King of Hawthorne Prep Read online

  And the air smells so fresh and clean. It’s a mix of pine trees and wildflowers. I kind of like that as well. I don’t miss choking on car fumes and the aroma of takeout food that permeates the air from the Indian restaurant on the corner of our block.

  When Austin doesn’t answer, I knock louder before pushing open the door and peeking inside. Like mine, his room has already been set up with a queen-sized bed and dresser. There are a few antique pieces that remain. It’s a mix of old and new furniture.

  Austin lies stretched out on his bed with his arms folded behind him. His head rests on stacked hands as he stares at the tray ceiling. He’s so zoned out that he doesn’t notice when I walk in.

  I wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention. When his gaze slides to mine, I ask, “You want to run out and pick up a few school supplies?”

  If we were still in Chicago, we wouldn’t be going back until after Labor Day. But here, school starts tomorrow, three weeks early. Our parents had assumed that Hawthorne Prep (yup, it’s also named after our family) was on the same schedule as our old school. Turns out that’s not the case.

  Austin’s green eyes flicker to mine before he shakes his head. “Nah.”

  Ugh. I hate when he gets all moody. “Come on, Aus,” I cajole, “don’t you want to explore a little?”

  “Explore what?” he asks with a sneer. “That sad ass excuse for a town? Hard pass.”

  I settle on the bed next to him. “I know this sucks—”

  “It’s more than that,” he snaps. “This ruins everything.”

  “You’re right, it does.” My shoulders slump under the heavy weight of his words. It’s hard not to acknowledge the truth.

  His face contorts with a mixture of rage and bitterness. “The old bat should have hung on for a year instead of fucking up my life.”

  Ouch. I wince at the uncharitable sentiment.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad here. I mean, think about it. How much competition could there be for the quarterback position? You’ve been playing football since you were four years old. You’ve done a bazillion of camps and clinics. Not to mention all the agility training. It’s like you said earlier, we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. How could these kids possibly be as skilled as you are? Have you ever considered the possibility that they might be thrilled to have such a talented player join their team?”

  It’s now official. I’ve become my mother.

  I can almost see the words circling through his head as he considers the merit of them.

  “I don’t know,” he begrudgingly admits. “Do you really think that will happen?”

  “Definitely.” I hoist my smile, relieved that I could lift his spirits even a fraction. It’s better than the sad bastard impersonation he’s been doing for the last two months. I was less than thrilled to be thrown abruptly into school tomorrow, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe then Austin will see that he won’t have any problems fitting in with the team. I can deal with this move being difficult for me, but I need it to go smoothly for my brother.

  Changing the subject, I ask, “Have you FaceTimed Alice?”

  That’s the girl he’s been seeing. Even though the relationship had been fresh, it’s another thing snatched away from him.

  “Nah. I broke it off a couple of days ago.” He shrugs. “With us moving, there didn’t seem to be much point. I’m not really into the whole long-distance thing.”

  “Oh, I thought you liked her.”

  His expression turns sly. “What I liked is how much she put out.”

  I roll my eyes in disgust. “You’re kind of a pig, you know that, right?”

  “The ladies don’t seem to mind one bit.” His lips curve. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen out of him since Grandma Rose died and blew our lives to shit.

  “Ugh.” I rise from the bed and walk toward the door. “On that note, I’m out of here.”

  Austin’s attitude toward the female sex doesn’t surprise me. The girls at our old school used to pant after him like they were in heat. I’m sure it’ll be the same for him here. They seem to find him charming and handsome.

  The handsome part I get. He’s a good-looking dude with inky-colored hair and mossy green-colored eyes.

  Charming, on the other hand?

  Definitely not. He can be moody as fuck.

  I pause over the threshold. “Sure you don’t want to come with me? Maybe getting out of the house would do you some good.”

  “Nah.” He scooches up to a sitting position before draping his arms across his bent knees. “Hey, Summer?”

  “Yeah?”

  A crooked smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” I blink in surprise as the tough facade he usually puts on dissolves, leaving a rare vulnerability in its place.

  His gaze darts away as if he’s embarrassed. “For being your usual upbeat self.”

  I flash him a grin. “Don’t worry, bro, I got you.”

  With a shake of his head, he laughs before stretching out on the bed again. “Whatever you say.”

  As I close the door, he yells, “Pick me up a few notebooks and pencils.”

  “Will do,” I respond before walking through the airy hallway. My footsteps echo off the cavernous walls as I jog down the sweeping staircase to the first floor. As the entryway comes into view, I’m once again bowled over by the opulence that surrounds me.

  One thing is for sure—we have definitely moved up in the world.

  Once in the foyer, I turn to the left where the dark wood panel study is located. Hundreds of leather-bound books line the shelves. Situated across from them is an oversized fireplace with an elaborately carved mantle. A thick Persian rug in muted red and gold tones covers a portion of the wood plank floor. An antique mahogany desk with curved legs sits in the middle of the room as the last rays of sunlight pour in through the arched window that overlooks the rolling front lawn. My parents are seated on two high-back chairs in front of the window. Their heads are bowed together as they talk quietly. As soon as I step into the room, their attention snaps to me.

