The Mysteriously Complicated Life of Ashlynn Read online

  “You sure about that?” He turns around with his brow cocked. “Because the school called the house today and said you missed your last three classes.”

  “I had a wardrobe malfunction,” I offer the partial truth, feeling horribly guilty. “Does Mom know they called?”

  “No. And I’m not going to tell her. She’s already too stressed as it is.” He turns back around, calling over his shoulder, “Just try to stay out of trouble. This family doesn’t need any more shit added to our shit platter. I swear, it’s like a pile of diarrhea.”

  My face contorts in disgust. “Ew, you’re so gross. But I’ll try my best to keep things shit and diarrhea free.”

  He gives me a thumbs up then disappears into his room.

  I free a deafening breath. Great. Day one of Queeny’s revenge wrath and I’ve already ditched school, lost a shirt—granted, it was hers—and got a call from the school. The first two I can handle, but the last thing I need is to drag my family into the drama when everyone is riding a stress wave twenty-four freakin’ seven. What I need is a plan to keep the drama at school. Better yet, what I need is to find out who started the rumor about me kissing Zane and put a stop to Queeny’s revenge plan.

  “Yeah, easier said than done,” I mutter, dragging my behind off the recliner and into the kitchen.

  I grab some cheese sticks and a couple of granola bars before heading back to check on my dad. I crack the door open, peer inside, and breathe in relief. He’s fast asleep with his leg propped up on a pillow, his breathing soft and not laced with pain.

  I carefully shut the door then go into my bedroom and turn on some music, keeping the volume down so I won’t wake up my dad. Then I dig around in my dresser for some clean clothes to put on, painfully realizing that a majority of my wardrobe is borrowed, thanks to Queeny declaring that every Saturday her, Janie, Reina, and I were allowed to go through each other’s clothes and borrow whatever we wanted. I can only guess what they did with all of my shirts, pants, and skirts. They probably used them to start a big ol’ bonfire in the backyard.

  The idea of wearing any of their clothes doesn’t sit well with me. Fortunately, all of my pajamas, underwear, and bras belong to me. That leaves me with a huge problem tomorrow, unless I want to wear boxer shorts and a holey tank top to school. Spending money on clothes isn’t an option. There might be another way, though. One that sort of sucks, but is better than wearing my ex-friends’ clothes or my pajamas.

  I tiptoe out of my bedroom and knock on my brother’s door. Moments later, the door swings open.

  “I’m not going to cook dinner for you, so don’t even try to beg,” he says. “Or trick me.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask you to cook dinner. And will you get over the whole tricking thing. I tried to trick you one time.”

  He slants himself against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You didn’t try to trick me. You made believe that Mom needed me to cook a roast for her because she was having a party. I spent hours making mashed potatoes and homemade rolls and the best damn roast ever that was completely wasted because no one showed up for dinner.”

  “Hey, I ate it,” I remind him. “And I never tricked you into cooking the potatoes and rolls. That was all you, dude.”

  “Well, it was mean and a waste of my time. And food.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I felt bad. But I was trying to get back at you for telling Mom that you caught me making out with Knox in my bedroom.”

  I don’t know what kind of face I pull or what tone I use, but Lucky’s eyes widen.

  “Did you and Knox break up?” he asks. “Is that why you came home looking like you just watched Inside Out?”

  “Hey, I only cried the first time I watched it.” A total lie. Yet I don’t need him or anyone else finding out I sobbed like a baby during the cartoon.

  “If you say so. Now quit changing the subject and answer my question.”

  I resist the urge to wrap my arms around myself—I’ve looked pathetically weak too many times today already. “He broke up with me today.”

  “Was it the kind of break up that needs to be retaliated with an ass kicking?” He cracks his knuckles, pretending to act all tough, when really, he couldn’t hurt a fly. Literally.

