Redwood High

“I prefer Kat.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be rude, dear, shake hands,” she said.

Alarmed, I turned to look at the boy, Jake and realized that his arm was outstretched, something I hadn’t noticed before. I felt my cheeks redden as I took his hand, and I could swear I felt a jolt.

Maybe he did too, because his smirk got even more prominent, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Katrina.”

He drawled my name, intentionally ignoring the fact that I had openly said I preferred it shortened. I glared at him, but he continued, unbothered. “We are going to have so much fun.”

His grip on my hand tightened, his boyish smirk remaining in place. I was sure my entire face was now red while my Mom simply stood there, beaming at our interaction.

It didn’t take being psychic for me to know that Jake Grayson was going to be trouble.

Chapter 3

Monday mornings were my least favorite day of the week; at least I had that in common with the average teenager.

I stood before the mirror, trying so hard to comb my usually soft blond hair, which, for some reason, had a ton of tangles this morning. That and the fact that I had found my favorite Vans chewed by a rat, probably, increased my fear of this turning into a bad day for me.

I considered those two occurrences bad omens because I never had a problem combing my hair regardless of the weather, and I had been wearing those Vans for two years now without ever having an issue.

Ugh, I just knew being the new kid was going to suck. Like his face screamed, ‘I suck!’ or better ‘I am gonna suck.’ Not that I’d ever experienced it, but I had seen how awkward it had been for new kids at my old school to adjust.

A knock on my door made me turn. “Come in,” I said and looked at the mirror once again with a satisfactory nod.

“Bebé, are you done? You are going to be late,” my Mom drawled in that thick Mexican accent of hers as she peered into my room, opening the door halfway.

“I’m done, Mom.” I strolled to the bed and picked up my brown leather satchel. “We can go now.”

She raised a brow at my response, for some reason, and wrinkled her beautifully pointed nose.

“That’s what you’re gonna wear? Katrina, what happened to the clothes I picked out for you?”

I looked down at myself, wondering what she was talking about. I had on a plain white T-shirt and dark skinny jeans paired with my tan Chelsea boots. My hair, which I had managed to untangle into its soft curls, was up in a ponytail. I had on a silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant my Dad had given me when I was twelve. In my opinion, I looked good and ready to go.

However, my Mom, ever the fashionista, thought otherwise. “But it’s your first day, darling, and I left you that cute little dress and those elegant heels I got you. It’s a good thing those Vans of yours got ruined. They were beginning to drive me crazy, and at least now you get to wear your designer boots. I bought those for you eons ago.”

I simply gaped at her. “Mom, did you…?”

An eye-roll followed my unfinished question. “Don’t worry; I didn’t do anything to your precious Vans. It was probably a rat, and I said I would call the exterminators, Bueno?”

“Okay,” I said but still kept a suspicious eye on her before I was satisfied that she hadn’t taken her frustration out on my shoes.

“Did you sleep well?” It was our first night in our new house, and I wanted to know how she was doing.

A broad smile graced her lips. “Oh, honey, I slept wonderfully. I get to start my new job today too, so I couldn’t be more excited.”

I sighed. “Mom…” I just couldn’t believe she could be that happy, considering the circumstances.

She walked into the room and placed both manicured hands on my cheeks, her bronze skin a slight contrast from my cream-colored complexion. “I’m fine, mí hija, you don’t have to worry. Like I said before, our life here is going to be simply amazing.” She kissed my forehead and pulled me into a hug.

“I love you, Mom,” I mumbled from being squished in her arms.

“Té amo, bebé,” she whispered before stepping back and brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful, Katrina, and your eyes, my God, they shine so brightly, just like your father’s. You are all your father, my sweet girl.”

I beamed at the comparison, but deep down, I knew there were some similarities between my Mother and me also; they just weren’t as vivid.