Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

infection by not emptying my bladder properly. I literally pretend she hasn’t spoken when she says stuff like that.

I hear them before I see anyone.

There’s sniggering and the door of the cubicle next to mine swings back on its hinges, bangs. Suddenly, Ridley is peering over the top of my cubicle. I am so mortified because my knickers are around my ankles. Not that he hasn’t seen that part of my body, but he hasn’t seen it peeing. Rushing to cover up, I straighten up a moment before I stop peeing. You can guess how that works out. I pull up my pants but he’s already taking photos. It’s just stupid. Totally fucking stupid. I’m humiliated and angry at the same time. Pissed off that he’s ruining my perfect day but also terrified that he’s pranking me to this level. Photos of you drunkenly falling over are bad, photos of you pissing your pants are so much worse.

He’s laughing his head off.

I burst out of the cubicle and try to grab the phone off him, but he is tall and easily holds it above my head. Then I see Megan. But not just Megan, there are three other girls with her—Evie Clarke, Shayla O’Brian and Madison Aidan. They all rush at me. They push me back into the cubicle I’ve just come out of, and their combined force is overwhelming. I bang the back of my legs against the toilet, they throb. But as I register that pain, I realize someone has grabbed my hair and is pulling my head backward. Someone else, Megan I think, slaps me across the face. Once, twice. I’ve never been hit before and bloody hell it hurts. I cry out, but then a hand comes over my mouth and I don’t think I can breathe. They pull my blazer off my shoulders, down my arms, so it acts like a restraint. I’m wriggling and struggling but can’t actually fight back. There’s no room to move and besides they outnumber me. I’d like to throw a punch but mostly I want to get away before they can really hurt me. Will they?

My phone falls onto the tiled floor and I hear it smash. Shayla bends down picks it up. “Oh, fancy.” She drops it down the loo.

Megan leans close to me and growls, “There you go. Your shit is going down the toilet with your actual shit.” Her friends laugh. I can smell her breath. It smells of the burgers we were served at lunch. “The money your mum and dad stole from my mum and dad can’t make you safe, Emily. Remember that. You are fucked.”

Someone yanks on my hair again. Madison? What have I ever done to her? Or any of them, come to that? It’s so painful I think she must have actually pulled hair out. Someone kicks me. Maybe Megan, maybe another girl. It’s a muddle of arms and legs in the cubicle. I’m too confused, sore and scared to be sure.

Ridley has been standing by the bathroom door throughout this, keeping watch for teachers. Presumably he feels squeamish about beating up a girl.

Me.

Someone he once said he loved.

“Okay, let’s get going, we don’t want to miss the bus,” he instructs.

And they melt away.

CHAPTER 18

Lexi

“We’re in the kitchen,” I call through unnecessarily. The children and I have an after-school ritual that has been long established. On Wednesdays and Fridays, when I only work mornings, I am always waiting for them in the kitchen. On hot days I am there with sliced fruit, iced drinks, and on cold days I offer hot chocolate and biscuits. It’s one of my favorite times of the day. I love the quintessential old-school mothering aspect of it. It balances out the times I’m dashing for the door because I’m late for work, and just scream instructions at them. “Don’t forget your glasses.” “Have you got lunch money?” “Did you do your homework?” Waiting in the kitchen for their return seems like something mothers have been doing for generations. Plus, if I greet the kids as they walk through the door, I’m most likely to find out how their day really has been. On the three days a week that I arrive home after they do, I cheerily ask, “So how has your day been?” I am usually greeted with a perfunctory “Fine.” At six o’clock their school day is old news and they think I am annoying for asking about it. On Wednesdays and Fridays, I get the lowdown.

Logan will remember to tell me about the parents’ night we’re due to attend, or he’ll talk about how his football or rugby game went, and who he considered man of the match. He’ll tell me what he had for lunch and maybe which teacher is getting on his case. I listen carefully and try to decipher how much of the “unfair hassle” he has asked for or whether a teacher really is nitpicking. I use this time to try to unobtrusively guide and advise him.

This is, if he can get a word in edgeways.

On Wednesdays and Fridays, Emily lets it all out. She gives me a running commentary of her entire day, including not only who said what to whom, but also who sat next to who, who side-eyed which teacher. Emily tells me who is dating, who is drinking, who is smoking dope. I really found that quite the shock but pretended to take it in stride; if you judge, they clam up.

Today, Jake waits with me because he isn’t working anymore. Oh, yes, that’s news. Jake has officially handed in his notice. Well, that makes it sound more civilized than it was. This morning he sent his boss a text, it read: I’ve won the lottery. Please use my outstanding holiday leave in lieu of me working my notice. All the best. I thought he should have written a proper email at least, but he just shrugged and said his boss wasn’t especially formal