  He uses a jar to catch flies that come into our house, and then releases them outside. He does it with spiders, too. Not moths, though. Moths, as Lucky puts it, are “fluttering lunatics that can change direction at any given time,” and the uncertainty in direction scares him. Honestly, it didn’t make any sense when he tried to explain his irrational fear to me after I found him hiding behind a sofa from a moth that was flying around the living room. He admitted he’d been hiding for over an hour, worried the moth was going to fly around forever. I should probably mention that he was stoned out of his mind when this all went down.

  “No. No ass kicking needed,” I say, not to protect Knox or anything. I’d love to see his ass get kicked a time or two. But Knox spends hours lifting weights and working out while my brother thinks doing a lap around the house to check on the sprinklers constitutes a daily workout. I don’t want Lucky getting hurt.

  “I do need a favor, though,” I tell him. “A pretty big favor.”

  He tucks his shirt into his jeans. “Name it, and it’s yours.”

  “Wow, you didn’t even hesitate. You must really feel sorry for me.”

  “A little bit.”

  “Well, I’ll take it, because I need your help with getting some new clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with the clothes you have?”

  “The clothes in my dresser aren’t my clothes.” Bitterness creeps into my tone. “And the ones in there are tainted.”

  “Tainted how?” He heaves a sigh when I nonchalantly shrug. “Look, I’d love to give you some extra money to buy clothes, but we barely have enough to pay the bills this month.”

  “I know. And that’s why I’m not asking for money, but if you would ask Gabby …” When reluctance crosses his face, I add, “She’s been trying to give me some of her old clothes forever, but I’ve always told her I don’t need them.”

  “Yeah, because her style is … How did you put it?” He glowers at me. “Disgusting. She took it personally, too. You know how obsessed she is with clothes. She wants to be a designer. You really hurt her feelings.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that. Queeny did.”

  “Well, you didn’t say anything to stop her, which makes you as bad as her.”

  “Yeah, I know.” My voice cracks, and I hastily avert my attention to my fingernails, picking at the chipped violet polish. “Look, I know I suck. And I probably deserve everything coming my way, but I’m desperate, okay? All of the clothes in my dresser belong to either Queeny, Janie, or Reina, and I don’t want to wear anything that belongs to them anymore.”

  After I am done rambling, he lets the silence drag by before stepping back into his room. “I’ll call her and ask.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket. “But if she says yes, you better start treating her better. If your friends say anything mean about her, you stick up for her.”

  I nod, not bothering to point out my current friendless status. Even if I did have friends, after what happened today, I’d think twice about keeping my lips sealed when Queeny spews her verbal abuse.

  While Lucky’s chatting with Gabby, I go into the kitchen and get out a box of macaroni and cheese, bread, and butter, and start cooking dinner. While I’m filling up a large pan with water, I hop online to check up on Queeny, Janie, Reina, and Knox. I don’t know why I do it. Perhaps I’m one of those people who like self-torture and wallowing in their own misery. Or maybe I’ve lost my damn mind. Whatever the reason, as soon as I read Queeny’s recent status, I immediately want to dropkick my behind to some remote island where I have no access to the internet, and where I’m far, far away from Fareland High drama.

  We’re officially a couple! Don’t we look soooo amazing together?

  Below the caption is a photo of Queeny,
dressed up in one of her infamous tight sequins dresses, and she has her lips pressed to Knox’s cheek. He has on his football uniform and is sporting a sexy, lopsided grin. The sight of that smile used to make my stomach flutter. All it does for me now is make me want to punch something really, really hard.

  “Officially a couple,” I read aloud.

  Less than a day after Knox and I break up, and he’s already dating my ex-best friend “officially.”

  I grit my teeth until pain radiates through my jaw. They had to have been fooling around behind my back. For how long? Does it even matter? A day, a week, a month—cheating is cheating. To top it off, Queeny told the entire school I’m the cheater.

