When Our Worlds Collide (Our Worlds #1)

by Lindsey Iler

it’s the best way to spend a Saturday night. It’s just not something that intrigues me. Violet still insists on asking, knowing well what my answer will be. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch, and you don’t dance like a stripper. As for Graham, holy shit.” Violet squeals, linking her arm through mine as we walk to our cars. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” I nod. “Be safe tonight and call me if you need a ride.” I hate to think Violet would be dumb enough to drink and drive, but things happen. Life happens. “That’s why I love you. Always taking care of my ass,” she says in her sweetest voice and pra...

I know how pathetic it sounds. The fresh breeze circles through my car, and music fills the space around me. My one and only goal, dancing in front of everyone without making a complete idiot of myself, has been reached, and for the first time tonight, I relax. Since we live three miles from the school, I’m home in no time. My parents’ cars are in the driveway, but they shouldn’t be home. It’s their anniversary, for crying out loud. Earlier, I had to convince them not to come watch me since they’ve seen me dance almost every day since I was three. Missing one performance wouldn’t kill them. When I step through the front door, their harsh, angry words greet me. It’s the same old argument. How are they going to continue helping my brother with school while sending me to Columbia at the same time? The odd thing is I haven’t been accepted yet, but they still insist on having the pointless fights. My hope is to go on scholarship, and I’ve explained I’m not against taking out student loans. They counter with the same dispute every time. “We aren’t making your brother, and we aren’t going to make you.” Unnoticed by my parents, I walk straight to my room and pull on a pair of my most co...

they find my room empty. My parents love each other more than two people should be capable of. Like every other couple, they’re bound to pick a fight now and then. The same thing happens every time. They wake up in the morning, and all is forgiven and forgotten until the next time. They met freshman year of college. Mom claims she didn’t want anything to do with my dad. Dad remembers Mom plopping her butt on his lap and begging for a ride home from a party. Of course, how the night actually went will remain a mystery. Watching them kid about it makes it painfully obvious how much they love each other. The pureness reflects in their eyes wh...

stare at the stars. The quiet overshadows their arguments. The stillness allows me to clear my mind, to let it all go blank when I find it hardest to find some form of peace. I spy the Little Dipper over the tree line, and when I think I see a shooting star, I close my eyes. My tired mind may be playing a trick on me, but I make a wish anyway. The air shifts and twists, and a chill runs down my spine. One second I’m wishing on a star, and the next, hard metal slams into me. My body flies through the air and smashes the dirt road harder than I could dream. My lungs fight for air while my bones crack and snap from the...

When I drift back to consciousness, I see the massive silhouette of someone kneeling beside me, and somehow know...

“You’re next on the Beer Pong table,” Craig shouts to grab my attention. Amanda’s boring me to death with one of her stories about how Sephora discontinued her favorite shade of blush. Her cackle of friends hovers like vultures, giving condolences on her loss. I fucking hate my life. Craig hangs all over Lauren, one of Amanda’s best friends. As always, she doesn’t want anything to do with him. I’m not surprised. She’s one of the few girls who refuse to listen to his bullshit. She fell for mine freshman year and a few

times after, but she’s smart enough to know Craig is not a good idea. Lauren hangs out with our friends sometimes, but at the end of the day, she’s a snobby bitch like the majority of the girls in this town. “Want to play a little game?” Amanda grins over the rim of her red cup. In one long gulp, she finishes the drink. Music blasts through the house and her hips move in sync with the beat, drawing attention to her exposed, tight stomach. She knows she’s sexy, and she uses it to her advantage. Girls like her always do. “You looking for a challenge, sweetheart?” I wink. This is how I get her to do whatever I want. She’s easy putty in my hands. “Graham, you aren’t a challenge, but I’d love to raise the stakes in this friendly game.” Amanda’s grin stretches wide. “Nothing about you is friendly,

Amanda. We all know that. Now, what do you have in mind?” I question. Amanda lets out a playful laugh. “It’s easy. How about, if I miss a shot, I’ll take off a piece of clothing, and the same goes for you. It’s a win-win either way you look at it from where I stand.” She nibbles on her lower lip. Flirtatious games are no longer necessary between us. We both know what is and isn’t happening tonight. I move so close, my chest bumps hers. A good foot taller than her, she’s small as hell compared to me. “Looks like you’ll be naked in no time. It’s going to make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier for me.” ...

