Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Congratulations.”
Guys like Zepp and Hendrix could bang all the rich girls they liked. But the second a Dayton girl picked a Barrington guy over them, especially the quarterback, the guy had hell to pay and she was a slut—then again, weren’t girls always the sluts, while the guys were studs?
* * *
It was late when I got home. My mother laid, passed out on one couch, another track mark in her arm. Jerry was on the other couch, several beer bottles scattered around his feet and a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand.
Great. Jerry was a horrible drunk.
“Where you been?” he slurred.
At the very least, I knew I should try to appease his drunk ass, but I couldn’t help the indignation that rose in me. Despite knowing it would piss him off, I said, “Out.” One word I knew I shouldn’t have, but I was still fighting.
No matter how much power he had over me, I’d never stop; because the moment I did, I would become just like my mom. A tragedy. Screwing dirty men to pay for a habit, all so I could escape the very existence I’d created. She was weak, but I refused to be.
That drunk, angry glaze in his eyes was all too familiar to me, and the second he took a step toward me, I knew what was coming, so I braced myself.
7
Zepp
LEAH: They took my cat’s rhinestone collar. Like WTAF is wrong with people?
Hendrix was the one who took that. Surprisingly, the guy at the pawnshop had given us seven bucks for it. Leah had been texting me non-stop. Like I gave a shit about her problems. Hell, I was the reason for half of them, she just didn’t know it. Sure, we may have taken her grandmother’s pearl necklace, but in the grand scheme of things, her family wasn’t hurting. They were out a few heirlooms and diamond necklaces that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in the better half of a decade, and Hendrix and I got to keep a roof over our heads.
Me: Why are you bitching to me about this stuff? Don’t you have a boyfriend?
LEAH: Me and Max aren’t dating!!!!!
They never were dating when Leah wanted dick worth a damn…
I closed the texts without responding and shoved my phone to the side of the desk when Mr. Weaver passed out exams. I read over the first question and bubbled in C. Halfway through the test, my name crackled over the intercom system.
“Zeppelin Hunt. You’re needed in the principal’s office.”
Tossing my pencil down, I glared around the room. The other student’s eyes shifted away when I pushed up from my chair. If one of those pricks had the balls to snitch on me for selling weed, I was going to kill them.
I stopped outside Principal Brown’s office, and Monroe’s muffled voice drifted from the other side of the door.
“Some rich lady says a redhead robbed her, and you figured, ‘it must be some trash kid from Dayton High. I’ll go looking for a redhead there.’”
I waited to see what would follow, but all that came was silence. I pushed down on the handle. Monroe didn’t bother to look up when the lock clicked, and I stepped into Brown’s office.
As expected, Brown’s disapproving gaze met mine. What wasn’t expected was Officer Jacobs standing in the corner, sleeves tight-rolled over his half-muscled arms in all his dipshit glory. The guy had had it out for us ever since Hendrix popped his daughter’s cherry in the back seat of his patrol car. I was sure this just made his day.
I leaned a shoulder against the wall and shot Monroe a stern glare while I played out how this was about to go down. If I had my guess, she had probably said I made her do it. Told them she hadn’t stolen a thing—which would be true. The only problem was that it was her word against mine. There would be no proof. I had been in every room in Leah’s house, on purpose, so any fingerprints of mine, Leah would have to answer for that. There weren’t any security cameras, so the police would be hard-pressed to find evidence outside of Mrs. Anderson’s identifying Monroe in a lineup.
“Ask him.” Monroe jerked her chin toward me.
“Miss James,” Jacobs sighed. “Using that shithead as an alibi doesn’t make you look any less guilty.”
Forget that Jacobs called me a shithead. Monroe had used me as an alibi? I had to stop myself from looking at her. Because an alibi was the last thing I had expected since getting me locked up in juvie would have bought her freedom.
Monroe drummed her fingers over the arm of the stiff chair. “But looking guilty doesn’t stand up in court, does it?” A smug smile flashed across her face like she’d won. “And unless you’re arresting me, I’m pretty sure you aren’t allowed to interrogate me on school grounds.”