I'm laying on my bed, my legs crisscrossed behind my back as I jot down a to-do list for tomorrow, when I hear my dad come through the front door. I haven't seen him since lunch. He was still at Sinclair Prep when I went to EJ's, so I scurry down the stairs and meet him in the kitchen, where he's unpacking a few grocery bags.

"You're home late," I tell him.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says. "I know, Dean Hemmings had me go over the menu for this week, so I left work later than expected." My dad walks over to me and gives me a hug. "How was your first day?"

"Good," I tell him, then make my way over to the countertop to help him unpack. The grocery bag that I opt for has several cans of tomato sauce and some produce in it. I wave one of the jars in the air and ask, "Pasta tonight?"

"Yup. That okay? I was going to make a sea bass, but I'm exhausted."

"I'm always okay with pasta. I'll get the water boiling."

"Thanks, honey," he says, and I head for the bottom cupboard to pull out a stainless-steel saucepan. "So...how were the people? Make any friends?"

"A few. We actually hung out after school."

"How wonderful. I'm so happy to hear that."

"There's this party Saturday night, but I don't think I'm going to go," I say as I bring the saucepan over to the sink.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It doesn't really matter, anyway. I have my college essay to write."

"Anastasia, we talked about this. I thought you were going to enjoy yourself this semester."

"Dad, the semester just started. I have the next 10 months to enjoy myself." I walk over to him and pat him on the shoulder. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Need any more help before I head upstairs?"

"I got it from here. Thanks, honey," he smirks at me, though I can tell he's somewhat concerned by my decision not to be social.

Once I get out of the shower, I roll my light-brown hair up into a towel, slip my robe on, and then apply my nighttime skincare routine. My friend Arlee from back home would always tell me that she's never met anyone more regimented than me.

After I slip on my PJs, I head back downstairs to find my dad plating the penne alla vodka.

"Smells good," I sing-song as dad hands me a plate. He topped the dish off with some grated parmesan.

My dad takes the seat beside me, but I know that there's something on his mind when he doesn't dig in right away.

"Yes?" I ask before bringing a forkful of penne to my mouth. If I don't ask him what's on his mind, he won't tell me.

"So, I spoke to a friend...," he begins as I dubiously chew my food, "...he knows a really good family therapist that he thinks I should put you in touch with."

"Dad...," I interject as I straighten my posture.

"Just hear me out, Anastasia. There is nothing wrong with going to therapy. I think you could benefit from talking to someone about your mother."

"Don't call her that," I assert. "That woman was the farthest thing from a mother."

"Anastasia, your mo-," he pauses, closing his eyes for a second before opening them, "...Lisa left when you were 3. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for you all these years growing up without a mother."

"It's been fine. You've been the best dad a girl can ask for."

"Thank you, sweetie. But that doesn't negate the fact that a child needs her mother."

"A child doesn't need a mother who abandons her family." I drop my fork down and push my plate forward. "I don't know why this is even a discussion or why you keep defending her. She left us dad. She left us and never came back. No note, no explanation, nothing."

"Anastasia, I didn't mean to upset y-"

"No. You know what? For years, I used to ask myself why she left. Was it me? Was I a mistake to her or something? And now, I've finally gotten to a place where I just don't care anymore. I don't want to know why she decided to pack her things and take off like she didn't have a daughter to raise or a husband to support. She made her choice. And I hope to God she's able to live with it. At this point, she's a stranger to me. I don't want to talk about her. To you or to anyone. Period."

"Okay," my dad relents. "It's your life and I have to respect your choice."

I'm breathing so heavily I can feel my chest constrict through my cotton shirt. I have nothing more to say, and I don't really feel like being in anyone's company right now, so I scoot my chair out and stand up.

"I'm stuffed," I announce. "Thanks for dinner."

***

"You okay?" Molly asks me. She texted me after school and told me to meet her at the lacrosse field, so we're currently sitting on the bleachers watching the team practice.

I don't think I'll get over how magnificent the grounds of this school are. The lacrosse field is engraved with Sinclair Prep's initials as well as the school's mascot, which is a wolf. It's got to be a metaphor of some sort since wolves are the leaders of their pack, and Sinclair Prep is considered one of the most coveted high schools in the country.

And there he is. Jack Carrington leading the charge. Like the rest of his teammates, he's dressed in an emerald green uniform and tall socks. I'm able to spot him because his white helmet is off. At the same time, though, it wouldn't matter if his face was covered; his presence isn't one that's hard to miss.

