The Mysteriously Complicated Life of Ashlynn Read online

  “It’s so weird you’re talking to her,” Huntley whispers. “And that she’s even in here.”

  Clove nods then starts humming the theme song to The Twilight Zone.

  “It’s not that weird,” I say, though it is. “I’m just hanging out in English class. Well, English/Science class.” Since Mr. Chester teaches English half the day and Biology, Chemistry, and Earth Science the other half.

  Huntley’s eyes widen, as if the sound of my voice has spooked him. And I get it. I really do. I can be a mega bitch, but I didn’t think I was scary enough to make him look like he’s about to pee his pants.

  I crinkle my nose. What if I’m as scary as Queeny?

  “Deep thoughts make my nose crinkle, too,” Clove states, observing my expression. “And the smell of pineapples.”

  I cover my mouth again as that unattractive pig snort threatens to burst from my lips a second time.

  “Clove, can you come here for a minute?” Kinslee snaps, causing Huntley to make a beeline for the back of the classroom.

  Clove shakes his head. “Nah, I’d rather stay right here and carry on with this very stimulating, and veering toward flirty, conversation with the lovely Ashlynn.”

  Despite the fact that he just accused me of flirting with him—which I so wasn’t—I still smile at his use of my full name.

  “Clove …” Kinslee warns. “I’m not joking. You need to come here right now.”

  Clove targets her with what I think is supposed to be an annoyed look, but it comes off goofy more than anything. “Can’t you see I’m having a conversation with a very pretty girl?” He tries to dazzle me with a grin. “In fact, I think she was just about to try to pickpocket me.”

  “I was not,” I protest, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Who was about to do what?” Maxon strolls in with a large box in his hands.

  He’s not wearing his typical outfit, only because he doesn’t have a typical outfit. Maxon has always been a go-with-the-flow kind of guy and wears all sorts of clothes, sometimes even rocking character themed attire. Today he seems to be leaning in the Goth direction, dressed in black, holey jeans; a dark T-shirt; studded bracelets; and clunky boots. His black hair hangs in his crazy, cloudy grey eyes. Well, Queeny always called his eyes crazy, anyway. I’ve thought—think—his eyes are wicked cool. Different, like the eye color of a character from a fantasy novel. Plus, his thick, dark eyelashes give the illusion of wearing eyeliner.

  Queeny once told everyone she caught him applying eyeliner in his car. I’m pretty sure that was just a gossipy story, like most of hers are.

  Like the rest of his friends, Maxon notes the limited space between Clove and me. Instead of spazzing out, he arches a brow at Clove, continuing toward the back of the classroom.

  That’s the thing about Maxon. He puts up with ridicule every single day, yet he never seems to give a flying rat’s ass about much, other than science experiments and his friends.

  “What?” Clove asks Maxon innocently. “I was just talking to her.”

  Maxon carries Clove’s gaze as he sets the box down on the table. He doesn’t utter a word, and the silence makes Clove squirm.

  “Sorry, man, but”—he shrugs then sneaks me a grin—“I couldn’t help it. She was just about to grab my ass.”

  Laughter flows from the back of the room. I think it’s coming from Clarissa.

  I poke Clove in the side with the end of my pen. “Quit dreaming, dude.”

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it,” Clove tells me. “I’m seriously flattered.”

  Rolling my eyes, I redirect my attention to my doodle covered paper. “That’d only happen in your dreams, vampire boy.”

  Clove giggles like a girl. “Don’t think this is over yet, vampire slayer slash tarot card reader.” He pats my desk before strolling off to join his friends.

  Well, crapola. I hadn’t thought to put away my tarot cards. I usually like to keep my obsession with card reading a secret to avoid looking like a complete weirdo. Then again, Queeny knows this about me, and I doubt her pinkie swear is going to hold up over her “Off With Ashlynn’s Head” mission. Besides, Clove doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would use my secret to spread gossip around the school. None of Maxon’s science obsessed friends seem like the type.

