Surviving Adam Meade Read online

  Case positioned himself in front of me. He was a massive roadblock in a graphic tee and faded jeans. “Okay,” he answered. “First off, you are home. Second, you don’t like this school because you don’t know it. Third, these people are nice.” He gave a high five to a passing guy and shot me a pointed look. “See. Making friends already.”

  “Yeah, because you’re an athlete and a guy. It’s easier for you.”

  “It would be easy for you, too, if you’d try.”

  “I am trying.” He pursed his lips, and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Okay, that was a lie,” I said. “I just don’t see the point. It’s my last year of high school. Why waste the effort?”

  “Because it’s worth the effort.”

  “For you,” I said. “You’ve got another year here, unless Dad decides to take a different job. Who knows, maybe you’ll get to start over your senior year, too.”

  The bell rang, and Case glanced at the clock beside the library. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m late. This is your fault.”

  “Well, you always make me late. It’s time I returned the favor.”

  “I don’t make you late.”

  “Right.” I nodded. “You just take forty-five-minute showers and use all the hot water.”

  “Got to get my luscious locks fully conditioned,” he answered, raking a hand through his brown hair. “It takes time.”

  “Well, you and your luscious locks are about to miss fifth period. Dad’s going to be pissed when I tell him.”

  “You shouldn’t threaten people who know where you sleep,” he said, frowning as he shifted his weight.

  “I’m not worried. I know how long you wet the bed.”

  Case darted a glance around the hall, panic on his face. “You can’t blurt out things like that. I have a rep to keep.”

  “My bad. Forgot you were trying to be cool.”

  “I’m not trying to be cool,” he said. “I am cool.”

  Case hurried off, and I continued searching for the cafeteria. Five minutes later, with a tray in hand, I plopped into a plastic chair at an empty table. Beneath bright fluorescent lights and laminated posters, most of the students were clustered randomly. The football players were an exception. Their table was all guys, with the exception of a blond girl. She sat across from the same guy who made me drop my water, laughing with him and a few others.

  I popped a french fry in my mouth and watched them. She looked at ease with the players, like she was one of them, and the sight tugged at memories I tried to bury. I was like her once, an honorary member of the team. Even before Seth, before I was dating one of them, Baker Heights’ football team had welcomed me in. Now I was just a new girl. I was the one people stared at and whispered about. I was alone.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and tried to find a distraction. I found it in pictures from the spring, pictures of Seth and me.

  His dark brown eyes were caring then, warm as he looked at me. His smile was carefree, his body relaxed, and his overgrown brown hair tousled by the breeze. Things had changed between us, but the guy I knew had to be in there somewhere. I needed that guy now. I needed to talk to him.

  For the first time in months, I texted him.

  Claire: I miss you

  The bell rang, and the room became a frenzy as students stood, discarded their trays, and filed out of the cafeteria like a herd of cattle, bound for another three periods before freedom arrived. I filed out with the rest of them, entering a hallway where the smell of burned chicken sandwiches and stale fries lingered.

  Closer to Senior Hall, that smell faded. The metallic scent of lockers and the sugar-cookie aroma from home economics took over instead.

  My locker was beside Mrs. Myers’s math class, nestled among college posters, school memorabilia, and inspirational quotes. Most of the morning, students entering and exiting math blocked my way. This time, it was the guy who made me drop my water bottle. I sidestepped a group of people and stopped behind him, his fitted blue T-shirt, dark jeans, and messy brown hair familiar for all the wrong reasons.

  “Excuse me,” I said, my tone the nicest I could manage. “Can I get by?”

  He ignored me.

  “Hello? Excuse me,” I said, trying again. When he failed to acknowledge me for the second time, I reached up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Yo. You with the hair and inability to hear.”

  The person he was talking to, a shorter guy with brown eyes, olive skin, and curly black hair, craned his head my way. I stared at him and pointed at the idiot in front of me.

  “Adam, I think she needs you,” he said.