“Your panties are soaked, aren’t they?” I challenge as I walk to the table and set up our game. The rules are hers, and I merely obey them, letting the game go as far as she’s willing to take it. Once again, I’m right. She’s almost naked in so few shots, I almost feel sorry for her. The second her pants come off, the crowd huddles around the table. I’m not willing to share her with all of them. They plan to stand on the sidelines, ogling her in her tiny thong. I may not want to make her mine, but I draw the line at displaying her for my friends. Right before she unsnaps her bra, I gather her clothes from the floor. Dragging her away from every guy’s watchful e...

and I throw her shirt at her. “Put that back on.” I unbutton my pants, dig a condom out of my wallet (because I’m not a fucking idiot), and toss it on the nightstand. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? I’m standing here pretty much naked, and you’re demanding I put my shirt back on, Graham,” Amanda argues. She won’t win this round. Sliding the shirt over her head is the wisest decision. I won’t change my mind, and she knows it. “You’re absurd, you know that? You are the only boy I know who demands a girl put clothes on first.” My rule started freshman year after losing my virginity to Shelly Winter. She wore her shirt the entire time...

expectations. Since the first time, I always insist they wear their tops. All of them. No one escapes the rule. No one ever will, either. “Do you want to do this or argue about what you’ll be wearing when I’m inside you?” I raise a challenging eyebrow. We both know damn well what her answer will be. It’s the same every time. “Fuck it.” Amanda slips her hands and head into her shirt. The cotton bunches right below her flawless, round tits. They’re the perfect size to fill my hands. She jumps into my arms, and her legs wrap around my waist before I lay her down on the bed. Let’s get one thing straight. Amanda is not my girlfriend, and she never will be. Unfortunately, for me, I don’t think she knows. She’s an easygoing, nice person to waste time with, but she gets a bit girlfriend-y. Since her impeccable

So u say

body does some amazing things, I ignore the hand holding and public displays of affection. Well, as long as she continues to do the things she’s doing right now. All I’m saying is, the girl can ride a cock like a bull, fast and fierce. Once I finish, I slide out, not caring if she gets off. Before tossing the condom in the trashcan, I grab my jeans off the floor. She sighs, and in girl world language, lets me know she wants to cuddle or talk or some other girly shit guys only do to guarantee a second ride. Not a chance in hell that’s happening. “You’re running off, aren’t you?” Amanda glares at me. She looks well fucked, but angry at my bailing. By now, she’s familiar with my routine. “Yep,” I deadpan. I button and zip my jeans, fighting a laugh at the desperate look on her face.

She nibbles her bottom lip. “Will I see you tomorrow?” “Jesus,” I whisper under my breath. “I already told you I have things going on. I really have to go. Have Becky give you a ride home tonight. Or don’t. I really don’t care.” Not bothering to say goodbye to anyone, I stumble out to my car. The handle moves when I try to grab it, and after three attempts, I finally manage to open the door. My hands shake as I struggle to put the key in the ignition. When I crank the car and pull onto the road, I see two sets of white lines. Hoping fresh air will help clear my fuzzy head, I fumble for the button to roll down...

As I reach into the glove compartment, my hand slips on the steering wheel. The car jerks, and my iPod falls on the floor. The dashboard lights reflect off the metal. I stretch my arm as far as I can, but it’s out of reach. “Dammit,” I yell. For half a second, I take my eyes off the road and grope around the floorboard. Something hits the hood and rolls off the roof. The loud thump sends fear through my heart, sobering me in a flash. It was just a deer. Jesus, that scared the shit out of me. This is my first accident, so I have no idea what to do. I park on the shoulder of the road and search for the deer. The full moon lights the are...

something. Twisted body. Long, dark hair. Sweatshirt. A knife slices through my gut, solidifying my fear. I hit a person. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” My breath catches. My heart races. My arms and legs tingle. Numbness washes over me. I feel like a bystander on the side of the road, watching this happen to someone else. I race over, drop to my knees, and check her pulse to make sure she’s still alive. My thoughts go straight to my future. I’ve fucked up, and there’s no going back. Deep down, I know who it is. My hands tremble as I pull back the hood. Her beaut...

from a huge gash along her hairline to her eyebrow. Her flawless ivory skin is bruised from the impact of the car. My stomach lurches, and acid crawls up my throat. What did...