  I cast a subtle glance over my shoulder, curious what they’re doing with all the boxes and equipment. Huntley is igniting the torch, Clarissa and Kinslee are lining the beakers up on the table, and Clove is messing around with a pair of protective goggles. Maxon is leaning against the counter with his eyes on me and his brows knit, as if I’m some foreign creature he’s trying to figure out how to get rid of. For a heart-stopping, holy crap, I’ll die if this is really happening, moment, I worry he found out a dirty little secret of mine, one that involves him.

  Good God, if that happened, I’d die of embarrassment.

  When our gazes connect, his cheeks flush, and he fixes his attention on taking an assortment of tools out of a box.

  Hmmm … Maybe my secret is still safe.

  A few minutes later, the five of them are working on some sort of experiment that reeks of burnt rubber and requires a lot of bronzed gadgets. They chat and laugh while they work, none of them glancing in my direction again. And when the bell rings, they gather up their stuff and leave without acknowledging my existence. Even Clove has forgotten all about the pathetic vampire slayer slash tarot card reader.

  By the time I vacate the classroom, I feel sullenly invisible. Then I wish I was Invisible Girl when I step foot into the hallway.

  “Think hiding out in a classroom is going to help you escape me?” Queeny steps into my path, with Janie and Reina chorusing a, “Yeah, Ass, you can’t run from us.”

  The three of them put their hands on their hips simultaneously, like robots, and I struggle not to bust up laughing.

  Did I look that stupid when I was with them?

  Yep. Probably. I just never stepped back and took a good look at myself.

  “I wasn’t hiding in the classroom,” I lie, holding my chin high.

  “Yeah, right. You’re such a coward. Always have been.” Queeny’s lips curve into a smirk. “And FYI, I want my shirt back.” She yanks on the hem of the pale purple top I’m wearing, and the fabric is thin enough that her manicured fingernails tear right through it.

  I jerk back as she pulls harder until the fabric is split all the way to the collar and my bra is exposed. My skin burns with embarrassment as I practically flash the entire school.

  I search the crowd for a teacher, hoping they’ll break up the fight, but nope, not an adult in sight.

  “I don’t know why you look so embarrassed,” Queeny spews, continuing to grip my shirt. “From what I hear, you pretty much show anyone who asks.”

  Any calmness I had left goes see ya later.

  “You know that’s not true,” I snap, reaching out to shove her.

  “Lay a hand on me, and I’ll tell everyone every secret I know about you,” she warns. “Even what you did last fall.”

  My blood runs deathly cold as I inch back, lowering my hand. Mother of all beotches! How did I not see this coming?

  “That’s what I thought.” She steps back, releasing my shirt. “You’re such a coward. You’ve never been able to stick up for yourself.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I tuck my head down and walk toward the bathroom, keeping a steady pace, even when I hear Queeny snicker that I’m a whore.

  I will not run. I will not run. I will not let her know she’s getting to me.

  A dozen rubbernecks later, I make it safely into a bathroom stall. Then I let the tears spring free for the second time today. Damn Queeny. Damn this stupid torn shirt. I never should’ve worn it. I don’t know what I was thinking when I put it on this morning, knowing she was pissed off at me.

  Okay, maybe I did know what I was thinking. That Queeny would realize her accusations were untrue. That she’d believe me over whoe
ver told her the lie.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I don’t know how long I sit on the filthy tile floor beside a toilet that smells like vomit, but it’s well past fifth period when I finally drag my butt off the floor.

  I decide to ditch class and walk the five miles to my house. I just need to figure out what to do about my shirt. The scrap of fabric is a lost cause. Only the collar is holding the front section together.

  Heaving a sigh, I tug the two pieces together then wrap my arms around my midsection. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  Opening the stall door, I step out then immediately grind to a halt.

  A black, fitted T-shirt with a giant teacup on the front is lying on the floor. It looks about my size, but the question is: how did it get in here? I didn’t hear anyone come in, but my wrenching sobs might have drowned out the sound of footsteps.

