Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I collapse back onto her bed and consider her words, knowing she’s right. I can’t let them win. And I won’t.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STELLA
SYBIL and I skip lunch on Tuesday to work on our cheer moves, like she promised. Practice is all week, and then we have tryouts. It’s not really what I want to do, but it’s keeping my mind off everything else, so that’s something. We spend the entirety of the hour breaking down the dance moves and repeating them while stuffing our faces full of gummy bears to survive.
“You’re going to do great,” Sybil insists. “It will be fun. You’ll see.”
Secretly, I’m hoping I don’t even get onto the cheer squad. Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I just don’t want to disappoint Sybil. I don’t want to disappoint anybody, but it seems like that’s all I’ve been doing lately. And more than a few times this last week, I’ve wondered why I even bother. My parents still haven’t returned my calls. It’s not like they would even care or expect any different of me if I didn’t succeed here. But still, my dad’s words continue to haunt me.
I’m putting everything on the line, Stella.
As crappy as my first week at Loyola was, there are some silver linings. I have Sybil. And my grades are good so far. Other than having detention with Mr. Carter for the foreseeable future and getting into trouble over the weekend, there’s still time to turn everything around. Getting onto the cheer squad is a good way to start. That’s something my mom can be proud of. Or at least, I hope it is.
“Your birthday is next Friday,” Sybil reminds me. “We should do something crazy to celebrate.”
I eye her wearily, and she laughs.
“I didn’t mean too crazy. Just something fun and secret. Like a tattoo or a piercing. After all, you’ll be legal.”
I consider her idea, and it actually doesn’t sound too bad. I’ve always wanted a cartilage piercing in my ear.
“We can do that,” I agree. “But I’ll have to check with my parents. I don’t know if they have anything planned for the weekend or if they even remember it’s my birthday.”
“Okay.” Her phone alarm sounds, signaling that it’s time to go. “We better scram before Mr. C has a coronary.”
I head over to the patch of grass where we left our bags, but right away, I notice something looks off. The zipper on my backpack is open, and I know I didn’t leave it that way. I glance inside and don’t see anything out of the ordinary, and there isn’t time to inspect it now. Hell hath no fury like Mr. Carter when you’re late to his class.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, Sybil and I head off for Research. We even manage to arrive three minutes early, which is almost a miraculous feat for me. But just as soon as we sit down at our desks and I start to dig around inside my binder, I realize there’s a problem.
I check three times just to be sure, even going so far as to look in my books just in case I stuffed my homework in there. But I can’t seem to find it. And before I even have a chance to panic, Louisa arrives to gloat.
“I made you something in art class.” She smirks as she sets down a paper craft letter S that looks like it’s been painted with blood. “Since you’re so fond of red, I figured you deserved your own scarlet letter. S for slut.”
“What the hell is your problem, Louisa?” Sybil hisses.
“Did you take my homework at lunch?” I accuse.
“Is there a problem here?” Mr. Carter interrupts the hubbub, his shadow falling over all three of us. When I glance up at him, he only looks at me briefly before turning his gaze to the red S on my desk.
“The problem is Louisa is being a bitch,” Sybil belts out. “And I’m sick of it.”
“Sybil.” Mr. Carter’s voice is a warning, but his gaze is on me now. He’s waiting for me to say something, but I feel like it’s a trick. Either way, I can’t win. If I throw Louisa under the bus, would it make any difference? She’d just come back harder next week. But I can’t keep letting her get away with this either.
“Stella, is there something you’d like to say?” he asks, challenging me with his eyes.
I feel his pressure bearing down on me. He wants me to make the right choice, but what is the right choice? I can’t figure it out at a moment’s notice, especially not when I’m lost in the forbidden green sea of his eyes.
“Use your words, Stella.”
Words. Right. I need some of those right about now because everyone is staring at me. I shift in my seat and fold my hands together beneath my desk. And then I remember Sybil’s speech about owning it. Who cares what anyone here thinks? It’s not like their opinions matter. Louisa certainly doesn’t matter, and I refuse to let her believe she’s getting to me. So instead, I take the scarlet S on my desk and secure it to my binder, displaying it for everyone to see.