In Love With Him

Chapter 15

Kennedy’s POV

I couldn't stop thinking about the car ride.

The second I stepped through the school doors, it was like my body kept moving forward but my mind was stuck back in Dominic’s Camaro. My arm still tingled where his fingers had gently wrapped around it. His voice kept echoing in my head.

“You are smart, you’re funny, and a little weird—but in a good way. And you’re beautiful”

Did he really say that? Or did I hallucinate it in some pathetic fantasy fueled by sleep deprivation and unresolved s****l tension?

And worse… was he leaning in?

Was he really about to kiss me?

My heart squeezed at the memory, the heat rushing back to my cheeks. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I was reading too much into a moment that meant nothing to him.

I bit my lip hard, trying to ground myself. Get a grip, Kennedy.

Just then Marty’s voice cut through my spiral like a chainsaw. “Ugh. I got Mr. Kled for science again. That troll hates me.”

Finn sighed dramatically beside her. “Please. I have Mrs. Sunders again for history. Pretty sure she’s a witch. Like, actual broomstick-and-boils kind of witch.”

They looked at me. “What about you, Ken?”

I pulled my schedule out of my backpack and scanned it. “Mr. Beckett again. English.”

Marty and Finn both groaned in jealousy.

“Ohhh, Mr. Beckett,” Marty said, wiggling her brows. “Your secret admirer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. He’s married.”

“Not happily, I’ve heard,” Finn sang with a smirk. “And I don’t blame him. His wife looks like she yells during missionary.”

I snorted and shook my head. “He doesn’t have a crush on me. He’s just nice. He gives me good assignments because I actually do them.”

“Sure, sure,” Marty teased, nudging me. “Just admit it. He’s hot in that ‘used-to-play-basketball-in-college-but-now-he-reads-poetry’ kinda way.”

I laughed softly but didn’t answer. Mr. Beckett was handsome—tall, with tousled chestnut hair and those nerdy-chic glasses—but I never saw him like that. He was a good teacher. He made me feel seen, not ogled.

The first bell rang, and we all started heading toward our lockers, still chatting and dodging students. But the second I turned the corner—bam—I slammed right into a wall of perfume, hairspray, and fake tan.

Amber.

She stood there in the middle of the hallway with her two brain-dead sidekicks like she was the queen of the damn school. Her golden blonde hair was teased to perfection, cascading over her bare shoulders like she lived in a hair commercial. Her pink tank top clung to her overly enhanced boobs like it had been sprayed on, and her denim mini-skirt was more like a denim belt.

Her blue eyes narrowed at me like a predator spotting prey.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Morticia,” she sneered, looking me up and down. “New school year, same Hot Topic clearance rack, huh?”

Her two friends laughed like it was the funniest thing ever said.

I held my books tighter to my chest and took a step to the side to avoid her, but of course, she moved with me.

“Still a virgin, Kennedy?” she whispered, loudly enough for the hallway to hear. “Oh wait, duh. Who would touch that?”

My stomach dropped. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Then she bumped her shoulder hard into mine, knocking my books and binder straight out of my arms. They scattered across the floor—papers flying everywhere.

“Ooops,” she said with fake sweetness. “Clumsy.”

I dropped to my knees to gather everything, my fingers trembling as I tried to stuff papers back into my folder.

I heard her heels click away as she walked down the hall, laughing with her minions. “Later, creep.”

After the hallway incident with Amber, I tried to pull myself together as I made my way to class. First up: math. Yay. Nothing like equations and imaginary numbers to ease the sting of public humiliation. I slid into my seat, avoided all eye contact, and kept my head down. I barely registered anything the teacher said—I was too busy replaying Amber’s laughter in my head, over and over again like some broken record.

Science was next. The teacher was new and overly enthusiastic, trying a bit too hard to make chemical bonds sound like some dramatic soap opera. It would’ve been funny if I wasn’t trying to keep it together. I stayed silent, took notes, and counted the seconds until the bell rang.

But when I walked into my English class and saw Mr. Beckett at the front, hunched over his desk with a dead-eyed stare like he’d rather be anywhere but here, something in my chest lightened. He looked completely miserable.

