Run Bad Boy Run

Chapter 1

High School.

Need I say more?

Staring at the worn, red-bricked building of Valleyfield High School, the familiar and gut-wrenching nausea of back-to-school finally hits me. The whole process before the first day, the shopping, the summer reading assignments—preparations for another wonderful year— seemed to be a dream up until this point. The excitement and jitters of going into my last year of high school never happen and my longing for summer to never end only grows stronger. It's the classic case of 'summer mourning'—and I'm in overwhelming denial that it's over.

Well, suck it up, cupcake. This year is going to be a good one.

Then again, anything is going to be a good one compared to last year.

Plunging into the swarm of students headed for the door, I promise myself for a peaceful, boring year. No more anxiety, fights, toxic boys, or daily trips to the principal's office — plain as can be. Plain day. Plain homework. Plain year. It's the least I deserve.

With a quick sweep across the campus, I assess the teenagers around me. It's a habit I've developed over the years. When you're in an all out prank war with your mortal enemy for four semesters straight, either you're vigilant or covered in salad dressing. (A lesson I learned the hard way.)

But you don't need to watch your back anymore. He's out of your life.

That makes me hopeful. Even if it doesn't seem real, yet.

My eyes search the sea of people—most of which consists of frenzied groups of baby-faced freshmen—for a familiar brunette. But Gabriella Hansen, my best friend and a president of the student government, is nowhere to be seen. Which is odd. I would have expected her to be parked at the door as a one-woman welcoming committee. The last time I checked, it was in her First Day of School Schedule. Yes, my best friend made a First Day of School Schedule. She's made one for every First Day of School since kindergarten.

And there's nothing she loves more than being on schedule. More than I love chocolate and Mexican food—which is saying something.

My gaze settles on the commotion near the large, stained-glass entrance of Valleyfield High School. A few underclassman boys shout to one another, piling through the doors to get inside as quick as they possibly can, blocking everyone's way. There is never a thing so significant to stir up that much energy in teenagers at 7am. Not even the first day of school.

What the heck is going on?

Without warning, a catchy Mumford and Sons jingle fills the air and my best friend's number appears on the streaky, cracked screen of my beat up Samsung.

"Hey, where are you?" I answer without missing a beat.

No reply.

The squeal of chairs being pushed across the floor blares from the speakers, making me cringe. "Hello? Gabby?"

Another squeal. This time it's followed by low grunting and curses. I open my mouth to say something only to be cut off by a very pissed-off male voice hollering, "You're going to pay for that you little bitch!"

Excuse me?

His words are followed by laughter until Gabby's breathy voice comes from the other end. "Ember!"

"Gabby!" I exclaim in irritation. "Why am I being called a little bitch?"

"No, no! He wasn't talking to you!"

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Em," she stresses. "Where are you? There's a fight in the cafeteria. Oh my God, you have to see it!"