  My heart throbs, not with soul splitting pain, but with scalding anger. How can she mess around with my boyfriend, yet I’m the one who gets deemed the school harlot? That’s the million-dollar question, and I’m desperate to find the answer. I might know a way to at least get some insight into what’s been going on behind my back.

  I turn off the water, set the pan on the stove, log out of my account, and try to log in using Queeny’s email address so I can go through her messages and see what she’s been chatting about. The password I use is denied, though, meaning she changed it. Odd, since she’s used the same one for nearly five years. It’s like she knew I was going to try to get into her account, which I guess she was right.

  “Dammit.” I grip the edge of the countertop, taking steady breaths. “Just calm down. Everything’ll be okay.”

  Yeah, I’m not so sure my words carry a drop of truth. Queeny has the upper hand. She has all the dirt on me. She could destroy my life if she wants to, and she has already started. Do I know some of her dark secrets? Yeah. But I have no proof of her dirty deeds. Even if I did, people at Fareland High are firm believers in the whole “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” motto, so they’ll side with Queeny.

  “Well, I have some good news,” Lucky announces, entering the kitchen.

  Yes! Good news. I could really use that at the moment.

  “Oh, yeah?” I collect myself before turning around to face him. “What is it?”

  “Gabby has some extra stuff you can have.” He picks up a piece of cheese from a plate on the counter. “She’ll stop by later tonight and drop them off.”

  “She doesn’t have to come over. I can borrow the car when Mom gets off work and drive over to her house.”

  “She’s fine with coming here.” He pops the piece of cheese into his mouth. “Unlike your friends, my girlfriend is cool with hanging out at this shithole.”

  I don’t even bother arguing since neither Queeny, Janie, or Reina have stepped foot in this house. Queeny does pick me up for school—well, did—but she refused to drive down the dirt that leads to the trailer park, so I had to leave my house ten minutes early and hike to the entrance.

  I turn on the burner. “Well, tell her thanks, and that I really appreciate her doing this for me.”

  “You can tell her that when she comes over.” His tone carries an underlying warning: you better be extra nice to her.

  “I will,” I assure him, but he doesn’t look too convinced as he slips on his plaid jacket and heads for the front door.

  “I’ll be back around ten.” He collects his car keys from the wall hook then opens the front door. “Mom should be home by eight. Keep a close eye on Dad. No leaving the house or anything.”

  “Trust me; I have nowhere to go.” I return my attention to putting cheese and bread together, which is a hell of a lot easier than admitting to my brother why, overnight, I went from spending every free hour with my friends to coming home early from school, eating cereal on the sofa, and begging him for clothes.

  I spend the next hour eating macaroni and a burnt grilled cheese sandwich. I’m elbow deep in homework and eating the marshmallows I picked out of the cereal when Gabby knocks on the door.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I make sure to say right off the bat as I let her in. “I really, really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She walks into the living room and sets down the box of clothes she brought with her. “I’m actually glad I get to give them to someone who will wear them instead of giving them to a second-hand store and hoping someone picks them up for clothing purposes.”

  “What other purposes would they use clothes for?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound rude.

  “Rags. Display items. I even saw one of my old shirts being worn by a cat. It was so tragically sad.” She picks a red and black T-shirt with torn sides and frowns. “Every shirt, skirt, jeans, and shorts I’ve ever worn are connected to a memory, you know. This shirt right here, I was wearing it the day your brother first kissed me.”

  “Maybe you should keep that one,” I suggest. Who knows what else they did that night besides kissing?

  “You know what; I think I will. The rest are all yours.” She carefully folds up the torn T-shirt like it’s the most precious thing in the world then turns to face me, her dark purple stained lips lifting into a smile. “I gotta say, I was a little surprised when Lucky told me you wanted some of my old clothes. I mean, I know I’ve offered, but you and I have such different styles, and I …” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the teacup shirt I’m still wearing. “Wait a minute. That’s not your shirt.”

  I self-consciously fiddle with the hem. “Yeah, I borrowed it from someone.”