  I thrum my fingers against the sides of my legs. So someone left me a shirt. Someone in this school doesn’t loathe me. Well, not enough to help me avoid walking around, flashing everyone, anyway. Maybe Janie or Reina?

  Ha! Yeah, right. Those two Queeny clones looked positively thrilled to be standing by her side while she tore me to shreds. The saddest part is that I was just like them up until a day ago.

  One day. That’s all it took for my life to get flipped upside down, twisted around, and shaken up.

  “At least you have a shirt to wear,” I tell myself, trying to remain positive.

  I wiggle out of Queeny’s torn shirt and throw it in the trash. Then, bending over, I pick up the black shirt and slip it over my head.

  Flipping my hair out of the collar, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a hot mess from Gothville, with eyeliner smeared around my big green eyes and down my cheeks. My nose is red from all the sniffling, and I look super pale. Well, paler than I normally do. I’m not sure if it’s from all the crying or the black shirt. I rarely wear dark clothes because Queeny told me dark colors make me look too Goth, and I stupidly listened to her.

  On a positive note, my bra isn’t exposed anymore. So, yeah, there’s that …

  Sighing, I leave the bathroom, sneak down the hallway, and hightail it out of the school, wishing I never had to return.

  Three

  Two hours later, I arrive at the trailer park my family has lived at for the last six months. My legs ache, my cheeks and ears are frozen popsicles, and I’m definitely regretting the platform shoes I put on this morning.

  “Whoa, you look like an ice statue,” Lucky, my older brother, remarks as I walk into my family’s doublewide.

  He’s in the living room, lounging on the shaggy orange carpet, eating cereal without any milk, and watching The Big Lebowski on the tiny flat screen we bought my dad for his birthday.

  “That’s because I walked home and it’s, like, fifty degrees outside,” I say, dropping my bag on the floor.

  “You walked home?”

  “Yup.” I step into the living room and crinkle my nose as the stench in the air hits my nostrils. “Why does it smell like dead rabbit’s feet?”

  He cocks a brow. “Dead rabbit’s feet?”

  “It was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

  “You’re such a weirdo, but so am I, so I guess it must be a family trait.”

  “True dat.” I take in a deep breath, and the smell nearly makes me keel over. My gaze travels to the boxes lining the brownish kitchen countertops and the stained linoleum floor. “Oh. That’s why it stinks. Mom got a new shipment of herbs. Why are they at the house and not the store?”

  He stuffs a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “She was supposed to take them to the store today, but I guess her new cashier didn’t show up and she had to go in and work the register instead of doing inventory.”

  “I hate that she has to work so much.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Maybe I should do inventory for her.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “No, but I might be able to figure it out.”

  He points a finger at me. “Don’t touch anything without Mom’s permission.”

  “I won’t. But I am going to offer.” I yawn, slumping into the torn brown recliner. “Man, today has been the shittiest day ever. All I want to do is lie down and take a nap.”

  He wolfs down another bite of cereal. “Is that why you’ve been crying, and why you’re wearing that shirt?”

  I look down at the teacup shirt. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

  “Um, other than the fact that you haven’t worn dark colors since you were, like, twelve, which I always thought was weird.” He rolls his eyes. “But, whatever.”

  “That’s because I look pale in dark colors,” I reply automatically, then frown, realizing those words aren’t my own.

  “Let me guess, the Wicked Wench of Bitchville told you that.”

  “Maybe.”

  Sighing, he sets the bowl down on the floor. “Okay, fess up, Ash. What happened to you today?”

  “Nothing happened.” I examine my fingernails. “So I wore a black shirt today and walked home. It’s not that weird.”

  “I’m not just talking about the shirt or walking home.” He leans forward, scrutinizing me. “You didn’t defend Queeny when I just called her a bitch, you come home looking like you got your ass kicked in a snowball fight, and you’re wearing a shirt that isn’t yours.” I open my mouth to feed him a lie, but he talks over me. “And don’t feed me a bullshit story about that shirt being any of your friends’ because space cadet one, two, or three wouldn’t wear a shirt like that.”

