In the vibrant city of Los Angeles, Kiara Reed, a passionate reader of romance novels and a talented dancer, embarks on a new chapter of her life after her family's recent move. Adjusting to her new surroundings, Kiara unexpectedly encounters a grou...
Ups! Gambar ini tidak mengikuti Pedoman Konten kami. Untuk melanjutkan publikasi, hapuslah gambar ini atau unggah gambar lain.
"Good luck. You're gonna do great. I know you will," Mom says, planting a kiss on my forehead before we head off to school. It's a chilly morning, so I'm bundled up in black leggings, a cream-colored jersey, and Uggs.
I enter my history class feeling utterly drained. History and I? Not exactly a match made in heaven. I settle into my seat in the middle of the room, unpacking my textbooks and iPad. As I look up, I see her approaching—Gemma.
Perfect.
She stops in front of me. "Hi, um, Kelly? Kayla? Kylie? Kimberly?" she stumbles over my name.
"Kiara," I correct, already exasperated by her presence and annoying tone.
"Oh yeah, Kiara, could you do me a favor?"
"No," I bluntly reply.
She rolls her eyes. If only they could stay there permanently.
"Well, you're going to have to. I want you to stay away from Grayson."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious about her reasoning.
"Because he's mine, and no 'new girl' like you is going to take him away from me," she asserts confidently.
"Really?" I retort sarcastically, but she doesn't catch it, her smile widening.
"Yes," she affirms.
"Well, good for you. About your favor, though—I don't think I can help you with that," I lean back, already tired of her drama.
Before she can respond, Ms. Clarkson interrupts. "Ms. Martinez, find your seat please."
"Yes, Ms. Clarkson," Gemma retorts with a glare in my direction before walking off. She has the audacity to sit right behind me. Great, this class just got longer.
I bury my head in my hands, trying to ignore Gemma's presence. Having history with her is an absolute nightmare.
"You okay there?" Grayson's voice breaks through my thoughts from the front.
"Yeah," I lie.
"Sure?" he persists.
"Yeah, why?" I ask, surprised.
"Because it looks like you want to kill yourself. Seriously, are you okay?" he probes.