My head is foggy. For a split second, I can’t remember. I don’t know where I am. White-hot pain rushes through my body, and everything plays back in my mind like a movie. I know a car hit me because I hear the engine running. I think I’m dying. I try to sit up, but a hand touches my shoulder, and a scared voice pleads with me not to move. I open my eyes, and there he is, kneeling beside me. “Graham… what…” My voice breaks. He brushes the hair from my

face with the gentlest touch. “Just lay still. I’m going to call 911,” Graham whispers. With trembling hands, he digs in his pocket for his phone and almost drops it. Fire runs through my veins. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’m delusional. My thoughts point me straight in the vicinity of crazy. It’s obvious Graham hit me with his car. What isn’t obvious is why I’m about to stop him from calling for help. “Wait. Stop. Put your… phone away… and listen to… me for a second.” I croak out between gasps. My voice is weak, scratchy, strained. He stares at me, confused by my words. “Grab my phone… out of my pocket. Dial 911. Leave it… next to my ear… and drive away.” “What?” Graham paces back and forth, tugging his thick hair

in frustration. Panicked by my request, he peers up and down the road as if all the answers will fall into his lap if he stares long enough. “I don’t understand.” What am I thinking? I better be right about him. The impact of the car must have jumbled my brain. “Just do it.” I force the words from the depths of my lungs. “Please,” I beg, “please, just go.” His thumbs catch the tears on my cheeks. With his eyes glued to mine, he takes out my phone, dials 911, and places it next to my ear. Before he stands, he squeezes my hand clenched across my stomach. As I explain to the dispatcher what has happened, he walks back to his car. Gr...

allow him to throw away his future because of one wrong choice. One bad decision will not define the two of us. His reluctant sigh travels across the night air. His silhouette fades as I succumb to the darkness pulling me...

Fluorescent lights shine bright above my head. Grogginess blankets me and my eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. The IV lodged in my left hand halts my movements. An excruciating sensation runs through my body. “Honey, don’t move.” I know that voice. “Do you know where you’re at?” I turn my head toward the sound and force open my eyes. A chair sits beside the bed. ...

“I’m at the hospital. I was hit by a car, Mom,” I squeak out through my sore throat. Tears form in the corners of my eyes. The pain has lessened, but not enough to make me forget the night's events. The IV drip helps. My mom brushes my hair away from my face like she always does when I’m upset. “Try to relax, baby. I’ll go grab the doctor. He’ll be happy you’re finally awake.” Finally awake? “What day is it?” I ask. How much time has passed? I feel like I’ve only been out a few hours. The look on my mother’s face tells me this isn’t the case. Her eyes are bloodshot, and dark circles ring her bottom eyelashes. “It’s Tuesda...

scare.” When she leaves, I want to close my eyes and sleep. Maybe this is some sort of nightmare, and I’ll wake up from it. The doctor, a nurse, and my mom rush in the room, interrupting my plan for slumber. The gray haired nurse, whose nametag says Brenda, looks like a grumpy old woman. Her bushy eyebrows curve down in a permanent scowl. “Kennedy, I’m Dr. Wilson.” He seems too young to be on his own just yet, but any concerns are relieved as he examines my chart and looks over my bruised body. His friendly manner puts me at ease in a moment where panic threatens. As he writes in my fol...

He lets out an amused laugh. “Yeah, I suppose you would be. How does that head of yours feel?” “Just a little throbbing. It’s more my leg that hurts.” Several pillows prop my leg up under the generic hospital blanket. I lift a corner and scowl at the cast. “When the car struck you, you hit your head pretty hard and had a good bit of swelling. That’s why you’ve been out of commission the past few days. During some of your more lucid moments, you managed to tell us about the car.” Dr. Wilson gives me a comforting smile. His bedside manner is perfect. “As for your leg, it’s going to hurt for a while. The extensive damage will take some time to ...

mattress, careful not to pull or tug any of the wires hooked into me. “There’s a detective here to talk to you,” she explains in the calm voice she uses in desperate times. A tall man with a dark buzz cut and friendly brown eyes enters the room. “Kennedy Conrad, I’m Detective Johnson. I’ve been assigned to your case. Can I ask you a few questions about the accident?” I’m not ready to talk about what happened. I’d think they would give me some time, but apparently not. “Sure.” I force a smile. I know why he’s here, and he’s going to be disappointed because I have nothing to tell him. Detective Johnson sits on the stool nex...

my mom a sympathetic smile before turning back to the detective. “I went for a walk just right down the road from our neighborhood. It was dark, and I was stargazing. It happened right where the small hill blocks your view of traffic.” “Do you remember the color or make and model of the car, or if the driver was male or female? At this point, anything can be helpful, Ms. Conrad.” He’s grasping at straws. My mom looks at me, a pained expression written on her features. She can’t comprehend how this happened to her baby girl. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything,” I lie through my teeth. My mom clutches my hand, trying to be supportive. I ...

