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By:J.L. Perry

It’s not like I haven’t made out with guys before. I have. But, now we’re getting older, the guys expect more than kissing. I know I’m ready. I’m just not sure if Brad is the one.

“Stop overthinking this,” she says reaching for my hand when she sees the worried look on my face. “We’ve been over this a thousand times.”

“I know. It’s just …”

“Just what? At least he’s had experience. He should know how to please you. My first time was horrible.” I laugh at her comment. She was fifteen when she lost her virginity. It was the first time for both of them. Going by what she’s told me, it was a disaster.

I try to put it out of my mind for now. I only manage to pick at my lunch. My gaze keeps wandering towards the boys’ table. Damn my traitorous eyes. Instead of looking at Brad, they’re focused on Carter. I can’t help but notice all the pathetic girls that walk past his table whispering and giggling like a bunch of morons when they see him. It infuriates me to no end.


After fifth period, Meg and I run into Carter in the corridor. “Hi, Carter,” Meg purrs. Bitch.

“Megan,” he says nodding his head. At least he uses her name. That makes me jealous too. I shouldn’t let it worry me, but it does. “If you want a lift home, meet me in the car park,” he adds turning his attention to me. I choose to ignore him. After the way he acted this morning, he’s delusional if he thinks I’ll get in the car with him again.

“He doesn’t seem as bad as you’re making out,” Meg says on the way to our next class.

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s a monster.” She laughs at my observation.

“He was nice enough to offer you a lift home. That’s got to count for something.”

“Yeah, and he gave me a lift to school as well. Trouble is, he stopped at the end of the street and told me to get out of the car. He was worried if people saw us together it would ruin his reputation.”

“He said that?” she asks, shock clearly evident in her voice.


“What a bastard,” she says pursing her lips.

“I know right. Now do you see where I’m coming from?”


I steer clear of the car park after school and opt for the bus instead. Sure it will take me a longer to get home, but it’s worth not having to put up with Carter’s rudeness and insults. I’m surprised he even offered. It was probably a ruse to fool Meg into thinking he’s actually a nice guy, which he’s not.



I waited ten minutes, but when she didn’t show I made my way home. I kind of figured after the way I treated her this morning she wouldn’t show up. Her loss. Even though I’ll admit I’m disappointed, I’m not going to dwell on it.

When I pull into the driveway at home, I reach over and stow my cigarettes in the glove compartment. My mum hates it when I smoke. I don’t do it often. I only started back up when I found out she was marrying Fuckwit. Smoking calms me, and lord knows I need it when I’m around him.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to living here, in this house, or this neighbourhood. It’s too fucking perfect. I hate perfect. People like me will never belong in a place like this. I’m flawed. The families that live in these kinds of areas are usually showy, pretentious and fake. Too good to be fucking true. Just like my stepfather. Fuck I hate him.

I exit the car just as someone pulls into the driveway next door. My first thought is it’s probably pretty boy dropping Indi off, but I’m surprised when an older man gets out.

“Afternoon,” he says making his way towards me.

“Hey,” I reply, flicking my head in his direction. I wonder if this is her father. He may want to kick my arse if she’s told him how I’ve been treating her.

“You must be Elizabeth’s boy. She told me you were moving in over the weekend.”

“Yes. Carter. Carter Reynolds¸” I say as I offer my hand to him.

“Nice to meet you, son. I’m Ross. Ross Montgomery.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Sir.” I’m surprised that him calling me son doesn’t piss me off. I hate it when my stepfather says it. I suppose he only does it to antagonise me. Arsehole.

“Nice set of wheels. A 1975 Holden HJ GTS Monaro.”

“It is. You know your cars,” I say in a surprised tone.

“I’m a petrol-head from way back,” he chuckles. “My old man used to have one of these. Are you doing it up yourself?”

“Yeah. I’ve done a bit to it. Some of the parts are hard to find, and a little pricy for a seventeen year old,” I laugh. “I’ll get it finished one day.”