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“Stepbrother,” Peyton corrects automatically, pushing Brooke aside so all four girls have a clear view of me.

“Right… stepbrother.” Brooke nods quickly, as if the distinction somehow matters. “Just switch with Jordan. Please? Besides,” she continues, smiling conspiratorially, “Jalen spent the whole class sulking because he didn’t get to sit with you.” She giggles. “I think he has a crush on you.”

“Brooke!” Delaney whirls around. “I told you to stop being nice to her.”

Brooke visibly shrinks. “S-Sorry,” she stammers, only for her embarrassed to morph to resentment a second later. “Just switch already,” Brooke demands more forcefully now. “Ms. Mallory won’t care, and then we can all be done with you.”

“Done with me?” I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Damn, what the hell have you all been sniffing? Are you high? This is insane. I am not switching. You don’t get to bully me into doing something I don’t want to do, so get it through your thick skulls and leave me the fuck alone.”

For a brief second, I think I’ve finally gotten through to them. However, I quickly realize how wrong that assumption is when Peyton steps into my personal space until we’re practically nose-to-nose, only a sliver of air separating us. Despite the anger simmering beneath my skin, a shiver travels up my spine when I meet her eyes.

They’re empty.

Not angry. Not annoyed.

Just cold. Devoid of anything that resembles emotion.

“I told you to stay away from Milo,” she says so quietly that no one else can hear it. Her lips barely move when she adds, “Consider this your second warning.” She tilts her head ever so slightly, a thin smile settling across her lips. “You won’t get a third.”

Before I can respond, she steps back, smooths an invisible wrinkle from her pink cardigan, and turns on her heel as though deeming this insane conversation over and done with. The other girls immediately fall into step behind her without question, following Peyton down the corridor like ducklings trailing after their mother. I watch them disappear around the corner before finally releasing the breath I’d been holding.

Well. It’s official. The Fairhope Reds have completely lost their freaking minds. If they honestly think they can intimidate me into staying away from Milo, they’ve got another thing coming.

I’ve spent my whole life dealing with people who think they’re bigger, louder, or meaner than me. Four girls wearing matching red strings around their wrists don’t exactly top the list of things that scare me. Especially not the likes of them.

Fuck the Reds. Fuck them all to hell.

And the biggest fuck you of all goes to their ringleader, Peyton Crawford.

So much for Milo being my biggest problem—his stepsister just knocked him clean off the podium.

Chapter 7

Saturday

“Milo?” His name slips from my lips as I continue to stare at him, convinced my mind must be playing tricks on me.

“Hiya, Max.”

I blink hard, but he’s still there.

My knee-jerk reaction is to cup his cheeks in my palms, taking in every line, every inch of him, needing to make sure he’s really here and I’m not losing my mind.

“Damn, Max,” he teases, displaying that dimpled smile of his. “Do I look so bad that you don’t even recognize me anymore?”

Tears blur my vision, and before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “I can’t believe it’s really you,” I mutter, half sobbing, half laughing.

“Miss me that much, huh? I’m not going to lie and pretend that doesn’t do wonders for my ego.” Milo chuckles, the soft sound thawing a part of me I didn’t even realize had frozen over.

I’m not sure how long I stay clinging to him like this before decorum finally slaps some sense into me. I mean, we are both crouched beside my car, hiding from my high school nemesis. Not only that, but he just caught me right in the middle of a panic attack. Not exactly the greatest way for you to reconnect with the only boy you ever dated back in high school.

I slowly release my grip from around his neck and lean against the door. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about. This isn’t my first rodeo, remember?” he says, gently helping me back to my feet. “You still get them, huh? The panic attacks?”

“Honestly?” I brush the creases from my skirt, suddenly fascinated by the wrinkles. “It’s a recent development. I hadn’t had one in years. They just… resurfaced.”

Milo’s warm smile fades. “You being back here won’t help, you know?”