Chapter Thirteen

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"Are you nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?"

"Because it's a new year. We're sophomores now."

"And?"

Damian rolls his eyes and playfully nudges my arm. "You're the most apathetic person I know. You could win a million dollars, and you still wouldn't bat an eye."

"Oh, I would be thrilled if I won a million dollars," I correct him, parting the sea of students to get to my locker. "This, however, is not the lottery. It's high school."

As I turn the combination lock and open the metal apparatus that will house my belongings for the second year in a row, I do feel a twinge of disappointment. Summer was amazing. I enjoyed every day, every minute, every second of it.

And never, not once in my fifteen years of existence, have I been able to say that.

Gabby's Diner is my new home away from home. Gabrielle reminds me of Moira with her sparkling blue eyes, warm smile, and unwavering kindness. She told me I could still work weekends during the school year because she "wasn't ready to let me go yet."

I saved almost a thousand dollars over the past three months. I keep the money tucked under my mattress so Hank can't get his greedy hands on it. When he discovered I had a summer job, he joked about making me pay rent, but a part of me believes he was only half-kidding.

Damian had an interesting vacation, too. Haven's monologue about not being romantically attracted to Damian was a blatant lie, because they started dating two days after school got out. While I waitressed at her mom's diner, she sucked face with my best friend.

I realize I sound bitter. I'm not, I swear.

The young couple broke up five days ago. Although Haven still liked Damian, she wanted to focus on her studies. He was devastated at first, but he's coping rather well now. Since we're back at school, he'll probably rededicate all his attention to Jessica Jermain.

By cosmic coincidence, the cheer captain walks by us, hand in hand with her quarterback boyfriend. Evan looks at me and Damian, makes the loser sign with his thumb and pointer finger, and keeps on walking. Jessica watches the whole encounter but doesn't say a single word.

"They're so childish." I slam my locker shut. "Three more years, and we'll never have to see them again."

"Jessica's not like Evan," Damian immediately rushes to her defense. Some things never change.

"Then why is she dating him?" I ask. "Why does she stand by and watch him treat people like they're nothing?"

"Because," he replies, his voice a soft murmur, "you can't always choose who you fall for."

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I walk from AP chemistry to my locker, my stomach rumbling. Quickly, I deposit my textbooks, fetch a five-dollar bill out of my backpack, and make my way to the cafeteria.

I can't find Damian, but I see Haven with a boy and girl whom I don't recognize.

"Layla! Hi!" Haven waves me over. "Wanna sit with us?"

I don't, yet I nod my head and take the seat beside her, anyway.

"This"—she points to the girl—"is Mariana, and this"—the boy—"is Jose. They moved here over the summer from Los Angeles."

"Welcome to Starkton," I say, feigning enthusiasm. They were better off in California.

"This place is a shithole," Mariana replies. She stabs her meatloaf repeatedly until it turns to meat mush.

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