Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits 1)

“What subject are you failing? All of them?” Those green eyes danced. It appeared Echo also enjoyed dishing out shit.

All right, I’d screwed with her this morning for no reason. She deserved to get a couple blows in. “None. Mrs. Collins is calling the shots on this. ”

Echo opened her backpack and withdrew a notebook. A shadow crossed her face when she slid off the gloves and immediately pulled her long sleeves over her hands. “What subject do you want to start with? We have calculus and physics together, so we could start there. You’ve got to be a complete moron if you need help with business technology. ” She paused. “And weren’t you in my Spanish class last term?”

I lowered my head so my hair fell into my eyes. For a girl who didn’t know I existed, she sure knew a lot about me. “Yeah. ” And this term, too. She barely beat the bell walking into class and took the first seat available without giving anyone a second look.

“Qué tan bien hablas español?” she asked.

How well could I speak Spanish? Pretty damn decent. I shoved away from the table. “I gotta go. ”

“What?” Her f

orehead crinkled in disbelief.

“Unlike you, I don’t have parents to pay for everything. I’ve got a job, Princess, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. See you around. ”

Grabbing my books and jacket, I left the table and immediately exited the library. The cold January air smacked me in the face. Ice covered several spots on the pavement.

“Hey!”

I glanced over my shoulder. Echo bounded after me, leather jacket on one arm and pack slung over her back.

“Get your damn jacket on. It’s cold outside. ” I didn’t stop for her, but I slowed my pace, curious as to why she followed me out.

She caught up quickly and kept step beside me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I told you, to work. I thought you were smart. ” I’d never met anyone so fun to mess with.

“Fine. Then when are we going to make this session up?”

I slammed my books on the piece of crap I called a car, causing rust to scatter to the ground. “We’re not. I’ll make you a deal. You tell Mrs. Collins that we’re meeting as many days after school as you want, collect whatever volunteer hours you need for whatever little club you belong to, and I’ll back you up. I won’t have to see you and you won’t have to look at me. I get to continue with my screwed up life and you get to go home and play dress-up with your friends. Deal?”

Echo winced and backed away as if I’d slapped her. She lost her footing when she hit a patch of ice. My right hand swept out and snatched her wrist before her body could smack the ground.

I kept hold of her while she steadied herself using the trunk of my car. Embarrassment or cold flushed her white cheeks. Either way, I found it funny. But before I had a chance to make fun of her, her eyes widened and she stared down at the wrist I held.

Her long blue sleeve was hiked past her elbow and I followed her gaze to the exposed skin. She attempted to yank her hand away, but I tightened my grip and swallowed my disgust. In all the horror-show homes I’d lived in, I never once saw mutilation like that. White and pale red, raised scars zigzagged up her arm. “What the fuck is that?”

I tore my eyes away from the scars and searched her face for answers. She sucked in several shallow gasps before yanking a second time and successfully jerking out of my grasp. “Nothing. ”

“That ain’t nothing. ” And that something had to hurt like hell when it happened.

Echo stretched her sleeve past her wrist to her fingertips. She resembled a corpse. The blood rushed out of her cheeks and her body quaked with silent tremors. “Leave me alone. ”

She turned away and stumbled back to the library.

Echo

“Nothing,” said Lila. “Not a word, not a peep, not a sound. Natalie, Grace and I even put a few feelers out to the juniors, but there is absolutely no gossip flying about you. Well, at least nothing involving Noah Hutchins. ”

Lila sat in the passenger seat and I sat in the driver’s side of Aires’ 1965 Corvette. She’d come home with me to act as my barrier for Family Friday—or as I liked to refer to it, Dinner for the Damned.

In the garage, the radio played from my 1998 forest-green Dodge Neon. Aires’ Corvette still had its original radio. Translation: a piece of crap, but the rest of the car was totally beast. Flashy bloodred with black pinstriping running horizontally— Aires typically lost me at this point, but he would still continue talking even though my eyes glazed over—three functional, vertical front, slanting louvers on the sides of the front fenders; a blacked-out, horizontal-bars grille and different rocker panel moldings.

I had no idea what that meant, but Aires said it enough that I had the description memorized. The car looked awesome, but it didn’t run. Thanks to Noah Hutchins, my chances of it ever running lessened each day. I tightened my hands on the steering wheel and remembered Aires’ promise to me. Days before he left, he had hovered over the open hood as I sat on the workbench.

“It’s going to be okay, Echo. ” Aires’ eyes had flicked to my rocking foot. “It’s only a six-month deployment. ”