THE REJECTED ALPHA

2.WELCOME TO WOODCAVE

CHAPTER TWO

IVY’S POV

WELCOME TO WOODCAVE

I’m stuck in the backseat of my mother’s car, watching the scenery blur past the window while she glares at me through the rearview mirror for what has to be the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. I catch her eye and raise an eyebrow. She doesn't say anything, so I simply roll my eyes and return to drawing in the margins of my book. I'm not exactly enthusiastic about being here. Actually, enthusiastic is probably the wrong f*****g word. I hate it here already, and we haven't even arrived.

Somewhere along the way, my mother decided the solution to all my problems was to pull a full Twilight and dump me in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere with the father I haven't seen in six years.

Apparently, that's what happens when your teenage daughter keeps getting detention.

According to Mum, she's "tired of my behavior." Translation? She's tired of the attitude, the teachers calling, the detention slips, and my inability to go more than a few weeks without getting into trouble. I refuse to behave like the sweet, well-adjusted daughter she expected to raise, so instead of actually talking to me about it, she decided to ship me off to my father's town like an unwanted package.

Her exact words before we left were, Maybe your father can finally teach you some discipline.

Yeah, good luck with that.

Dad and Mum have been separated since I was twelve. It's been six f*****g years since I've seen the man, which makes this whole arrangement even more ridiculous. I barely remember what his voice sounds like anymore, yet somehow Mum thinks sending me to live with practically a stranger is a perfectly reasonable solution to my behavioral problems.

I glance out the window again as the landscape gradually transforms from the familiar sprawl of the city into something that looks like it belongs on a Christmas postcard. Snow lines the roadsides in thick white banks, bare trees stretch their skeletal branches toward a pale gray sky, and every few miles we pass another cluster of quaint little houses with smoke curling from their chimneys. It's pretty, I'll give it that. But pretty doesn't mean welcoming, especially when you're being exiled here against your will.

“Can you quit chewing so f*****g loud, Ivy?”

Mum's voice slices through the car. I stop chewing for approximately two seconds before deliberately taking another bite, making sure it's loud enough for her to hear.Her eyes snap toward me in the mirror.

I smile sweetly.

She doesn't smile back.

“I told you we should've sent her to some reform school or something.” Clyde's voice comes from the front passenger seat.

I look up at Mum's newest boyfriend, who is staring straight ahead as though he has just contributed something incredibly intelligent to the conversation. Clyde is what happens when someone mistakes a midlife crisis for a personality. He's also, quite literally, a crackhead, and I'm still not entirely sure what Mum sees in him. Then again, her taste in men hasn't exactly been stellar.

I raise my middle finger in his direction, “f**k you, Clyde.”

“Ivy!” Mum snaps.

“What?” I shrug. “He started it.”

Clyde turns around, his mouth falling open, “She can't talk to me like that.”

“She just did,” Mum says but more in resign.

I grin.

For once, we're in agreement. Clyde mutters something under his breath, but I don't bother listening. Instead, I grab my headphones from beside me and shove them over my ears, letting the music drown out the sound of my mother lecturing me and Clyde complaining about how disrespectful teenagers are these days.

Thank f*****g God.

I lean my head against the window and watch another sign flash past.

WELCOME TO WOODCAVE.

I snort.

Woodcave. Seriously? Who the hell names a town Woodcave? It sounds less like an actual place and more like somewhere a serial killer would lure unsuspecting tourists. The farther we drive, the more convinced I become that I've been transported into one of those cheesy small-town movies where everyone knows everyone's business and the biggest scandal of the year is somebody's dog getting loose.

The houses sit close together, the streets are ridiculously clean, and there are little cafés, old-fashioned shops, and Christmas decorations hanging from nearly every lamppost. Even stranger, everyone seems to know everyone. A woman walking her dog waves at a man driving past, and he immediately waves back. Two teenagers standing outside a grocery store stop talking as our car passes, and one of them stares directly at me.

I stare back. He looks away. Interesting. I pull one side of my headphones off.

“Are people here always this nosy?”

Mum sighs. “People here are friendly.”

“Same thing.”

“They're going to be your neighbors.”

“Even better.”

She shoots me another warning look through the mirror, but I turn my attention back to the window. Snowflakes have started falling now, drifting lazily through the air. The farther we go, the quieter everything becomes, until the traffic and noise of the city are replaced by snow-covered roads, endless trees, and houses tucked beneath their branches.

It's beautiful in a way that almost pisses me off because this place looks peaceful, and I have a feeling my life is about to be anything but. I turn my music back up and sink deeper into the seat. Six years without seeing my father, one tiny town full of strangers, a mother who couldn't wait to get rid of me, and a boyfriend who probably has enough drugs in his bloodstream to qualify as a pharmaceutical experiment. Now I'm surrounded by snow, and judging by the way this town looks, I'm going to be surrounded by nosy neighbors too.

Welcome to Woodcave, I guess.

My new prison has officially arrived.