That is, until he saw me.

The moment our eyes met, his entire face changed. It was like someone handed him a golden retriever puppy and told him it was his birthday.

“Kennedy!” he said, standing up a little straighter. “I was hoping you were still here. Don’t think I could survive another year without my favorite student.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, Mr. Beckett.”

He walked over, grinning. “How was your summer? Your dad finally tie the knot with that detective lady yet?”

I shook my head, still smiling. “Not yet. After Christmas. They’re getting married on New Year’s Eve.”

He chuckled. “That’s… actually kind of cute. Midnight kiss and all.”

I shrugged. “I guess. Depends on how much champagne they have.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as the rest of the class trickled in. “You’re still as sharp as ever.”

I slipped into my usual seat near the back window—the one that let me look outside when things got overwhelming. The bell rang, and Mr. Beckett clapped his hands together like he was about to announce the Hunger Games.

“So,” he said, pacing at the front. “Let’s get this out of the way. Who actually did the summer essay?”

Only two hands went up—mine and one other student.

Mr. Beckett scanned the room with mock disappointment, then grinned when he saw mine. “Miss Smith, you never let me down.”

I smiled softly, and he nodded approvingly.

“The rest of you slackers have until Friday. But Kennedy and… Tommy, was it?”—Tommy nodded—“You two are homework-free this week.”

He winked at me before turning to write something on the board, and I could feel Marty and Finn’s future teasing already forming in my head.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was starving. I met up with Marty and Finn in our usual spot by the windows in the cafeteria. Finn was ranting about Mrs. Sunders again, claiming she might be keeping dead students in her basement.

I poked at my tray of mystery pasta, tuning him out for a moment. I finally felt like I was getting a break today. But of course… it didn’t last long.

Something soft hit the back of my head. At first, I thought it was just a dropped napkin. But then it happened again—followed by laughter.

I stiffened.

I slowly turned to see Amber and her little gremlins at their table, grinning like hyenas. I turned back around, trying to ignore it. But then…

Smack.

Something sticky hit me this time. My fingers froze as I reached up—and felt it.

Gum.

Warm, sticky, grape-scented gum tangled in the ends of my hair.

My stomach dropped. My whole body burned—humiliation, rage, everything hitting me all at once.

I stood up slowly, careful not to let the tray crash to the ground. Marty and Finn went quiet, watching me. I didn’t say anything. I just… walked. I could hear Amber laughing behind me, her nails clicking as she high-fived one of her lackeys.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of her.

Not here.

The hallway was empty—finally quiet. My footsteps echoed as I walked toward the nurse’s office. I knew the way by heart.

I knocked once before walking in.

Nurse Maryanne didn’t even look up from her Sudoku puzzle. “Gum again?”

I sighed. “Yep.”

She set her pencil down and gave me one of her signature no-bullshit glances over her bifocals. Maryanne was ancient—like “probably used a telegraph in high school” kind of ancient—but don’t let the cane and sweater fool you. She was tough as nails, probably bench-pressed more than Dominic in her prime.

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the old, squeaky chair beside her desk.

I plopped down, trying to keep my breathing even as she gloved up.

“I don’t know why you don’t just knock the b***h out already,” she muttered, separating the strands of my hair.

“Because she’d find a way to twist it,” I mumbled. “She always does.”

Maryanne clicked her tongue. “Maybe. But at least you’d have the satisfaction of watching the cunt cry with a bloody nose.”

“Mrs. Maryanne!” I gasped.

She smirked. “What? I’m old. I don’t give a f**k anymore.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, and she chuckled too. For a moment, the tension in my chest loosened.

“You know,” she added, carefully cutting a small piece of gum out, “you remind me of me when I was your age. Probably why I tolerate you.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“Don’t mention it.” She got the last sticky chunk out and patted my shoulder. “Now go on, next time I'll give her sugar pills instead of Midol when she comes in whining.”

I stood, grabbing my bag. “Thanks, Maryanne.”

“Don’t thank me. Just survive.”

I nodded and walked out, already bracing myself for the rest of the day—but feeling just a little bit less alone.