  Adam turned, the angular planes of his face tight with annoyance. He was annoyed with me? No. Not after the water girl incident and the water bottle mishap.

  Light green eyes, framed by thick lashes, peered at me. “They all need me,” he said, addressing his friend, “and she can wait. I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

  “Look here, dick for brains,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Think it’s possible to move your ego ten steps over? I need a book. You know what those are, right? The things with words and pages?”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Wow. Sure there isn’t a pair of balls on you?”

  “Sure there’s a pair of balls on you?”

  The other guy stepped between us and looked from me to Adam before clearing his throat. “Well, this has been fun, but the bell’s about to ring. In case you forgot, Adam, tardies equal laps. Don’t be the lap guy. We need you on the field.”

  “You ran laps yesterday, Tate,” Adam answered. “Besides, the water girl needs a lesson in social status.” He raised both hands so they were level, then slowly shifted them so one was higher. “This is me,” he said, wiggling the hand closer to his face. “This is you.” He wiggled the other one and grinned. “See the difference between us?”

  “Yeah, you’re the asshole,” I answered.

  Tate snorted, and Adam slugged him in the arm. Tate laughed louder.

  “Fine,” Adam said, stepping away. “Be friends with the water girl. I’m the smarter, more charming one, but it’s your choice.”

  “I’m not the water girl!” I replied.

  “Sure you’re not.” Adam winked and turned his back on me. Tate followed close behind.

  Whatever. Adam could think what he wanted. I pulled my book from my locker and hurried to English. When I got there, Mrs. Lories was already talking to the class. She paused midsentence, and everyone stared as I ducked my head and found a seat. Great. Now I was the tardy fish in the fishbowl.

  The first empty desk I found was beside a girl with long blond hair. She wore a Pader High cheer hoodie and dark blue skinny jeans, and I’d seen her before. She was the girl I’d watched in the cafeteria. She might be the nicest person on earth, but she was too relatable to be around. Tomorrow I’d find a different desk.

  I slid into the seat and placed my book in front of me.

  “Claire,” she whispered as I grabbed a pencil from my bag. “Claaaaaire.”

  I straightened and kept my eyes on the board. I didn’t know her, and I didn’t want to get in trouble when I’d already made a bad impression.

  “Claire,” she whispered again. When I still didn’t answer, she paused and sat back in her chair. Her pencil rose to her lips, and she gnawed on the end. “Is her name Claire?” she murmured to herself. “I thought it was Claire, but what if her name was Mare or Cher? Crap. Never mind.” She leaned forward, smiling as she tapped her pencil against the edge of my desk. I looked at her, and her smile widened. “Hi,” she said. “We’re on page five.”

  “Thanks,” I answered.

  I flipped to page five, and she relaxed, her blue eyes burning holes in my profile. When the bell rang, she was the first to stand.

  “I’m Riley,” she offered, slinging the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Pader High cheer captain and Luke Bryan fangirl.”

  “Claire,” I replied. I grabbed my backpack and followed the rest of the
students into the hall. Riley kept pace.

  “I thought I recognized you,” she said. “You’re Case’s sister, right? You two look the same—same nose, same hair color, same pale complexion.”

  I glanced at my bare arms. I was porcelain, not pale. There was a difference. “I’m not his sister,” I answered. “He’s my brother. On bad days, he’s a stranger who shares my house.”

  She arched an eyebrow but paused to talk to a group of girls who passed us. One mentioned something cheer related, and Riley answered before catching up with me. “So,” she continued. “Case is your brother? That’s cool.”

  “Yep.” I stopped and tried to find my way to Senior Hall. Riley kept talking.

  “You moved into the Wilsons’ old house, right? The one on Cheshire Lane?” I nodded, and she squealed. “Totally thought that was you! I’m two houses down. We should hang out sometime!”

  We entered Senior Hall and Adam’s friend Tate met us as we passed the first set of lockers. He wrapped an arm around Riley’s shoulders, kissed her cheek, then glanced at me. “I don’t think we’ve formally met,” he said, extending a hand. “Tate Mack. Nice to meet you.”

  “Claire Collins. Nice to meet you, too.”

  Tate’s brow furrowed as he whispered something to Riley.

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice loud. “This is Coach Collins’s daughter. Case is her brother.”

  “I whispered it for a reason,” Tate said, his eyes wide.

  “Oops,” she answered, shrugging.

  Tate looked at me, his cheeks pinker than before. “Guess I’ll go ahead and say sorry about Adam,” he said, scratching his pointed jaw. “We didn’t know who you were.”

  “And who am I?” I asked.

  “The coach’s daughter,” Tate answered, grimacing. “As soon as Adam finds out your last name, he’ll track you down and apologize. Don’t want drama interfering with football, you know?”

  I shifted my backpack and shook my head. “Actually, no. Apologies are apologies. If it isn’t sincere, what’s the point?”

  “Um, good question.” Tate cleared his throat and took a step in the opposite direction. He looked at Riley, cringing. “I’m going to class now,” he said. “Riley, catch you later?”

  “Bye, Tate,” she answered.

  Tate hurried away, and I stopped in front of my locker. Riley stayed at my side, scrolling through her phone while I traded out my books. When I was done, she crammed the phone in her pocket and smiled.

  “I’m in computer science,” she commented, motioning down the hall. “We should hang out, though. The rest of the people in our neighborhood are old. It’ll be nice having someone my age within walking distance.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Yay! See you later.”

  She pivoted, and I walked to government, eyeing my watch along the way. The ITV Lab, the largest classroom in the school, was luckily not too far from my locker. It was set up like a theater, with rectangular tables stretching from the middle of the room to staircases on either side. A massive flat-screen television covered the room’s front wall, with individual speakers placed in every corner.

  The room was colder than my other classrooms, and my short-sleeved T-shirt did nothing to ward off the chill. I rubbed my bare arms and found a table near the middle of the room. After unloading my textbook, notebook, and a pencil, I went back to rubbing my arms and checked my cell phone for a text from Seth. Nothing. My pulse raced and my frozen cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  Why had I texted him? Now I was the clingy ex.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  Adam’s voice drew my attention to the bottom of the stairs. He was smiling, his eyes focused on me, and I groaned. This wasn’t happening. Why was this happening?

  “Miss me?” he asked.

  “Not even a little.”

  He passed my table and knocked the book off my desk. A bam echoed around the room, making the entire class jump and look my way. I ducked my head, but Adam pointed at me.

  “Blame the new girl,” he said. “Had to find attention somehow.”

  He tried to continue up the stairs, but I stretched my foot out and sent him flailing into the table behind me.

  “I’m not the only one seeking attention,” I replied.

  Adam straightened, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you want to mess with me?” he hissed, towering over me like I’d be intimidated. “Because I don’t care if your dad is the coach. This ends one way: You’ll lose.”

  “I never lose,” I answered.

  “That was before you met me.” He plopped into a chair at the table behind me, his face tight as he leaned against the edge. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Collins.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Whether Adam believed me or not, I’d been in enough schools and dealt with enough people to handle myself. He was messing with the wrong girl. If he wasn’t careful, he’d learn his lesson the hard way.

  3

  Four-Wheeling

  “Okay, Claire. Which one is blue?”

  Case stood in the hall, two blue button-downs in his hands. They were a shade apart, but they were both blue.

  “You’re good either way,” I answered, returning my attention to unpacking. “Why?”

  “Because Riley Cross is hot, and I’m trying to score a date.” He frowned at the shirts, then combined the hangers in one hand. “I need to make sure my outfit is on point. Figured one of these shirts would do the trick.”

  I laughed at him. Case had as much chance with Riley as I had with a prince. It wasn’t going to happen, regardless of his wardrobe.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, entering my room. “I saw her watching me mow the other day. She wants my bod.”