"Mhm," I pronounce, but she squints her eyes at me, trying to read my vibe.

"You seem tired."

"Ah, what you mean to say is, I look like shit."

"I didn't say that," she states as she cracks open the Red Bull in her grip.

"I didn't sleep much last night," I explain.

Molly wipes the corner of her mouth after she takes a sip and asks, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I nod, covering my shoulders with my crochet sweater. "Just some things on my mind."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nah, it's fine. Nothing I can't figure out myself." I look ahead at the field and then ask, "Uh. Why are we here?"

"For the eye candy. Duh."

Molly can trash-talk The Royals all she wants, but I know that she's affected by them the same way that every other girl at this school is.

"Careful, Mol. Jordana will ruin you if she catches you ogling her man," I joke.

Speaking of Jordana, the girl's not too far away from us. She's captain of the cheerleading team, so the squad is off to the side practicing some sort of dance routine.

"First of all, Jack is not her man. Second, you seriously think I'd waste my energy fawning over Jack Carrington? Trying to get Jack's attention is equivalent to trying to make the impossible happen. I have better things to do with my time."

"Noted. Well, Rafe is cute. If you like that bad-boy vibe," I shrug.

"Pass. If I'm going to go for any of The Royals, it's Johnny. He's actually pretty nice. From the very few words that I've said to him."

"They all seem so different," I say, merely chalking it up to the fact that they look so different. Jack's your typically golden boy; he's even got the light features to prove it. I just met the guy, if you'd even call it that, but he seems to be the preppy one of the group. He reminds me of a model you'd see in a Ralph Lauren ad.

I have yet to meet the other two boys, but you can just tell right off the bat that Rafe is the rebel. He's got shaggy hair that somehow manages to appear tame, and brown eyes that scream 'untrustworthy'. Everytime I see him, his black tie is undone.

Johnny appears the most innocent. He has short light-brown hair and a face that one would consider more cute than sexy. He dresses like Jack – more sophisticated than Rafe – but there's something about Jack that takes the style up a notch. Maybe it's his intimidating personality.

"They are so different," Molly confirms. "I swear, the only thing that they have in common is the fact that they're all over 6-feet tall."

"And that they have bank accounts in the 9 figures."

"Truth."

I center my body back to the field. As much as I want to tear my eyes away from Jack, I find them gravitating towards him every chance that they get.

Like right now. He's talking with Coach Pierson, his hands on his hips, nodding at whatever he's saying. Coach Pierson claps Jack on the back before walking away, and that's when Jack's eyes trail upward to find me.

I jolt at the unexpected recognition, trying to look anywhere else, but it's too late. I've been caught. And he knows he's caught me, too, because he lets out a prideful chuckle that seems to add fire to his already flaming ego.

He keeps his gaze on me for a few seconds longer, giving me a sly smile and an acknowledging nod before turning around and walking over to the center of the field, where the rest of his teammates are.

"Well, well, well, look what the trash brought in," I hear a squeaky voice snarl, bringing my attention back to where it was before Jack Carrington borrowed it. Jordana saunters over to the stands and stops right in front of me and Molly.

"Aw, c'mon now, Jordana, don't call yourself that," Molly mocks.

"Funny, Lawson. Too bad the only thing you've got going for you is your humor."

"Better my humor than my fake boobs," Molly fires back. If Jordana's head could actually explode, I'm pretty sure it would, that's how hard she's glaring at Molly.

"Watch it, Lawson. You're already treading shallow waters at this school."

"Good thing I know how to swim then."

"It must suck to be at the bottom of the social pyramid, huh?"

"If I actually gave a shit, then yeah, it would. But, fun fact for you, Jordana...I don't."

"Don't lie, Lawson. It's not a good look on you."

"Neither is your self-tanner, but hey, that hasn't stopped you from laying it on thick every day," Molly remarks before scratching her nose. "By the way, you missed a spot."

Jordana clenches her fists and flares her nostrils, but immediately softens her body when she notices Jack making his way in our direction.

"Hey," she calls out, stopping him with her hand when he tries to walk by unnoticed.

"Uh. Hey," he says, stopping in place and scratching the side of his chiseled jaw.

"I miss you. Why haven't you called me back?"

He taps his lacrosse stick to the floor and leans on it. "I told you, Jordana. There's nothing to talk about."

"But I forgive you..."

"For what?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" she whispers, dipping her head down. "I caught you with my best friend, