Rewriting History

“I work with him,” I remind her. “I see him nearly every day.” I might have taken over his classes, but unfortunately for me, he is still the assistant principal.

“It’s not the same, Eli, and you know it.”

“Well it would’ve been nice for someone to inform me of his upcoming surgery,” I say sarcastically.

This is almost word-for-word the conversation I had with Mel. Don’t those two communicate? Thank God my oldest sister, Leisel, lives in London. I don’t think I could handle all three of them on me.

“Look, Jules, I have to go. I’ll come by on Saturday, okay?”

After hanging up with Jules, I start to feel guilty. Clearly Dad’s heart condition is a lot worse than they’d first expected, but it’s so hard to feel any sympathy for the man who broke my mother. And then left me to clean up the mess. He certainly didn’t receive any ‘Best Dad’ awards back then.

Taking a sip of my whiskey, I fetch my phone to text Jill.

Me: So, are you free tomorrow night?

Jill: I’ll have to check my schedule . . .

I laugh. I know she’s joking, but even the thought of not seeing her tomorrow makes me feel sick.

Me: Really? Do I need to beat someone up?

Jill: If you’re offering. I’m sure I can think of someone who could use a beat down. Of course I’m free. What do you have in mind?

Me: 23 Ninth Street, apartment forty tomorrow. Dress sexy.

Chapter Seven

Jill

It’s Thursday morning and I’m running late, no doubt due to my late-night study session and my inability to get to sleep after speaking to Eli. I smile at the thought of him. One more day and I’m eighteen. Then we can be together.

Since we made the decision to tone down our relationship, the most I’ve gotten out of Eli is kissing, and not seeing him during the last week has made it even harder. We both agreed to wait before we had sex again, but holy shit—if I’d known it would be this hard I would’ve fought him on it. Talk about sexual frustration. All I think about is the things I want to do to him, and the things I know he’s capable of doing to me. I can’t wait for him to work on that promise to lick me from head to toe.

After a quick breakfast, I jog the whole way to school, making it inside the door just before the final bell rings. I walk into the classroom and immediately see Eli—which does nothing for my concentration levels. I bite back my smile as my stomach fills with butterflies. Our eyes meet and we share a moment before I take my seat.

Jamie turns in his seat and glowers at me, sending a shiver down my spine. When reaches over and flicks my pencil off the desk, I’m ready to explode. I stand up and walk around to the front of my desk to retrieve it, refusing to show Jamie any sort of reaction. I’ve had just about enough of his attitude, and I’m on the verge of confronting him.

He couldn’t know . . . could he? I talk myself in and out of what he has over me every single day. I try to pretend I don’t care, but anything that could ruin what Eli and I have scares the hell out of me. Whatever it is he knows, I’m determined to find out.

As I slide back into my seat, Eli glances up, his eyes meeting mine. I stare down at my paper, my heart racing. I can barely make out the questions, I’m so wound up. Jamie chuckles softy and my fingers grip my pencil so tightly my knuckles are

turning white.

I can’t believe I’m struggling to concentrate in History, of all things.

Sighing, I rub my sweaty palms together and force myself to push out all thoughts other than what’s in front of me as Eli announces the start of the exam. Not that it helps much. My focus is shot, and so is my confidence.

Time is called and I put my pencil down. Am I confident I rocked the hell out of the one exam I should’ve aced? No, because I know I could have done better.

My last class of the day is Algebra 2, and the second I look at the mock exam in front of me I’m kicking myself. Why the fuck would someone want to take the hardest calculus class? Why didn’t I just cruise through like the rest of the senior class on the lowest possible requirement? Damn that scholarship and my desire to go to college.

Apparently, it’s frowned upon if you don’t take this class and do well—although I might have fucked up everything anyway with my history result. Just the thought makes me feel sick.

Mrs. Judd is working through a statistics formula on the board when the girl next to me leans over. I glance her way, taking in her shoulder-length, blond, wavy hair and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She smiles at me and I force a smile back. I don’t make friends easily—a side effect of moving so much.

“Why would anyone take this class voluntarily?” she whispers, echoing my thoughts. Her friendly voice immediately puts me at ease.

“I was just thinking that.” I giggle.