  “Right, because a riding lawn mower screams sex appeal.” I shook my head and placed a pair of books on my computer desk. “You should try someone else,” I urged. “She’s with Tate. Might be a while before you get a shot.”

  “I give it to the end of the semester,” Case answered. “She wants to let go but is too afraid to try something new.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re a dream crusher.”

  My phone beeped, and I crossed the fluffy teal rug in the center of the room. On my nightstand, the phone glowed. I frowned at the reminder about our monthly data usage. Almost two weeks and still nothing from Seth. My emotions were shot. I never should’ve sent the text.

  “Is it Riley?” Case asked.

  “Nope.” I tossed the phone on my comforter and went back to my box.

  He watched me, quiet as he fidgeted with the twinkling white lights I had strung across the top of my dresser. He was only this quiet when he wanted something. “So,” he started, his tone too neutral to be good, “Mom told me you wanted to borrow the car. Baker Heights?”

  “Is that a real question?” I pulled out a pair of picture frames and caught his judgmental stare. “What? You know how I feel. It’s not like I’ve bottled it up.”

  “I get it, but I thought you were making friends.”

  “Riley can’t replace my old friends,” I said. “I had a life there, one Mom and Dad ripped away without considering how it would affect me. Nothing makes that okay.” I placed the pictures facedown on my desk. They clanked together, scratching memories of people I’d left behind.

  “Claire, I know you want to see him, but I really think—”

  “Don’t,” I interrupted. “I know you’re trying to pull the protective little brother card, but I made a deal with Mom and Dad. I’m visiting Baker Heights as soon as I can. If I’m there and I see Seth, I’ll handle it the way I want to handle it.”

  “Fine,” he answered, sounding like it was anything but fine. “I think you’re making a mistake, but you do whatever you want.”

  His footsteps echoed down the hall. I closed the bedroom door behind him. All I wanted was one more year at Baker Heights. Case didn’t understand. No o
ne did. I lay across my bed, lost in thought.

  “Claire!” my mom hollered.

  I swiped the back of my hand across my cheeks and cleared my throat. “I’m sleeping!” I replied. My voice left me in a croak, so I cleared my throat again.

  “Claire, company!” she said.

  “Who?”

  Silence.

  “Who?” I repeated.

  “Claire, company!” she yelled again.

  I groaned and dragged myself from the mattress. My reflection stared at me from the large mirror on the far side of my room. My eyes were red and puffy, complemented by tear-stained cheeks. My hair was a mess of brown waves, tangled from being thrown into a ponytail, and my shirt was riddled with paint stains and dust. The shorts I’d stolen from Case were baggy around my waist, doing nothing to improve my appearance. I was a hot mess and in no shape for company.

  “Claire!”

  “Coming!” I yelled, hauling myself across the room.

  Concealer sat inside a small makeup bag on my vanity. I slapped enough under my eyes to cover the puffiness, ran a brush through my hair, and inhaled. When I opened my door, Case sprinted by. He wore one of the blue button-downs and was frantically fastening the buttons.

  “She’s here,” he whisper-yelled.

  “Who’s here?”

  “Riley.” His bedroom door slammed behind him.

  I took the stairs to the bottom, hearing Riley’s laugh as I reached the landing. She stood in the foyer with my mom, dressed in shorts, a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a pair of brown gladiator sandals. Her blond hair was curled in loose waves that were swept to one shoulder.

  “Hey!” she said. “Sorry to barge in. I was in the neighborhood.”

  “You’re two houses down,” I answered. “You’re always in the neighborhood.”

  “True.” She pointed at the folded shirts in my mom’s hands. “I was delivering this year’s spirit shirts, and your house was the last stop. Since it’s Saturday and I’m free the rest of the day, I thought you might want to hang out. We can do whatever, as long as it isn’t English.”

  “Thanks,” I started, “but I’m not feeling too well. Maybe a different—”