“Not really.” I bury the truth. Exhaustion hits me, and she notices my uneasiness. She kindly asks Detective Johnson to leave and promises we’ll contact him if I remember anything. He assures my mom he’ll do everything he can to find the person responsible. My mind wanders to Graham as my mom flips through a Home & Garden magazine. The word accident sticks out in my head. Yes, being hit by a car is an accident, but the person who hit me is not an accident. Even though h...

Four days. Motherfucking four days. Four of the longest days of my goddamn life. The hands on the clocks barely move, and it’s only going to get worse. Leaving the house has become a guilty chore. Every time I go to leave, shame sends me straight back to the seclusion of my room. Kennedy is lying in a hospital bed… broken. I shouldn’t be able to walk out my front door as if nothing ever happened. As if life was just as I had left it. When I get to school on Monday, the hallways are buzzing about

the accident. Girls cluster near my locker and I cringe at the gossip flying from their lips. “Can you believe what happened to Kennedy,” one of them whispers. Hearing her name makes me want to bang my head against my locker. “I know, right? They drove off without even helping her. What kind of asshole does something like that,” another one says. I can’t listen anymore. I ditch my things in my locker and make my way to my first class to escape, but it doesn’t work. Her name comes at me from every corner. I regret dragging my ass out of bed this morning. If it weren't for baseball, I would be anywhere else but here. The rest of the school day is more of the same. No matter where I go, gossip follows me. There may

be some truth to what everyone is saying, but the tale changes with each ear it passes through. Each time I hear Kennedy, my regret grows. I’m not used to this feeling. I’ve never had to apologize for anything, ever. I can’t change what happened or how I handled it. I simply have to live with my decisions. Making myself stop thinking about it has become a challenge. It’s in my head with no intentions of leaving anytime soon. When I see Violet in the cafeteria, I force myself not to ask her how Kennedy’s doing. It would look too obvious. What am I supposed to say? “Oh hey, I know I’m not friends with her, but please tell me everything y...

she’s doing. I’ve always known I’m a pathetic dick. This shines a brilliant light all over my bullshit. I play the same charade the rest of the week, acting as if nothing has changed in my life. It has though. I don’t know Kennedy, and she doesn’t know me, yet she protects me. Not like what she did in class when she gave me the answer to a question. This is much bigger. Waiting for a knock or a call to the office to be arrested in front of everyone has kept me ...

The week goes by slow. No, slow isn’t the right word. It’s catastrophically stagnant. It’s as though someone has stopped all of the clocks in the world, and I have no idea what time or day it is anymore. My time in the hospital is spent watching daytime soaps, not knowing the story plot, but still somehow finding it entertaining. It has been mind numbing in the best way possible. The doctors release me on Wednesday night and encourage me to take as much time as I need to get back to school. I gladly oblige. I’m in no condition to wobble my

way to my classes on these damn crutches. Navigating my house is bad enough. The hard cast clunks on the floor. My goal is the kitchen. I hop down the hall on my good foot and nearly bang my head on the wall. The cool drywall stops my descent. Thankfully, Dad catches me before I have to make a repeat visit to the E.R. I’ve seen enough of those white walls to last me a few years. “Take it easy. No one’s expecting you to run a marathon anytime soon, kiddo,” my dad jokes, laughing at his attempted humor. “Hilarious, dad, and I know that. I’d just like to be able to make it through the hallways on Monday.” While he grabs the crutches from my room, I lean against the wall, looking over the family photos. Braces. Eighties hair-band curls. Zits. Diapers. No one but Violet will ever see them. It’s one of the perks of being a nobody. I don’t have to worry about pictures of the awkward stages I went through. “You get that stubbornness from your mother. You should really think about taking a few extra days off, but knowing you, you’ve already made up your mind. Am I right?” He smiles, handing over my crutches. He knows me too well. “I have, and I’ll be back in school come Monday,” I explain. Forgetting why I left the comfort of my bed, I hobble back to my room. “Has anyone called for me?” I’m wishing the universe would be on my side for once. “Actually, yes.” “Who?” I sound eager, too eager. Even I hear the hope in my voice. He notices, too. “Expecting a phone call, I take it?” His e...

