The Complete Arrogant Series (4 page)

I shrug. “Don’t know him yet.”

Her eyes shine. “He’s a good man,
Jense. Give him a chance. He loves us, and he means well. Everything he does is
for the greater good of our family.”

She calls it “our” family like
I’m a part of it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just biding my time until August
comes, and then I’m gone. Goodbye, Kath. Goodbye, Mark. Goodbye, wives one and
two. Goodbye,
Children of the Corn
.
Goodbye, suburban compound.

And goodbye,
Waverly, with your weird stares and those fuck-me-all-night-long lips.

God, she has the most fuckable
mouth I’ve ever seen. I wait until Kath leaves before hitting the lights and shutting
the door behind her. I fall back on the bed and unzip my jeans, my cock instantly
swelling in my hands at the thought of Waverly’s full lips wrapping around it.
I grab at the country blue quilt, imagining I’m grabbing fistfuls of her long,
sandy hair as her tongue runs the length of my shaft. Shit, I bet she’s never
seen a grown man in his
fully-erected
form before. I
concentrate on my Waverly fantasy, my eyes scrunched and my cock hardening so
fast it aches.

I’m all kinds of fucked up. I
know that. Wrongs and rights have never made sense in my world, and I’m a
product of that.

None of it matters, though,
because I don’t give a flying fuck about
any-damn-thing
.

Never have.

Never will.

Waverly

I push my breakfast around on my plate, staring at the empty
seat across from me where Jensen is supposed to be. Water whooshes through the
pipes above. By the sounds of it, I’d say he’s just now finishing his shower.

We need to leave in five minutes.
If he’s not down here by seven-thirty, I’m leaving without him. I’ve never had
a tardy in my life, and I’m not about to get one for him. Summer can drop him
off in the freshman lane, for all I care.

Loud thumps coming from the
stairs a minute later direct my gaze to where Jensen is running down two steps
at a time. His finger combs his dark hair into place as he rushes through the
kitchen. He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and slips a backpack over one
shoulder.

“Ready?” The green apple fills
his palm, and he takes one giant, crisp bite. The juices run down his chin, but
he wipes them away with the back of his hand.

“I thought you didn’t eat
breakfast.” I rise up and grab my bags.

“Jensen,” Dad says from the head
of the table. “Missed breakfast, buddy.”

My dad calls him “buddy” like
they’re a couple of old pals. He’s trying to make an effort. I just wish Jensen
would try, too. It’s not like my dad to give people multiple chances or to
tolerate flippant attitudes, but he’s doing it for Kath’s sake.

“My alarm didn’t go off.” I know he’s
lying. “My bad.”

It’s seven thirty-one now.
My heart sprints.
I hate being late. I hate risking losing
my favorite parking spot in the front row of the senior lot. It’s the entire
reason behind why I need to arrive at school at precisely seven forty-eight
each morning. I get my spot, head to my locker, grab my things, drop off my
jacket, and head to my first period class where I find my favorite seat by the
window in the third row with a little extra time to spare. If I’m a minute
late, it throws off my entire morning.

What makes matters worse is that
today, I have to find time to show Jensen to the counselor’s office to grab his
schedule, and I’m sure I’ll get roped into showing him to class, too.

I pull in a deep breath as we
head to my pearly white Jetta. I’m trying so hard to be positive. Good AUB
girls don’t have opinions or complain or get upset. We “keep sweet,” as my
father
always
instructs.

I’m a good AUB daughter.
At least, on the outside.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jensen
snorts as he plops into my passenger seat.

“We’re going to be late because
of you.” I start the car and let it run for a few seconds before checking my
mirrors, buckling up, and shifting into drive. He reaches for my radio, messing
with the stations. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

“God, are there any decent radio
stations out here?” He twists knobs until some classic rock song blares from my
speakers. The singer’s screechy voice and wailing guitar hurts my ears.

“The polite thing to do would be
to ask if you could turn my station.” I place my hands at ten and two after
adjusting the volume using the steering wheel.

“Sometimes you have to forgo
politeness when you’re trying to save somebody.”

“Save me from what?”

“From yourself. You need to
loosen up. I’ve never met anyone so tightly wound.”

“What are you talking about? I’m
a good person. I don’t need to be saved.” My blood boils. I can’t go to school
all worked up like this.