  I skid to a halt, almost feeling like I’ve interrupted a private conversation.

  “Hey, honey,” Dad says, clearing his throat. “Settling in all right?”

  “Yup.” I shuffle further into the room. “Do you mind if I borrow the car? I want to run into town and pick up a few supplies for tomorrow.”

  A smile bows Mom’s lips as her face lights up. “What a fantastic idea!”

  Well, I wouldn’t go that far.

  “I just want to be prepared,” I say with an easy shrug.

  They’re acting weird. But then again, the last two months have been surreal, so I can’t blame them for being a little off-kilter. We all are. Hopefully, once we’ve had a chance to make ourselves at home, everything will get back to normal.

  “We can always count on you to take everything in stride,” Dad says, gratitude bleeding through his words.

  Even though it’s meant to be a compliment, I stiffen as a prick of irritation blooms inside me. It feels like a pointed comment made toward my brother. The retort tumbles from my mouth before I can stop it. “I don’t think you realize how difficult this move has been for Austin.”

  We might be twins, but I’m five minutes older and have always been more like the big sister. Not that he necessarily needs me to fight his battles but jumping to his defense isn’t an impulse that can be easily shaken off. I’ve been doing it since we were kids.

  “We understand that, honey,” Mom sighs, familiar with my protectiveness where Austin is concerned. “Your dad is simply trying to express his appreciation that you’re always willing to go with the flow. It wasn’t meant to be a criticism toward your brother.”

  I jerk my head into a tight nod as Dad fishes around in his pants pocket before tossing me the keys. I snatch the jangling metal mid-air with one hand.

  “Good catch,” he says with a wink.

  That’s all i
t takes for my earlier snappishness to dissipate as my lips lift.

  “Drive safe,” Mom adds, “and don’t get lost.”

  I give her an—are you crazy look. “That would be kind of hard to do.”

  “The town isn’t that small,” Dad grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

  “Whatever you say.” With a wave, I grab my purse from the credenza in the front hall before walking out the door and heading to the Volvo. I start it up and pull out my phone to search for the closest Target. It takes a moment for a response to pop up.

  Hmmm. Apparently, the nearest one is over a hundred miles away.

  All right, let’s look for Wal-Mart.

  That also turns out to be a no-go. I wrack my brain, trying to recall if I saw any big-box stores when we drove through town. But let’s face it, I was a little shellshocked at the time and had stopped processing my surroundings. As I search for the closest store, the only thing that comes up is a place called Rothchild’s.

  Never heard of it.

  With little in the way of choices, it’s a simple decision. I tap the screen until the map sets with turn-by-turn directions before easing the SUV out of the drive and onto the street toward town. I switch on the radio and flick the channel until Billie Eilish explodes from the speakers and some of the tension filling me drains away.

  I press the button on the door handle and the window disappears as the lush green scenery passes by. The sun casts its last rays of light before dipping beneath the horizon. I guess all those twangy country songs are right. There is definitely something to be said for country roads and wide-open spaces. Fields of tall grass and trees that spear up into the sky. The smell of fresh air as it hits your nostrils. I’m more used to bustling city streets crammed with cars, people, and skyscrapers.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Rothchild’s which is located on the opposite end of town and cut the engine. It’s a single level, squat white brick building. The kind of store that probably would have been popular before Target and Wal-Mart took over the market. I swipe my purse from the front seat and exit the vehicle. The parking lot is about a fourth of the way full.

  Apparently, on a Sunday evening, this is the place to be. I push through the front door into the vestibule and grab a cart. It’s like my head is on a swivel as I wheel past aisles of greeting cards, cleaning products, health care goods, a small selection of furniture, and clothing before hitting the jackpot.

  Happiness fills my heart at the wide assortment of school supplies.

  I’m one of those dorks that secretly enjoys shopping in July for materials. If my life hadn’t been turned upside down, that’s exactly what I would have done. Usually I have a list of everything I need for first semester. Today, I’ll have to wing it. I run my fingers over the covers of plastic bound notebooks before tossing a few in the cart. I grab a couple packs of mechanical pencils and gel pens which are, hands down, my favorite. My fingers are already itching to open them and doodle in a notebook. A few binders and folders get added. Who am I to resist a box of colored pencils and Post-it Notes in a variety of pastel colors?

  Hmmm, should I get a calculator?

  If my schedule mimics my old one, calculus will be one of my classes. And my calculator has gone MIA in the move.

  There are only a couple options to choose from. I pull one from the rack, turn it over, and study the list of capabilities. It’s more than a hundred dollars. I don’t want to spend that kind of money if it’s unnecessary.

  I’m in the middle of doing a side-by-side comparison when two girls turn into the aisle. They’re chatting and laughing. One holds a small basket that dangles from her arm. I scout them out, all the while pretending to be engrossed in the calculator packages.

  The first thing I notice is that both are wearing short shorts that barely cover their ass cheeks and shirts that hug their curves. It’s the same kind of outfit girls at home would wear. I suppose that’s a positive. It can’t be totally ass backward here if the fashion is similar, right?

  My gaze gravitates to the girl with long blond hair. She’s the one who has been doing most of the talking and gives off that whole I’m in charge vibe. The other has brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail. Both are pretty. I try not to make it too obvious that I’m eavesdropping on their conversation. Although, the blonde is loud in an obnoxious way, so it would be difficult not to hear what she has to say.

  From the intel I’ve gathered, there’s talk of a get together tonight. A couple of hotties from the football team will be there. And blondie has a thing for one of them. She also yammered on about a dried-up old English teacher named Ms. Pettijohn. I’m almost tempted to follow them through the store to hear more. They seem like an endless fount for Hawthorne gossip.

  What I’m wondering is if these girls attend Hawthorne Prep or the small, public school in the next town over. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask. They look to be around my age. How nice would it be to meet a few people tonight instead of walking into school cold tomorrow morning? Who knows, they might ask me to tag along to the party they’ve been dishing on.

  As I work up enough courage to introduce myself, the blonde flicks her blue gaze to mine before pinning me in place. “Stare much?”

  I blink, thrown off-balance by the blunt question.

  Holy shit. Is she talking to me?

  When I remain silent, a nasty glint enters her eyes as she waves her hand with exaggerated movements in front of my face. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Or are you deaf and mute?”

  The girl at her side giggles as a rush of heat floods my face. All I want to do is melt into the floor.

  “She’s probably slow,” the dark-haired girl says, sounding bored as if she isn’t talking about me right in front of my face. “How tragic.”

  “I’m not mute or deaf,” I mutter, forcing out the rest, “just shocked at your rudeness.”

  The blonde’s sculpted brows rise across her forehead. “Well, I’m not the one who was gawking like a weirdo.” She smirks before flipping her hair. “Let me guess, you’re into chicks.” Her gaze flickers over me before she wrinkles her pert nose. “No thanks. Not interested.”

  My mouth falls open. Who talks like this to a perfect stranger?

  The other girl snorts. “There’s no question about it, you’re strictly dickly.”

  The blonde laughs. “I know.”

  “I wasn’t staring,” I mumble, cutting into their conversation. “I was wondering if you go to Hawthorne Prep.”

  I wince. How could I let the question slip free? Now, I’m hoping the answer will be no. I don’t want to be anywhere near these two mean girls.

  “Of course, we do.” The blonde’s upper lip curls into a sneer as one of her hands settles on her hip. “What do we look like, townies?”

  Great.

  This time, I keep my lip buttoned. There is no way in hell I’m going to tell her I’ll be starting at the exclusive prep school tomorrow. I have no idea how many students attend Hawthorne, but I’m hoping that I don’t run into this nasty girl and her sidekick any time soon.

  When her gaze flits over me for a second time, I become aware that I’m still wearing black capri yoga pants and an obscure band T-shirt that has seen better days. This is what comfortable travel wear looks like.

  “From the regrettable state of her outfit, it’s obvious she’s a townie.” Blondie makes a frowny face. “So sad.”

  Humiliation burns through me as I throw the calculator into the shopping cart and rush away. The two girls barely wait for me to turn the corner before bursting into peels of laughter.

  Holy crap, where the hell have my parents moved us to?

  In a small way, I was kind of excited to start school tomorrow, meet some new people, and settle in. Now?

  Not so much.

  If these two girls are in any way a reflection of the student population at Hawthorne, senior year will be a living hell. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  Chap
ter Seven

  With my gaze trained on the ceiling, I lay awake in my bed. I’ve spent the last hour tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. Those two beastly girls from Rothchild’s keep popping into my head. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such rude people, and I grew up in Chicago. I’ve experienced rude. Hundreds of times. That was like a whole new level.

  Now I’m nervous about tomorrow.

  There is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep. And if I do, my nightmares will be filled with bitchy and bitchier.

  Another spasm of agitation slides through me, leaving a thick coat of restlessness in its wake. Lying here for another moment is out of the question. With a huff, I toss off the covers and pad to the window before pulling back the curtain and staring through the screen. My gaze drops to the illuminated patio below. It’s still unfathomable that we own such a kick-ass pool. Dad plans on calling a company tomorrow to service it so we can get it up and running. There’s a heater and we’ll be able to swim until October. It could snow by then, and we could be outside swimming.

  My gaze travels over the thick lawn. Dad mentioned earlier that the house sits on an acre of land. Trees and bushes border the sides of the property, offering a bit of privacy from the neighbors. There are a few pines spearing up into the sky at the back of the yard to delineate our estate from the lush landscape of the golf course.

  As soon as I catch sight of the night sky, I press my face against the screen until there’s a definite possibility of the mesh becoming permanently tattooed on it. There are so many pinpricks of light. Have I ever seen so many stars crowded into the sky?

  Only at the planetarium. And that was just a projection.

  Swinging away from the window, I look around before grabbing an afghan from the end of my bed and moving to the screen door that leads to a tiny deck off my room. I hurry down the wood stairs and hit the cement before skirting the pool area and stepping onto the plush lawn with bare feet. Immediately my toes sink into the velvety softness.