The Hoodie Girl

Chapter 5

Wren

I launch a pillow from my notebook-strewn bed at an annoying Mia. She dodges it from the other side of my room, nearly falling out of the chair she's stretched across. Her dark hair whips the span of her shoulders as they shake with laughter. "Your aim sucks."

"Shut it," I say. "I don't want to go."

We were halfway through Clueless when Mia clicked the space bar on my laptop and announced that she wanted to go to Dunkin' Donuts because, apparently, they're having this huge two-for-one promotion if you eat in, or something like that. And I'm as enthusiastic about the idea as I sound.

"Come on," she persists. "Please. You've been studying the entire week. You were studying before I showed up today. You're going to burn yourself out."

"Nope."

"Think about the donuts. The freakin' donuts, Martin! If I don't get coffee in two minutes, I'm gonna blow."

"We have coffee downstairs."

She scoffs. "Go to hell, it's gotta be Dunkin'."

"Yeah . . ." I pretend to think about it. "No."

"Come on," she nags. "You love me, right? You won't let me slowly descend into darkness because I can't get my caffeine fix. Right? Right?"

I raise a brow. "So this has nothing to do with your fear of missing out on that stupid promotion?"

"Oh come on," she says. "Don't act like you've never been a victim of blatant advertising schemes."

She hurls the notorious pillow back at me. And because I have the reflexes of an injured animal, it collides evenly with my face. I place the pillow behind me and offer Mia a sour look.

"Okay." I sigh. "Fine."

"Yes," she hisses. "Let's go, bitch!"

"But—" I stuff some money from my drawer into my phone cover. "We get the donuts and leave. I need to get back and start my history assignment. Plus, I want to squeeze some reading in."

She makes a face. "Isn't the history assignment due, like, next month?"

"There's nothing wrong with being prepared."

Don't be fooled. I have this nasty habit of starting assignments early but somehow still leaving 80 percent of the work for the night before, and Mia's well aware of this.

She rolls her eyes. "I literally hate you."

"Finally," I say, tightening the ribbon at the end of my French braid before I shove on a pair of Converse. "Something we both have in common."

When we arrive at Dunkin', I'm surprised at just how many people are victims of blatant advertising schemes. I recognize a few faces from Eastview, and Zach Chandler's signature yellow sports car can be seen from a mile away. Mia tenses beside me.

"Guess who's here," I tease her.

"Crap."

I start cracking up. "Well . . . this was nice. Let's head back, shall we?"

"We shall not." Mia shakes her head. "I came here for my coffee and donuts and you bet your tiny ass I'm gonna get 'em. So . . ." She glances at me. "I haven't exactly dressed up for this scenario,"—I raise a brow at her pretty floral dress—"but here's what we're gonna do. We are going to walk in there, and for Christ's sake, Wren, do not look at him."

"What do you mean 'don't look at him'?" I send her an incredulous look. "I'm not gonna look at him."

"Really," she says sarcastically, "because who else does a freakin' one eighty to look at someone like they've committed a felony, right after I say 'don't look'?"