Chapter 4

Caroline

*****

I stood at the full-length mirror behind the door and glanced over my outfit. Skinny cut jeans and a black turtleneck sweater and tall leather boots. My hair was tied into a ponytail at the crown of my head and the long blonde strands fell over my shoulder. Sighing, I adjusted my glasses and turned away from the mirror. As I walked down the hall towards the living room, I could almost hear Uncle James talking to me. He'd be sitting in a robe in his recliner with the newspaper on his lap and a mug of black coffee in hand.

Peering over a pair of bifocals, he was saying, "Those jeans are awfully tight. Are you trying to get boys to look at your ass? And what is that under your shirt? A push-up? Go change."

The memory hit me so strongly that I was startled at the sight of Freya leaning against the kitchen island. She was tapping away on her phone and shot me a quick smile.

"Coffee's in the pot and there's milk in the fridge," she said.

I walked past the brewing machine and instead poked around in the pantry until I found a granola bar. "Thanks."

"The bus usually gets here around 7:20," she added, her eyes trained on the luminescent blue screen between her thumbs. "I'd take you but then I'd be late for work. I gotta head out."

"It's fine. I used to walk from James' and you actually live closer."

She put her phone down completely now to look up at me. "He made you walk? Jesus, how far was that?"

"Two-ish miles. It's fine. I appreciated the exercise."

"Listen Caroline, I know he was fucked up but you don't have to keep walking to school. Just take the bus, you know?"

I glanced at my watch. The bus wouldn't be here for another 20 minutes. Truthfully, I hated the idea of buses. Cramped in a long, slow-moving vehicle with fifty other high schoolers. I'd rather take my chances and walk than have to sit next to a stranger for twenty minutes.

"What time are you leaving?" I asked.

Freya sighed and raked a hand through her curls, watching them bounce from the motion. "Now. I usually leave at seven but I didn't want to miss you."

I warmed a little at the sentiment. Smiling, I started on the wrapper of my bar. "Thanks. That was nice of you. You don't have to, though."

She smiled tiredly back. "I know. You're a good kid, huh?"

"I will try."

Waltzing over to me, she wrapped me up in a hug and kissed the top of my head. "Have a good day at school. I'll see you tonight. Maybe we can have another little bonfire? Celebrate your first day back or something."

My smile was weaker this time. "Yeah, sounds fun."

I sat and munched on the granola until Freya's rusty silver Honda scooted out of the driveway. Then I pulled the directions of my high school up in Maps. It was only a twenty-minute walk. Honestly, I needed to shave some more off my waistline. I'd gotten in the habit of stress-eating and it showed a little too well on my already plump figure.

I grabbed my backpack from my room and started the trek towards school. With my favorite playlist in my ears, walking was actually enjoyable. The walk required a few turns but it was mostly a straight shot to the building. The brisk edge to the morning chill kept me from getting sweaty too, which was always a plus.

It wasn't too long before the familiar red brick edifice came into view. I blew out a breath. The walk went much faster than I expected. A honk from the student parking lot briefly drew my focus towards the road for a moment. The hair on my neck stood as I hastily stole a second glance. The black truck I thought I'd seen was gone.

Jesus, now I'm hallucinating? Maybe it's some weird symptom of grief. If I can even say I'm still grieving that old bastard.

I shuffled into the warmth of the school and headed down the hall to my first class. The day ticked slowly by. It was as if absolutely nothing had happened. Not that I expected any change, but I'd been out of school for a few days. That's all the public school system gave you when you found your legal guardian dead in the shower from a heart attack.

Only one of my teachers mentioned the assignments I'd missed. The others just ignored me, as usual. Lunch period was a relief. I took my plastic tray outside to the picnic tables and pulled out my phone. I heard the door open again after me but I didn't bother lifting my head. Before I could plug in my ear buds, a voice sounded behind me.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I jumped and then froze as my wide-eyed gaze shot over my shoulder. My face must have reflected the shock and slight bit of terror I felt at seeing Greg Bush smiling at me.

"I come in peace," he added, flashing me two large, open palms.

"Uh . . ." I wet my lips and swallowed. "Sure, go ahead."

My body tensed as the school's famed football player and valedictorian plopped down across the picnic table from me. I couldn't get my fingers to unravel from my earbud cord or make eye contact with this unexpected visitor. Damn, I really just wanted to eat in peace.

"How are you?" he asked.

I slowly lifted my eyes to his, noticing for the first time how bright blue and clear they were. Greg was, of course, hot in addition to his other assets. He had faded chestnut-colored hair and a sharp jaw. He was gorgeous, in a pretty perfect boy kind of way. It was his perfection that unnerved me.

"Fine." I shrugged. "How are you?"

He pursed his lips. "I heard about your dad. I'm sorry."

My brows furrowed, wondering how the hell he knew about my dad but then I realized. "He was my uncle, actually."

"Oh, my bad." Was he blushing? "Well, I'm sorry. That sucks. Are you doing . . . okay?"

I sighed and looked around. Who had sent him out here? Was this some cruel joke? Dragging a hand through my hair, my fingers caught on an elastic and I winced. I forgot I had tied some of the strands back into a small ponytail.

"I'm fine," I said again. "Thanks for asking." 

Greg clasped his hands together on the table top, automatically attracting my gaze to his thick, muscular fingers. When I looked at his face, he looked genuinely affected. His angelic features bowed with concern.

"I know we've never really talked or anything . . ." He swallowed and ran his teeth over this bottom lip. "I don't want you to think I'm a douche. There's only so many weeks left until graduation and—well, I don't know. I guess I've always wanted to say something to you but didn't know what."

I blinked, staring back into his eyes, before dropping mine to the cold food.

"So," he continued, "I'm sorry. For never saying anything. And I'm sorry about your uncle."

He moved to stand and I nodded. "Thanks, Bush." Then I grimaced. Why did I call him by his last name? God, did my social skills need work.

"It's just Greg," he said softly. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and stepped away. "Come talk to me sometime. Wilder.”

My cheeks flooded with heat. I caught the crooked smile on his red lips as he turned and walked back inside. As soon as I was alone, I buried my face in my hands with a groan.

So, Whitfield High’s golden child suddenly wanted to . . . what? Become friends? It was honestly preposterous. Greg had half the school as friends. It wasn’t like he needed more. And I wasn’t like any of his actual friends. Star athletes, brilliant academics, cheerleaders, chess prodigies.

It just didn’t make sense. I was even more confused by his genuineness. He never had to say a word to me about Uncle James passing but he clearly felt some strong conviction to do so.

I finally relaxed a little and started to eat my chicken sandwich. It was cold but it was one of my favorite meals the cafeteria made, so I gratefully ate it up. Just when I was about to start on my fruit cup, the school intercom clicked on.

“Caroline Wilder, please come to the counselor’s office.”

I sighed. Okay, so today was not my day.