Get The Girl ✓

06 | a suicide mission

     From the car that was parked right in front of our driveway, Liv smirked. "Did I tell you how much I adore those gnomes?"

    "Shut up."

     When we were about five minutes from school, my phone rang. I instantly groaned seeing the caller's ID.

    "Trey," I said tightly.

    "Addie," he greeted, no doubt smiling.

    "Let me see. Got new plans for me?"

    "Oh, Addie, the ever most curious," he teased, knowing what had transpired between Jude and I. He couldn't stop laughing about it. "I just have one question."

     The car engine died down, and I blinked. I hadn't realised we'd arrived already. Liv pulled the keys out and opened the door, and I slowly opened mine. "What is it?"

     Right when I stood up, the view of the school and students consumed my vision. Noise and chatter penetrated my ears. But my eyes were fixed on the tree near the parking lot; incidentally the one Liv and I hid behind before I talked to Jude.

     Leaning over that very tree was Trey.

     He was looking right at me, still holding the phone to his ear.

     Grinning.

    "Have you ever gotten detention?"

***

     I think I'm cursed.

     Truly, I believe I am. And I'm beginning to accept that the universe just hates me.

     And also because Jude Reynolds is staring at me like I'm a freak.

     Don't look at him. But I do. I can sense him looking at me, even when I'm not looking at him. He's judging me, I know it. Because who would've thought Adelaide Hale would land herself here?

     No one. Exactly. Except for one person.

     One of Trey's brilliant plans is to get me as close to Jude Reynolds as possible, and a way to do that is through detention. Somehow Gonzalez knew Jude would get it today, and the genius knew I couldn't possibly land myself here alone, so he did it for me — the classic paper-throwing trick. Of course I'm the culprit. The charming and straight-A prodigy Trey Gonzalez would never do that.

     The longer Jude stares at me, the longer I can't keep quiet.

    "What?" I demand, but my attempt at being snappy turns cracked.

    "Who put you up to this?"

     I gulp. "I threw a paper ball at Mr. Portman. What's your excuse?"

    "Some douche cornered a freshman and I decked him in the face," he says unflinchingly. He keeps his eyes trained on me. "But that's not what I meant. Who put you up to this?" He gestures to us.

    "What?" I stall. "What do you mean?" A quick impulse invades my mind: Bieber's song. That would be funny. But I don't think Jude would appreciate my singing skills.

     He glares at me, as if reaffirming that statement.

     I shrink in my seat.

    "I've never seen you in detention my whole fucking life. And you've never tried talking to me until that day. Clearly you didn't want to talk to me at all. Why is that?"