Page 30 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
All eyes swing to me.
Seriously?
How did I become the bad guy?
I shake my head and pull out my phone, deleting the whole post and its million views. Well, shit. That actually accumulated a lot.
I toss my phone at Wren. “There. Check and see for yourself. But I’m not responsible for people who copied and reposted it.”
She scowls, picking my phone up with her fingertips like it might be contaminated. She types something, then slides it back to me.
A new status update from Stone Foster:I post pictures of sleeping girls because I’m compensating for being a shitty hockey player.
I go to delete it, but Wren wags her fucking finger at me.
“You touch that status, and I guarantee I’ll stay in everyone’s room except yours.”
“Well, you’re definitely not doingthat.”
She gets up. “Come on, Archer. I want to check out your room.”
He scrambles after her. Evan’s laugh chases me as I follow them upstairs, stopping in the doorway. She flops on his bed while he stands in the middle.
“Hmm… Your bed is really comfy.” Her gaze comes to me.
I fucking hate her.
“No,” I snap. I brush past Archer and grab Wren, picking her up and carrying her out into the hall. I put her back on her feet, stepping away before she can hit me again. “Stop being fucking foolish.”
“I don’t know what your problem is,” she snaps back. “Why do you even care?”
I roll my eyes. “Because you’re a nuisance, and I can’t concentrate with you around.”
“Which is exactly why I should not be around.”
“You think the idea of you pulling stupid pranks in other guys’ rooms, taunting me about fucking them, is going to help?”
Her mouth falls open. “You think I’m going to sleep with them?”
I throw my hands up. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know what your kind would do to keep a roof over your head.”
“Your kind,” she repeats. She steps closer, her eyes flashing. “Do you meanpoor, Stone?”
I lift my chin. “I mean the daughter of an imprisoned drug dealer. Are you following in your daddy’s footsteps?”
Hurt flickers across her face, but it’s gone before I can latch onto it. In its place is steely determination. “So you don’t want me in your room, and you don’t want me in any of theirs.”
“Pretty much,” I goad.
“Fine,” she hisses. “Have it your way.”
She storms off. I follow her downstairs, to a door off the kitchen that I’ve never opened. I thought it was a pantry. But she yanks it open and reveals atinyroom. It’s got a single window with broken blinds covering it, and it’s full of boxes.
“Evan,” she calls. “Can you help me get these boxes out of here?”
He appears beside me, elbowing me hard in the stomach.
I grunt.