me, and I have no idea who it belongs to or who it’s directed at. As soon as the pickup truck screeched to a stop against the curb, I hurried up my pace, not wanting to be anywhere near some kind of argument.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Yikes, that man sounds super annoyed. I’m so glad he’s not talking to me.
I walk as fast as my short legs will take me, hoping I don’t slip or trip like I usually do. Whoever this guy is yelling at is in for it, and they’re obviously scared as well, because they haven’t said a word.
“Elizabeth Satchwell!” the man barks.
I suck in a quick breath, realization suddenly dawning.
Oh shit. He’s yelling at me.
Run! Run now!
