The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

7

I underestimated how awkward it would be to be trapped in a small metal box with Lincoln—or maybe it’s just because I hadn’t counted on him seeing me completely naked immediately beforehand.

But the second we get in the car together, I can feel it. His large hands grip the steering wheel hard, and I keep my gaze forward for a few minutes, but eventually, I can’t stand the tension.

I reach over to flip on the radio and start skimming through stations, listening to a few lyrics of each song before scanning forward to the next.

Lincoln makes a noise of irritation in the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something good.”

“They’re all fine. Just pick a fucking station.”

“Sorry. Radio privileges belong to the passenger. Everybody knows that.”

He growls and bats my hand away from the knob just as the radio lands on a maudlin country song. I smirk and sit back, running my fingers through the still-damp tangles of my hair. “Hope you’re happy.”

“Jesus. You are so fucking irritating.”

I glance over at him, my next question more genuine than teasing. “Is that why you don’t like me?”

“No. I don’t like you because—” He cuts himself off with another annoyed sound, shaking his head.

Dammit. I really wish he would’ve finished that sentence. I want to know what this guy’s problem is with me, although I’m not quite sure why it matters. Maybe it’s because sometimes it seems like he’s forcing himself to dislike me, holding that antagonism up like an armor around himself. And I can admit, I’m curious what’s behind that armor.

I’m about to press a little harder when he speaks again.

“I’m sorry about your mom’s car.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise—that’s just about the last thing I expected him to say.

“Did you do it?”

“What?” He shoots me an irritated glance. “No. I said I was fucking sorry it happened, not that I was the one who did it.”

“Are you just mad someone else thought of it before you?” I ask with a snort.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Forget it. Just change the damn station, this song is making me want to drive into a brick wall.”

I reach forward tentatively and spin the knob. This time, I actually try to find a song we’ll both like. I watch Lincoln’s face as I move through stations, and when it lands on a song by Post Malone, the muscles around his mouth relax slightly. So I let that one play and turn it up, drowning out the possibility of more conversation, and we don’t talk any more the rest of the way to school.

We’re late for first period, and Lincoln doesn’t say a word as we step through the white front doors of Linwood Academy and split up to head to our separate classes.

Mr. Becker stares at me over his glasses as I walk into Political Science ten minutes after the bell, but he doesn’t comment as I slink toward a seat in the back.

I was too busy trying to fuck with Lincoln to remember to eat breakfast, so by the time lunch rolls around, I’m starving. I grab two pieces of pizza from the serving staff and am carrying my tray over to the corner I usually sit in when someone sticks a leg out in front of me. At the exact same moment, a pair of hands push me hard from behind, and I fly forward.

The tray falls from my hands, sending my pizza and drink sliding across the floor, as I land hard. Pain shoots through my wrists, and my right knee smacks against the floor. I let out an involuntary cry, hissing a breath through my teeth. Laughter rings out around me, and I clench my jaw in anger.

Right. I almost forgot how many assholes there are at this school. Guess my mom’s little chat with Principal Osterhaut didn’t do shit.

But as I press up to my hands and knees, four pairs of feet come to stand in front of me. My gaze follows the legs up to find Lincoln, Dax, Chase, and River scowling at someone behind me.

“What the fuck are you doing, Savannah?”

I crane my neck to look at her as she answers.

“What? I didn’t do anything. She fell.” When their irate expressions don’t budge, she scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What the hell do you care? She’s just your maid.”