Page 6 of Faux Real
Maxine turns her flabbergasted head at me. “Did you just say...ew? To that?” She shakes her head. “Kenny...he’s like...agod.”
I scoff, giving him another once-over. “Yeah, like the god ofFilth. Who dresses like that?”
“Uh—hot people?”
“Maxine, he has holes in his clothing. He must be impoverished. You shouldn’t gawk at him. It’s rude,” I say, turning around and looking the other direction.
“Oh my God!” Max exclaims. “He’s coming this way!”
I whip my head around. Dirty boy has now veered off the sidewalk and is pushing his motorcycle through the freshly cut grass of the quad. “Do you think he’s lost?” I ask, completely taken aback.
“I’ll go find out,” Max says with a sultry edge.
I hold out my arm. “You stay here! I’ll deal with it. I don’t need you going and falling in love with...whatever he is.”
“Oh, come on!” Max whines.
“No!” I shoot her a glare. “This will be my first act as an SLO.” I flip my hair and straighten out my shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
Max rolls her eyes and leans against the railing, crossing her arms. “I hate you.”
I wave her off. “Shut up. I’ll be back in a minute.”
three
What Just Happened?
OLIVER
Christ,myheadispounding. I better not have a fucking concussion. All I want to do is drop off this damn bike, pop an ibuprofen, and take a hot shower. I continue to push the Triumph up the quad, not wanting to go the long way to the auto shop. In the corner of my eye, a girl with long wavy blondish-brown hair wearing a Hilton uniform is sauntering toward me, her dolled up face plastered with curiosity and purpose.
“Hi, excuse me,” she says, stopping in front of me, her eyes giving me a slow once-over. “But—”
“You’re excused, love,” I say, steering the motorcycle around her. I’m so done with today.
Her mouth slightly drops. “Wait, stop!” she commands, holding out her arm and blocking my path.
“Really?” I scoff. “Make me.”
She tosses me an unimpressed glare, coiling her fingers around my handlebars. “Like this?”
I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes darkening. “Don’t touch my motorcycle.”
She tilts her head. “Don’t ignore me when I tell you to stop.” “Who areyouto tellmewhat to do?” I scowl at her, meeting her combative hazel eyes.
“I’m Kennedy Carmichael andyou’renot allowed to have this—” she motions to the motorcycle. “Thing, on school grounds.”
Did she just—oh, no fucking way.
I lower the kickstand with my foot, shaking my head.Time for a little lesson. “Thisthingis a fully restored 1972 Triumph Bonneville T120. This motorcycle is a piece of British history, an icon if you will.”
Kennedy blinks then lets out a quiet chuckle. “I don’t care if this motorcycle belonged to Prince Harry himself, it’s not allowed on school property.”
I suppress a laugh. “Prince Harry? Really?”
“Yeah, he was like super into motorcycles back in the day. Shouldn’t you know that seeing as you’re English?”
“Oh, so since I’m from the UK, I should know the pastimes of everyone in the royal family? That’s just absurd.”
