Her soft gasp says it all.

I want to turn and run toward her.

Instead, I run toward class as if she isn’t important even though we’ll be in the same one; I want to protect her and to selfishly protect my past.

My secrets haunt me.

And it’s funny, I’ve had this perfect life, hers has sucked, and I’m still one hundred percent sure that if she really knew, she’d stay away from me, from both me and Quinn.

Because history always has a way of repeating itself.

Why does he have to like her too?

I ask myself this all the way to my desk, then I see her sit across the room and shake my head, my answer obvious.

Because how could he not?

She’s like sunshine despite being born in the darkness, and when you’re still there, waiting for salvation, and the universe gives you this bright light—you’ll do anything to take it.

She’s my light.

And I think; unfortunately, she’s his as well.

Shit.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mary-Belle

I feel like I’m seeing things that aren’t there. Then again, I’d like to think I’m more intuitive than most. It’s a self-preservation thing when it comes to protecting myself and making sure I stay safe.

And something about Quinn and Ambrose’s interaction has me wondering what went down between them and why that horrible girl set Ambrose off into a near nervous breakdown.

I think about it all day.

I’m in English class when I see her again. She’s up front with my teacher. Mr. Decker.

The girl is smiling at everyone like she’s just won prom queen or something. I glare.

I don’t like her.

I don’t respect her.

And I kind of want to stab her with my pencil. But I keep my posture calm when all I want to do is storm toward her, pull her hair, and see how many clumps I can collect.

Maybe I’ll make her a nice hair-filled necklace?

Wouldn’t that be so sweet of me?

Like charity.

I clutch my pen in my hand and stare down at my English book in an attempt not to commit murder and go to prison before college.

Why am I so invested in this?

In Ambrose?

Even Quinn?

My brain says it’s because Ambrose is all I have, but my heart says a whole bunch of different things that make me wish I had a best friend I could talk to.

Of course, Quinn chooses that moment to be late to class and drops down in the desk next to me with a plop. “Think they notice I’m tardy?”

I smile over at him. “You were loud enough.”

“I can’t help it.” He winks. “I’m loud with everything and everyone.”

Damn.

His eyes fall to my lips before he looks back up at me.

I clear my throat. “You doing okay then? Now? Today?”

“Eh, life is life, and I wouldn’t do well in prison—I’m too sexy, I’d probably get fucked within an inch of my life by a guy named Butch. The wedding would include a naked cat, our two rescue dogs, and a cover band for Coldplay. It would be glorious.”