iris st. clair

I thought I’d hit rock bottom when my dad died.

I was wrong.

I never dreamed my mom would choose drugs and alcohol over me.

I was wrong about that too.

I thought teachers were there to instruct, to guide, to counsel.

Wrong doesn’t begin to describe what nearly happened that last day of my Junior year. Lesson learned; trust is for suckers and actions speak louder than words.

New plan. Keep up my grades, earn a scholarship, tuck into as tight a ball as possible and roll on out of this town and this life.

But this boy, this Casanova transplant with a funny accent, who’s way too charming to be healthy for a girl... Why won’t he let me be?

I wish I hadn’t let him in on my secrets...well, most of them.

I wish I hadn’t grown to look forward to our daily walks to work.

But mostly, I wish I hadn’t freaked out when he tried to steal a kiss.

Maybe I wouldn’t be parked in the friend zone. Maybe he wouldn’t be dating a girl I loathe. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this hell of wanting what I can’t have but having what I thought I wanted—to be left alone.