Page 11 of Ruin

She doesn’t.

“Well, you do realize that those cars can take up to four people, and you’re going to use one just on you. That’s pretty selfish of you.”

Wow. Okay.

“I’m not trying to be selfish. I just want to ride the Ferris wheel. Do you want…should I ride with you guys to fill the car up?”

She laughs. Then, she looks me up and down. “I don’t think so. We don’t hang out with losers. Right, girls?” She nudges her sidekicks, and they laugh along with her.

My face stings with humiliation. I should say, Screw you then. You’ll have to wait longer to go on the Ferris wheel because I’m going on it. Or even flip them off.

But I do none of those things.

Instead, I walk out of the line to the sound of laughter and chants of, “Loser,” my eyes stinging with tears.

What the hell is wrong with me? I should have given those bitches a piece of my mind.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I continue to walk. I suck in a breath, keeping my emotions from leaking out of my eyes.

I’m a Reed, and we don’t take crap from anyone.

Or that’s what Aunt Elle always says.

Honestly, I’ve never really had to put up with anything like that before. I had great friends back in Baltimore. And, now, I have no one.

I just know those girls will be at the high school I’m starting on Monday, too.

I stop outside a store across from an arcade, unsure of what to do with myself. The sounds of laughter, music, and the pinging machines dance in the air, making me feel even lonelier.

I’m gonna go home.

Well, back to the new house I now have to call home.

At least there’s a tub of Cherry Garcia waiting for me in the freezer.

As I turn to leave, male laughter catches my attention, and I look to see a few guys standing around one of those boxing arcade games—you know, the kind where you hit the punching bag to record a high score.

One of them is having a turn. Something about him catches my attention even though his back is turned to me.

He’s a big guy. Tall. Broad shoulders showcased in a blue denim jacket. My eyes go down. White T-shirt showing out of the bottom of his jacket. Black jeans on his legs. Nice ass. Fits his jeans well.

Fits his jeans well? Thank God I don’t say this kind of crap out loud.

My eyes go back up. I can’t see his hair, as he’s wearing a ball cap.

I bet he’s good-looking.

There’s just something in the way he moves his body as he prepares to hit the punching bag that screams confident. Like he knows he’s good-looking.

God, listen to me. I haven’t even seen the guy’s face, and I’m labeling him as hot.

He hits the bag hard. I could hear the slam of his fist against the leather of the bag, even all the way over here. The bag pounds up into the machine, and the board lights up with numbers running high.

Top score.

Wow.

His friends are laughing and punching him in the arm, like guys do, but he seems to just shrug them off.