The Boy on the Bridge

I shouldn’t keep any of his presents, though. That’ll only make him think they’re working.

The phone vibrates on my bed. Another new number.

“Had to see if I was bluffing, huh?” he asks.

I sigh and pick up the phone. “No. I know you don’t bluff.”

He only lets a few seconds pass before texting back, “What are you up to tonight?”

“Studying. Fighting with my mom. Worrying about Sara’s slight tendency toward stalking. You guys have a lot in common, you should hang out sometime.”

“I’m too hot to stalk someone. When I do it, it’s called courting,” he tells me.

I groan out loud, but it’s mixed with laughter. I can’t keep a stupid smile off my face as I text him back. “Oh my god. I’m blocking this number now.”

I say it, but I don’t actually do it this time. I should—and I will—but I suppose there’s no harm in waiting another minute to see what he says.

Hunter responds with, “What are you and your mom fighting about?”

You.

I sigh heavily looking at the screen, but I don’t type back a response.

I don’t want to tell him that, but some part of me does want to talk to him, and that’s worrying.

I can’t let him off the hook this time.

It doesn’t matter if he’s smart and funny and perfect in so many ways. He’s also mean and vengeful and too cocky for his own good.

Most importantly, apparently… he’s Valerie’s.

That reminder causes my stomach to sink. The gnawing feeling comes back. I didn’t even realize it had dissipated while Hunter was distracting me.

I can’t let him do that.

He’s a temptation I’ve always had trouble resisting, but I’ve never had as much motivation as I do now. I have to be strong.

Even though I don’t entirely want to, I block the number.

I feel sad this time when I drop my phone on the bed.

I don’t look through my purse or go back to studying. I don’t text back Anderson or even Sara.

I wait, because deep down, I wonder if I’ll get another text from another unknown number.

I don’t.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Riley

A few days pass without incident.

There’s still the usual culture of hostility toward me at school, just nothing new.

Hunter texts me from another new number Wednesday night, but I block it without responding.

On Thursday, I stay after school for the newspaper meeting. I’m one of the first ones there.

I’m hopeful that the newspaper will be something of a haven for me this year since the newspaper staff tends not to be populated with jocks or the jock-obsessed. There are some people in this room so far down the social food chain, they probably don’t even know about the post-game jock parties, let alone know a breakdown of what happened at one last week.

It’s a relief to be in a room full of people who don’t know about the state of—or care about—my virginity.

I’m also happy when a few new faces wander in. I didn’t mind doing extra work while we waited for our skeleton crew to fill out, but pulling triple duty throughout the school year would have probably been pretty tiring.

I glance up at the clock as the faculty advisor walks in front of the empty whiteboard and welcomes us to a new year of the school paper. Before he can say more than that, the door opens and one more student wanders in from the hall.

My soul leaves my body as Hunter Maxwell nods at Mr. Lohman and starts walking toward me.

I can only stare, my brain unable to fully process his presence here. He drops onto the chair beside mine—without turning it around, maybe a first for him—and shoots me a winning smile.

“Hey, Bishop. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask carefully, praying for an answer that isn’t the obvious one.

“You didn’t see my name on the new recruits list? I’m gonna be the Clark Kent to your Lois Lane this year. Get excited.”

“There are too few ways to say no to this.” I stare at him. “You can’t be here. This is… You don’t care about the school paper. Jocks don’t write articles. What the hell, Hunter? This is mine. Every other area of the school is yours, but the paper and the library, those are supposed to be my safe spots.”

“Jocks don’t write articles, she says.” Hunter shakes his head. “A little narrow-minded, isn’t it? Not like you.”

“I don’t want you here,” I say more honestly. “I want to do good work this year. I need to be able to focus and think in this environment.”

Hunter cocks his head, looking mighty pleased with himself. “You can’t focus or think when I’m around? That must be frustrating for you.”

I look away from him, training my gaze back on the front of the class.

I am not happy about this. The school paper needed writers, yes, and Hunter is smart so maybe he can write, but…