“Violet called four times in the past 8 hours. She said you weren’t answering your cell phone. You might want to call her back. That girl is relentless.” His voice sounds annoyed, but he adores Violet as if she’s his own daughter. He likes to give her a hard time any chance he gets. “That’s all? No one else?” I ask with a mild twinge of disappointment. “Yep, that’s all.” He gives me a sympathetic smile before turning his back. He’s catching on to me. I’d like to assume he’s like most fathers. Being oblivious is an act, when in reality, they’re far too in tune with the details of their teenage daughter’s lives. After all, they need to know who to kill at any given moment, right? I maneuver my cast onto a stack of pillows at the end of the bed. The

U said it

red light of my cell phone blinks, and for a split second, I get excited even though I know it’s Violet. After thinking it over in my head, I have no reason to believe Graham will try to call me. Somehow, I keep thinking about him. I know I shouldn’t. He’s trouble, but something in me wants to believe differently. Maybe it’s remembering the look on his face that night. He seemed vulnerable. Maybe I’m looking too deep, but I know what I saw when he looked at me. He wasn’t the same Graham who acts like he’s doing me a favor by breathing the same air as me. He surprised me. That’s all. I grab my phone, click a few buttons, and read Violet’s text. Hope ur feelin better. I still cant believe u were run over. Ill pick u up at 7:30. Luv u. I message her I’m fine and I

appreciate her picking me up for school and put the phone on my nightstand. My mind wanders back to him, as it has every other moment since I woke up in the hospital. After what happened, why isn’t he trying to see me? How could he not? He’s not a complete monster, so what’s stopping him? He almost took my life, and in return, I saved his. That warrants a visit in the hospital, or at the very least, a quick text to say, “Hey, know I almost killed you and all. Just wanted to see how you were feeling afterwards. Keep your chin up.” The only rational excuse I keep feeding myself is maybe he doesn’t have my number. He can’t just walk up to just anyone and ask for it. I’m Little Miss Unsocial. The only people who have it are Violet and a few others in my AP study group. The rest of my weekend consists of watching movies and reading in bed. The parental units wait on me hand and foot. Sunday night, my brother, Will, calls to see how I’m holding up. We haven’t talked in weeks, so it’s nice to catch up with him. He asks about everything I remember from that night. I try to keep my story straight. This could become complicated if everyone keeps pestering me about every minor, little detail. Monday comes too quick, more for my parents than me. They would keep me hostage if they had any say in it. I’m more than ready to go back to school, to be surrounded by people, even if they ignore me. Anything is better than mind-numbing characters in the rom coms I’ve subjected myself to. Real ...

😂

Her mom is a doctor, and her father is involved in politics, whatever that means. Secretly, I think he’s involved with some illegal activity. The man is scary. They adore her and pretty much hand over anything she wants on a silver platter. “Ha-Ha. You are so very funny. Can you at least open the door for me?” I point one of my crutches at the passenger door. She pushes it open and I throw my crutches in the back before sliding into the seat. We’re quiet as she makes the short drive to school. “Just a heads up. There’s a rumor your leg nearly got chopped off in the accident,” she explains through a boisterous chuckle as she pulls into the parking lot. Laughter bubbles from my stomach. “Seriously, doesn’t anyone have anything better to do than spread rumors?” I dig through my purse for my phone. A blank screen

stares at me. Still nothing. I’ve officially crossed over into pathetic. “What’s that look on your face? You look like someone just told you your favorite author died.” I shake my head as if nothing bothers me. She doesn’t push the subject. “Wait ‘til you hear all the shit people have been saying, Ken.” She laughs again, filling the car with amusement. “This should be an interesting first day back.” I try to act like it doesn’t bother me. I hate being the center of attention. That’s why it took me so long to get on stage in front of the entire school. The thought of everyone’s eyes on me throws me into a full-fledged panic attack. Maybe I should have waited a few extra days to come back to school. We park in the same spot Violet always does. Thankfully, it’s in the