  “Wow, great job on keeping up with me and my friends’ fashion styles,” I quip to evade answering his questions. “And coming from a guy still wearing pajamas at four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Something definitely happened today,” he states, ignoring my jab. “At first, I thought maybe it was like an invasion of the body snatchers thing or something. Now I’m thinking it has something to do with the evil witch of Fareland. So fess up, little sis. What’s got you all down?”

  I wish I could tell him, but my family already has too many problems and the last thing I need to do is pile on the stress. “I don’t want to talk about it. What I’d love to know is why you’re sporting flannel bottoms and eating kids’ cereal in the middle of the day.”

  “I had Dad duty today, so I’ve been home all day and didn’t see the point of getting all dressed up for a date with the television. And I’m eating this very adult cereal because the marshmallows give me a sugar high.” He grins and takes another bite. “Which I really need today.”

  I can’t help smiling. “So you’re dating the television now? What happened to Gabby?”

  “Well, technically, I’m still dating her, too.” He puts a finger to his lips. “So let’s not mention the television thing to her. You know how jealous she gets over old-fashioned equipment.”

  I roll my eyes, smiling. “You’re such a freak.”

  That’s the thing about my brother. While we fight like Batman and the Joker, we do have good moments, and he does try to cheer me up when I’m veering toward becoming Ashlynn the Downer.

  “Feeling better?” he asks, flicking a piece of cereal off his lap.

  “Kind of.”

  “Enough that you want to talk about what happened?”

  I shake my head. “Maybe later, after I’ve showered, and changed, and ate something.” Because after skipping lunch, my tummy is sounding like an angry Gremlin. “Do you know what’s for dinner?”

  “It’s the Lucky special, actually, which is super delicious if you can get past the cardboard aftertaste.” He tosses the cereal box at me, then rises to his feet and pads across the living room to the attached kitchen. “If you want something else, you’ll have to cook it yourself, because I’m officially off the clock.” He sets his bowl down in the sink. “And I’ve got to be at work in an hour, so you’re on Dad duty.”

  I flip the top of the cereal bo
x open and scoop out a handful. “How’s he doing today?”

  He shrugs, opening the fridge. “Pain-wise, he’s been up and down.”

  I chew the handful of cereal, pulling a face at the box-like, bland taste. “Did you give him any painkillers?”

  “Yeah.” He slants back to check the time on the microwave. “About an hour ago, so he should probably be asleep now.” He grabs a can of soda from the fridge then bumps the door shut. “If I were you, I’d check in on him every hour or so to make sure he’s okay, but let him sleep for as long as possible.” He pops the tab of the soda can. “He had a rough night last night.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” My heart constricts at last night’s memory of being woken up by my dad’s crying. He was in pain. He’s been in pain ever since he fell off the roof of our house while trying to replace some shingles.

  Back then, we lived in a decent-sized, two-story home. But after my dad shattered his knee, he could no longer work, so we had to downsize. A few weeks ago, he had his third knee surgery and can barely get around the house now, let alone go to work. So, right now we’re living on what my mom’s store makes, her random weekend jobs, and whatever my brother and I can chip in. However, Lucky’s part-time job at the auto shop doesn’t pay much, and I usually work for free at my mom’s store. I wish we could help out more, but with my brother being in community college, and me still in school, we can’t get full-time jobs yet.

  When the medical bills started piling up, Lucky offered to take off a semester to help out, but our mom wouldn’t have any part of that plan. She’s a good, strong woman like that, and I’ve often wondered if perhaps I was adopted or something. Either that or the kind-heartedness skipped over me.

  “If you need anything, I’ll keep my cell turned on,” Lucky tells me, heading down the hallway. “But only call if it’s an emergency. My boss gets super pissed when I answer on the clock.”

  “Yes, boss.” I salute him. “Any other orders?”

  He shakes his head. “Just try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Hey, I don’t get into trouble that much,” I protest, setting down the cereal box.