Page 7 of Don't Puck Him

“I'm still with Wren… We should be on campus in about fifteen minutes… Ok, cool.”

Who is he talking to that knows me?

“We have to make a detour,” he says coldly.

My heart skips a few beats. “Why can't you just drop me off first?”

I just know he's up to no good.

“Because the owner of the car left his wallet in it and needs to use it. So whether you like it or not, we’ll give it to him first and then take you to school.”

Damn. I see why Mom adores him.

We stop in front of an apartment building on a quiet street, and he blares the horn like he's trying to scare off wild animals.

“For God's sake,” a lady shouts out her window and I feel the same way.

A tall guy, dressed in all black with even darker hair, walks out of the apartment building. He comes straight towards us, and I'm struck by how purposeful his walk is. It’s like there is no mistake about what he's doing and where he's going.

Cash slides down his window.

“Where is it?” the guy demands.

“I don't know where you left it, Hunter. Find it.”

Hunter comes over to my side and swings my door open. He doesn't even acknowledge me. He crouches and searches around my seat like I'm invisible.

One of his hands grips my headrest, and his other one slides under my seat. I shouldn't feel violated, he hasn't touched or looked at me, but I do. His face is stern, and I feel my chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

Finally, he pulls out one of those little metal wallets. He tucks it into his back pocket then walks around to Cash’s side and leans in.

The idiot can't even close my door,I think as I shut it.

“Our plan is still on?” says Hunter.

They exchange smirks.

“Like Donkey Kong,” says Cash.

We leave Hunter standing in the street. At my dorm building, my ‘caring brother’ doesn’t lift a muscle to help me haul my bags out and drives off as soon as I shut the trunk.

I ask two passersby for directions and they look at me with pity.

“This is Newton Campus. Your hall is on Upper Campus,” says the girl with a bob.

“What does that mean?” I ask with a sinking feeling.

“It means you have to get on the shuttle back to your dorm. We’re going there, too, so we’ll take you.”

Kayla and Amy with the bobbed hair introduce themselves. They are both sophomores, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I could never be friends with them.

I sit behind them on the bus. Part of me is fuming at Cash’s little stunt and part of me listens to their conversation.

“I can’t believe people still wear fast fashion.”

“Right. All my clothes are now handmade in Switzerland. Fast fashion is just so cheap looking.”

I’m painfully aware of the fast fashion ensemble I have on and all the fast fashion pieces in my luggage.

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