  “Really?” She twists a strand of her dark auburn hair around her finger, mulling something over. “I’m pretty sure that’s my cousin’s shirt.”

  “Wait. Who’s your cousin?”

  “Clarissa Kensington.” The shift in her tone makes me wonder if she knows what Queeny and I did to Clarissa.

  I squirm, feeling like a real bitch. “I didn’t know you were related to her.”

  “We don’t have the same last name, so most people don’t.” She untangles her hair from her finger. “I saw her this morning, though, and she was wearing that shirt. She had it on over another shirt, but still … It doesn’t explain why you’re wearing it now since you two aren’t even close to being friends.” She pulls a guilty face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so rude.”

  “It wasn’t rude at all.” Clarissa left this shirt in the bathroom for me? Clarissa, the girl who Queeny and I destroyed. Why would she do that?

  “Ash, is everything okay? You look … I don’t know, confused.”

  “I’m just thinking about some stuff that happened at school.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

  “Well, if you change your mind and want to talk, Lucky has my number. Same goes for if you need more clothes.” She backs for the door. “I wish I could stay longer, but I have to pick up take-out for my parents.”

  “No worries.” I force the corners of my mouth upward. “I have a ton of homework to do, anyway.”

  She waves good-bye then walks out the door.

  I turn to the box of clothes, wondering how I’m going to pull off Gabby’s grunge look.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” I kneel down on the floor and begin rummaging through the clothes. Halfway in, my phone vibrates from inside my pocket.

  I distractedly dig it out, swipe my finger across the screen, then suck in a sharp breath.

  Queeny: Secret 1 is out, bitch. Have fun at school tomorrow. XoXo

  She doesn’t mention what the secret is, but tomorrow is definitely going to be hell at Fareland High because Queeny never does things half-ass.

  Four

  I’m going to let you in on a little secret since most of mine are probably going to be announced to the world soon. It’s a secret no one knows about me, not even Queeny—thank my lucky unicorns. Because, if she knew, she’d be skipping on sunshine and rainbows that lead to a pot filled with the perfect revenge plan.

  Anyway, back to my secret. I’m a stalker.

  Don’t go flipping out on me yet. It�
��s not as bad as it sounds.

  It all kind of started when my family first moved into the trailer park. Well, if I’m being honest, it may have begun in fifth grade when kids first started calling me Asslynn. Only, back then, this little secret was less stalker-ish and more of a cutesy crush. A crush on Maxon Harter.

  My crush didn’t develop because he was dazzlingly gorgeous or anything. Back in grade school, Maxon was gangling with too long hair, had holes in his clothes all the time, and wore oversized glasses. But he was the sweetest guy ever, something I discovered the day I flashed everyone at school.

  After the incident, I ran out of the school, hid behind the dumpsters, and bawled my eyes out. When Maxon stumbled across me, I was a snotty nose, swollen and red-eyed mess of hysterical sobs.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes huge behind his glasses.

  I sniffled with my head hung low. “Yeah.” More tears bubbled from my eyes, but I held them back, waiting for him to leave before I delved back into my meltdown.

  Instead of leaving, though, he stood there in front of me, awkward silence stretching between us, until finally, I dared a glance up at him.

  He had his lunch bag in one hand, his other hand stuffed in his pocket, and he was rocking back nervously on his heels.

  “Do you need something?” I asked quietly, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

  His cheeks flushed as he stared down at the asphalt. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I was so lost, though. Hadn’t he already asked that? And why was he still here, hanging out with a loser girl who now had to live with the dumb nickname of Asslynn?

  He looked as if he was about to be sick as he shuffled forward and sank down on the ground beside me, staring down at his unlaced sneakers. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “It’s fine,” I replied, though it wasn’t. But what was I going to do? I was only Ashlynn Wynterland, nobody special.

  “No, it’s not.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “People shouldn’t treat you that way, no matter what happened.”