Page 2 of You Had Me At Thirteen

‘Matilda, you know I’m your favourite neighbour. Old Man Digby doesn’t give you a show like I do.’

A chill crawls up my spine as I recall the number of bare female arses I’ve seen over the years. I gag as I hold up a finger. ‘Number one,’ I say, ‘that’s gross. And two, please go fuck yourself.’

‘Would if I could,’ he says, wrapping my ponytail around his finger. He gives me a once-over before dropping my hair and sauntering down the hall. He slams some young kid into the lockers before rustling his hair. The poor thing pales as he grabs at his books on the ground.

If I didn’t need to escape the confines of this constricting hallway, I’d offer my help.

Sorry buddy, you’re on your own.

Wren Stevenson, high school’s bad boy and ultimate man-whore. With the constant scowl on his face, he only seems to deter the males in this school. The girls flock to him like it’s migrating season all year round. Every one of them thinks they’ll be the exception and melt his iced-over heart. I almost feel sorry for them, but they ask for it by dropping their underwear at the first sign of Wren’s interest. His reputation does nothing to deter them from throwing themselves at him.

I cringe, swallowing the bile that has risen in my throat. My thoughts shouldn’t be on how many holes Wren has stuck his dick in. My head has to stay on my training, and not on the arrogant dick-face who lives next door to me.

Running has been part of my life since before I was old enough to wipe my bum. Dad hired a coach when he realised my potential. I didn’t mind because racing meant he’d spend time with me. For those few minutes, he saw me. Loved me. Or at least loved what I could do for him.

After he died, I knuckled down, and it helped to ease the amount of anger I had towards him for dying before I could tell him how much I hated him.

I’ve bet my future on a scholarship to one of the leading universities that would allow me to train, study and one day represent Australia. No-one is going to destroy what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish, especially not the dark-haired pain in my arse that is Wren.

I release a slow breath as I push through the large glass doors at the end of the hall, a cool breeze sweeping over my too-hot skin. The smell of freshly cut grass invades my nostrils, causing me to sneeze. But it’s a welcome reminder that summer is just around the corner.

I’m almost running towards our usual spot, under a large oak tree in the farthest corner of the school grounds.

The first day of grade seven almost saw Audrey, Clive, and me in a physical fight with another group of students for it. We won – with our words – and it has been our spot ever since.

As I eye the groups of students spread out in various areas, I spot Willis and Emerson – two of Wren’s best friends – seated at one of the many timber tables, so I put my head down, making my legs work a little faster.

I slow my pace once I know I’m in the clear, and two of my favourite people, Audrey and Clive, come into view. Audrey has her ankles crossed, and her arms under her head as she spreads out on the table, while Clive sits on the bench seat with his legs underneath him, his hands flying in the air as he speaks.

When I reach the table, I dump my bag in dramatic fashion and slump down next to Clive before smashing my forehead against the table several times.

Clive yanks me by the shoulders. ‘Damn, Til. What’s wrong with you this morning?’

‘Two words,’ I say. ‘Wren. Fucking. Stevenson.’

‘That’s three words, sweetie,’ Clive says, wrapping a slender arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. ‘What’s he done now?’

‘That prick Hughes paired us up in English.’

‘How tragic,’ Clive says as he rubs my shoulder.

The whispers between Clive and Audrey have me squinting at them as they exchange a look of amusement between themselves. Audrey presses her lips together to stop the grin on her face.

‘What?’ I eyeball both of them.

Audrey takes one of my hands. ‘Listen babe, for someone who claims to hate the guy, you sure love to remind us how much you hate him.’

My mouth drops open and I yank my hands from hers. ‘I do not.’

Clive tilts his head, pursing his lips. ‘Yeah, sweetie, you do.’

My pulse quickens, as a wave of heat surges through my body. I slam my hands against the table and jut my chin out before pushing myself up.

I point at my two so-called best friends, amusement plastered on their faces at my undeniable overreaction. ‘You two can eat a bag of dicks. I hate you both.’ I snatch my bag from the ground before flipping my ponytail and stomping off.

Clive calls out, ‘Love you.’

I give them the finger above my head as I storm off in a nowhere direction. Their laughter follows me, but I keep going, desperate for better friends. How dare they insinuate I have a thing for Wren? Who knows what sort of diseases he has?

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