Lost Boys (Slateview High 1)

My stomach dropped as we left the familiar neighborhoods behind, heading deeper and deeper into the side of the tracks my father had always disparaged. Children ran up and down the sidewalks or rode bikes in the streets. More than once, people stopped to leer at my mother’s car as we drove past.

They were looking at the car, not the two of us inside it, but it still felt like walking down the street stark naked and vulnerable. I shrank down in my seat, my heart thudding hard in my chest. I was used to being looked at, used to being the center of attention. But all my training for how to handle myself in high society had done nothing to prepare me for this. I felt wholly out of my depth.

Too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, Mom and I pulled into the driveway of a small house. It was squat and square, the cement of the front steps was crumbling, and the paint was faded and peeling. It barely looked like it could keep one person comfortably, let alone two.

My mother said nothing as she parked the car. We sat there for a moment, both of us staring at the house. From my understanding, my father’s lawyer had helped her find this place. It’d been one of the only two-bedrooms we could afford, considering neither my mother nor I were working.

I swallowed. Might as well get it over with.

Mom was still sitting stock still beside me, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t move until I did. So I was the first person out of the car.

The feeling of vulnerability didn’t go away as I trailed around to the trunk, pulling out my suitcases. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s just until Dad gets released.

Because he had to be released. There was no way he could possibly be guilty of what he’d been accused of. Once he was exonerated, once this all blew over, we would get our things back—get our house back. We would be a family again. Whole.

I kept telling myself this, and as I lugged out both of my suitcases, I paused.

Someone was watching me.

Over the years, I’d gotten good at picking up on things like that. My mother had taught me to be aware of who was looking at me at all times—to navigate a cocktail party or ball with perfect aplomb.

My back straightened, and I glanced around, locking gazes with a boy standing across the street from me.

Shaggy brown hair fell into his face, but it didn’t diminish the intensity of the hazel eyes that stared back at me. He leaned against a beat-up convertible, no shirt on and his jeans slung low on his hips. He was probably about my age, but he looked older somehow—like he’d seen more of the world in his seventeen or eighteen years than I had. His shoulders were broad, his muscles sculpted and defined.

The boy’s head tilted as he openly stared at me, pinning me with his gaze as something like recognition flashed in his eyes. The thought of someone from here recognizing me sent a shiver of fear down my spine.

It’s fine, Cora. He doesn’t know you. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s probably just curious about the new neighbors. No one in this neighborhood probably had an inkling who my father was, let alone who I was.

Taking hold of whatever poise and haughtiness was left in me after the past several weeks, I turned my nose up. I wasn’t usually snobby—not with people I knew—but this boy was a stranger, and I didn’t have the patience to indulge his vulgar, rude staring.

Instead of looking away, he smirked, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

I flushed. What the hell?

Heat crept up my cheeks and then kept going, seeming to spread to every inch of my body, making me warm all over. The boy was undeniably good looking—one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen, actually—but something about him put me off-balance.

It wasn’t like with Barrett, the way my skin had crawled when he’d touched me, making me want to flee his presence.

This was something else entirely.

Not repulsion.

Attraction.

Mom was still sitting in the car, and I couldn’t seem to make my feet move. Couldn’t tear my gaze away from the dangerous-looking, sexy boy across the street. He didn’t seem in any hurry to look away either, and the longer we stared at each other, the harder it became to breathe.

Finally, the strange, buzzing connection between us was broken when two other boys approached the first. A bronze-skinned, tall one, and another with a shock of short blond hair. They were shirtless too, and the sight of them nearly short-circuited my brain.

It was too much to process at once. It wasn’t like I’d never seen guys with their shirts off before, but there was something about the raw strength that seemed to radiate from their bodies, the dominating size of them, and the way they all stared at me in complete silence, that made my heart beat so hard I was sure they must be able to hear it from where they stood.

My mouth opened slightly as I tried to think of something to say—but no words came. If they had talked shit to us or catcalled me or something, I probably could’ve mustered up a scathing retort. But their quiet intensity threw me off.

The first boy, the brown-haired one, finally turned to murmur something to the boy with white-blond hair. It was too quiet for me to pick up his words, but I used the opportunity to wrench myself out of whatever strange bubble we’d all been encased in, stepping back toward the car and grabbing my bags again.

Mom was already inside—she’d gone in while I’d been distracted, leaving her suitcase behind in the trunk. She hadn’t even bothered to close the door behind her.

/>