I momentarily close my eyes when
we approach the next stop sign and suck in a cleansing breath like my life
depends on it. If I don’t collect my nerves, I’m going to have to kick him to
the curb and make him walk the rest of the way.

“You look in the mirror and see a
good girl,” he says. “I look at you, and I see someone who’s so molded and
shaped she doesn’t know who the hell she’s supposed to be. You’re like one of
those Stepford wives. You’re a Stepford daughter. Everything about you is
too
perfect. It’s fucking creepy.”

I slam on the gas and turn the
radio off. “Stepford?”

“Never mind.”

He grips the handle above the
passenger door as I slide into a parking spot in the back of the senior lot far
away from my usual spot. Jensen climbs out and slips his bag over his shoulder.
For someone heading into their first day at a new school, he doesn’t show a
lick of apprehension.
His eyes are a lot less swollen
,
his gash is virtually gone
. The plastic girls are
going to eat him up with his dark hair, golden eyes, and those permanently
upturned corners of his smug little smile. I can practically hear them
scrambling to secure dates with him before the rest of the school catches wind
of what just rolled into town.

“If anyone asks, you’re a family
friend.” Dad gave me instructions that morning as to how we were going to
address the newest member of our family. I couldn’t exactly say Jensen was my
stepbrother when my parents have been happily married for over twenty years.
For all intents and purposes, we’ve led the outside world to believe
Summer
and Kath are neighbors and our families spend a lot of
time together. There are a few other families like ours in town, but we all
live in secrecy. Dad says we live in troubled times where too many of us have
deviated from our original teachings, pressured by society to abandon the heart
of our religious principles. It’s up to us to restore faith in the old doctrines
and combine them with modern times.

“That’s pretty much what I am,”
Jensen says. He turns to me, catching my stare. My cheeks redden. “You know
we’re not
really
family, right?”

I shake my head, vehemently
disagreeing with him. “Kath is one of my mothers. The twins are my siblings. So
are you. We’re all family.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,”
Jensen says. “I could say I’m married to you right now but it won’t mean a damn
thing because it’s not legal. This is the adult version of playing house, kid.
It’s all pretend
.”

“Please don’t call me ‘kid.’
We’re the same age. And you’re insinuating you’re smarter than me on some
level. It’s rude.” I can say things like that to him as long as my father isn’t
around.

“I’m smarter than everyone.” He
shrugs. “Can’t help it. Just the way your God made me.”

“That kind of talk is what gets a
person in trouble.” I’d tell him to keep sweet, but that rule only applies to AUB
women. Men are a little less restricted when it comes to emotions. They’re
governed by a different set of rules. It’s not fair, but I’ve never been
allowed to question it. Mom compares it to asking why the sky is blue. It just
is; the reason doesn’t matter.

“Oh, no, the morality police is
here,” he laughs. He sticks his wrists out like I should handcuff him. I grip
the straps of my backpack until my knuckles whiten.

“You’re not cute,” I tell him. I
sound like I’m in third grade. Jensen brings out the worst in me. He’s testing
me. I need to shower him with kindness and patience, even if it’s the hardest
thing I’ll ever do. He’ll lead me down a path of frustrated destruction if I
don’t keep myself in check. Jensen presses buttons. He’s a button presser.

“Not everyone can be cute and
sweet,” he says, implying that I am, in fact, cute and sweet. He pulls the
heavy doors leading into the east entrance of Whispering Hills high and lets me
go in first. Maybe he’s not a total jerk.

“Guidance counselor’s office is
this way.” I point down a long hall filled with orange, red, and yellow lockers.
A group of gossiping sophomore girls silence themselves the second they see us
walking in their direction. A hush falls over the hallway with each step we
take, like a row of tumbling dominoes. All eyes are on us—on Jensen,
actually. He doesn’t look like anyone who belongs here, and truth be told, he appears
older than eighteen. There’s
a worldliness
on his face,
in the way he carries himself. He wears the confidence of a man much older than
eighteen.

I’m still dying to know what
happened and why he was dropped on Kath’s doorstep like an abandoned baby in a
basket. Though it’s more like the clouds parted, lightning flashed, and out
came Jensen Mackey like an angry clap of thunder complete with black eyes and an
attitude.