Same

front row. I grab my crutches and backpack, struggle up the steps, and through the door. By the time I make it to my locker, my face is red, my hands are sweaty, and my armpits are killing me. It may be my imagination or the painkillers I take every four hours as if my life depends on it, but I feel like everyone is staring holes into the back of my head. To work the combination, I balance on my good leg. After a few tries, I pop the lock. I grab my books for my first class from the shelf. My attempt to balance everything in one arm while grabbing the crutches is an epic failure. I know it’s going to happen before I can do anything to stop it. My books tumble out of my hands and the crutches crash to the floor. It isn’t even 8 AM, and I want to crawl into a deep, dark hole. “Damn it,” I whisper, hoping no

one hears me curse. The word feels dirty passing through my lips. I bend down the best I can on one leg to pick up the books. Violet, where are you when I need you? Another set of hands gathers the books and papers I can’t quite reach. “Are you okay?” a deep voice asks, startling me. Everybody in the hallway stops what they’re doing. The noise level is eerily silent. Loudly silent, if that’s even a thing. They stare at me, even more so than before. Once my brain registers who’s in front of me, I realize they aren’t looking at me. Curious eyes watch him, waiting ...

A whole nine days have gone by before Graham has the nerve to ask me anything and the first thing he says is Are you okay? Of course, I’m not okay. The boy who’s never spoken more than twenty words to me ran over me, and I am naïve enough to think he owes me something. As I’ve said before… Pathetic!

I could see why u think that

Kennedy is infuriated. When she realizes who’s helping her, anyone close enough to see her face can see the anger in her clenched teeth and flushed cheeks. She would be happier if the devil himself assisted her in her time of need. Her eyes are usually this crazy shade of blue, but when she glares at me from beneath those long eyelashes, they’re a dark, smoldering gray. You can see the storm brew. I’ve never seen eyes change color like hers just did. I hold out her books, and she yanks them from my grasp. Even though she claims she’s okay, I can tell she’s lying.

“Kennedy, I think we should talk,” I whisper to ensure no one hears me. We’ve drawn an audience. When I hold out the crutches, she grabs them with an insulting enthusiasm. They are her only way away from me, after all. Like she’d refuse them. “You know what? I don’t think we do. Forget it ever happened. You don’t owe me anything, Graham,” Kennedy snaps. I stop myself from laughing when she rolls her eyes. Her reaction is adorable. Why won’t she talk to me? If she hates me this much, why did she do what she did? Kennedy could have told the cops everything. Her silence makes me more curious about her. I don’t pretend to be a nice guy. Everybody knows I’m a dick, but chooses to excuse my behavior because of my family and

how well I play ball. Her blatant disgust aggravates me. She told me to leave her on the side of the road. I was ready to seal my fate before she stepped in and changed everything. “Whatever, Kennedy. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s perfectly fine,” I snap a little too loud. A few of Amanda’s friends narrow their beady eyes at us, confused about why Kennedy and I are in a heated, whispered conversation. Right away, rumors rear their ugly heads. According to the order of things around here, she and I have no reason to talk. They’re wrong. We have plenty to discuss. At some point, Kennedy will have to believe it as much as I do. Kennedy’s eyes gloss over ...

tears, but none I’m willing to try to stop. I feel strangely protective of Kennedy. Her mouth opens to say something, but she shakes her head as if to erase her thought. As I move down the hallway, everyone stares over my shoulder. Once again, I leave her stranded and alone. I need to get away from her. Being close to her only confuses me more. Her presence is as infuriating as it is welcome. Distance will right the wrongs of the situation, I reassure myself. I can go on with my life, not giving a shit about anyone except myself. You can’t honestly believe that. After second block, I hear the familiar sound of mixed conversations coming from the cafeteria....

Her gaze jumps from me to them several times in question. With a quick shake of her head, she dismisses the attention I’m getting. “Hey, babe.” She links her arm through mine, pressing close to my side. Sometimes, I think she does this to show others she belongs to me in some sort of fucked up way. I don’t belong to anyone, and I never will. “Hey.” I force a smile before removing her arm and heading to my usual spot across from Craig and Mark. The three of us have been best friends since kindergarten. We’re on the baseball team and spend most of our weekends bouncing from bed to bed with ...