My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

At this, his jaw clenches again.

“For a girl who’s just the little sister, it’s very touching. That you’re hurting and all. But I’ve got a doctor’s note that says it’s okay for me to bar hop and kiss strange girls. So you can relax.”

His voice is cutting and sarcastic. It clearly means I should back down.

But I don’t. There’s no way that I can.

“You said that my sister was in LA. Why didn’t she come with you? She would never leave you alone at a time like this.”

He pushes his tongue into his cheek before saying, “Isn’t this the first conversation we’ve had that’s lasted more than a minute?”

“I…”

“It is, isn’t it?” He lets out a mock sigh. “I think we should stop. Because I have to admit, I’m starting to miss that time.”

The time he’s referring to is the past eight years.

He’s right.

This is the first conversation we’ve had that’s lasted more than a minute. Because as an attempt to keep him safe from my witchy ways, I’ve always kept my distance from him. I’ve always kept my head down around him. I’ve never even made eye contact with him, I think.

So yeah, this is the very first time we’re talking like this.

And when he takes a step back, ready to leave, I don’t want him to go.

So I blurt out the stupidest question in the history of all questions.

The only question that I’ve been wanting to ask ever since I saw him.

The real question.

“Are you cheating on my sister?”

Oh God.

I said that. I really said that.

I used the c-word. I used the most horrific word that can’t be true at all. There’s no way, no way, it could be true.

It’s crazy. It’s insane.

It’s impossible.

But then… But then why was he kissing another girl?

Why has he been distracting me?

Why has he been acting so fucking strange?

“No.”

His answer is short and clipped.

And completely true.

I believe that. I can see the truth of it in his dark blue eyes, on his sharp angry features.

“Then why were you kissing her?” I ask with complete faith in his loyalty and complete confusion about the turn of events. “Why were you kissing someone who’s not your girlfriend?”

“Because I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Your sister and I are not together anymore.”

I think he punched me.

He did.

Because I feel jarred. I feel like I’ve been pushed out of my body and I’ve hit the wall behind me. The brick pillar that sort of makes this into a secluded corner.

Where I found him kissing a strange girl.

But he’s leaving now. He’s leaving this corner and walking away.

After punching me in the stomach with his words, he’s leaving and I don’t even have the energy to stop him.

To ask him what the fuck is he talking about?

Why would he say something like this?

My thoughts break when he stops and turns around to face me. “One last thing.”

I look at him strangely, barely able to breathe.

“Don’t ever let me catch you where you’re not supposed to be. Because when a student breaks a rule, it’s my obligation to report it to their assigned counselor. And I hear Mrs. Miller doesn’t take kindly to rule-breakers.”

My heart jumps. “What? How do you…”

“How do I know?” He shakes his head once, his lips tugging up on one side in a cold smile. “I’ll give you a hint.”

Then, his gaze drops low, lower, down to the ground.

Like a puppet, I follow the trail and realize he’s looking at my feet.

My shoes.

Why would he be…

Oh.

Because my shoes are not really shoes. They’re soccer cleats. Neon yellow and worn even though they’re sort of new. I got them a few weeks back when my old ones got too weathered to use after only a month or so.

I burn through my soccer cleats pretty quickly, abnormally quickly.

Mostly because I play a lot of soccer – yes, I play soccer too but it’s a story for another time. And because I wear them everywhere. They’re not meant to be worn off the soccer field, but when have I ever listened to logic?

My new neon-yellow soccer cleats are the reason I didn’t have enough money that night to run away, and so I had to resort to stealing. Because I’d blown my savings on buying a new pair.

Standing a few feet away from me, Arrow looks at them for a few seconds before lifting his beautiful eyes.

“Make sure you’re not late for your soccer practice on Monday. Because like Mrs. Miller, your new coach doesn’t like rule-breakers either. And you don’t want to find out what happens when you break his rules.”

I don’t call him by his name.

At least not in front of other people.

Because his name has a power over me. Like the name Sarah has a power over him.

Every time I say it out loud, I flinch. As if Arrow is an incantation from olden times. A dark spell. It pricks my lips and covers them in tiny delicious paper cuts.