We knock on Mr. Kaplan’s
door
as he’s finishing up his breakfast sandwich. I observe
through the half window as he crumples up his wrapper and takes a couple long
sips of his soda.

“Come in,” he calls.

“Mr. Kaplan,” I say. “This is
Jensen Mackey. He’s new. We’re just picking up his schedule.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Kaplan runs a
greasy hand over the top of his shiny,
bald head
as
his other frantically lifts the various papers that litter his desk. “Jensen,
Jensen, Jensen Mackey… here we go.”

He hands me the schedule and
offers a smile at Jensen, his stare lingering a bit too long. Even Mr. Kaplan
can sense Jensen doesn’t fit in here.

I glance over his schedule.

Ugh
.

Our first and last blocks are
together: Chemistry and AP English. He doesn’t look like an AP student. He
doesn’t look like someone who would consider his grades or merit.

His locker number is printed on
the bottom of his schedule, along with the combination. At least we’re in
different hallways. I don’t think I could survive my last three weeks of senior
year being joined at the hip with him all day long.

“We have to get to class,” I say,
pulling on his shirtsleeve. “I’ll show you your locker later.”

He yanks the schedule from my
hand. “Going to let me see what Kath signed me up for? Good. Drawing II and
Mixed Media.”

We blaze into chemistry with
thirty seconds to spare before the tardy bell rings. All the window seats are
taken, so we settle for a table in the back row. Mrs. Davenport takes roll
call, and when she gets to Jensen, she makes him stand up.

“Tell us a little about
yourself,” she says with an open-mouthed smile. She shows the same kind of
enthusiasm when she talks about thermite reactions because, you know, thermite
reactions are super exciting. She pulls on her long necklace that holds a bedazzled
charm in the shape of a beaker. “I realize we’re in the final weeks of the
school year, but it’s never too late to make new friends and get to know each other.”

Jensen stands, his head leaning
to one side and a hand on his hip. He rubs his eyebrows and clears his throat.
He is literally too cool to give a crap about all the people staring at him.
“I’m Jensen Mackey. Just moved here from Charter Springs, Arizona. Finishing my
senior year.”

Two girls, cheerleaders, spin
around from the table in front of us. They flash toothpaste-commercial-quality smiles
and toss their curled hair over their shoulders like they share a brain.

“Hi, Jensen,” the brunette says.
“I’m Claire Fahnlander, and this is Harper Griffin.”

Jensen offers an off-center
smile, one that makes him look drunk and cocky all at the same time. I’m rolling
my eyes—on the inside, of course.

“We’re glad to have you, Jensen.
You can partner up with Waverly today. Her usual lab partner is out sick. Okay,
safety kits out.” Mrs. Davenport turns to the white board, writing today’s
lesson plan on the board as we retrieve our goggles and lab coats.

Claire and Harper giggle and snap
selfies behind Mrs. Davenport’s back, making goofy faces through their goggles
and flashing peace signs with fish-lipped pouts. Jensen watches them. Errant
heat sears through my belly, tingling and evaporating as a tiny part of me
hates that they’re earning his attention.

“Do you have an extra beaker we
can borrow?” Claire says to Jensen, batting her lashes. She sticks a finger in
her mouth and bites the tip of her long, pink nail as she winks. Harper
giggles.

“Probably shouldn’t put your
finger in your mouth,” Jensen says, avoiding her gaze. “You’re in a chem lab.”

Claire blushes and spins around. Harper
is still giggling, leaning her head on Claire’s narrow shoulder. I have to give
Jensen credit for not falling for that like every other guy in school does.
She’s eager to make him hers before anyone else has a chance to. Claire is the
alpha female of a catty group of senior girls who rule the school with
iron-clad
, manicured fists.

They infuriate me, especially
when I’m the target of their mean-girl giggles, but I never let it show. It’s
not worth it. In just a few short months, I’ll be trekking all over a college
campus, my English lit books in hand, with a group of collegiate peers with
more important things to discuss besides who’s dating whom.

The period ends before we know
it. I don’t remember much of it. Jensen did most of the work, which is unlike
me, but my thoughts were jumbled all morning. I chalk it up to being thrown off
my routine that morning and promise to do better the next day.

“You need me to show you your
locker?” I ask as we file out of the classroom.

“Nah, just point me there. I can find
it.” His independence very well might be his only redeemable quality.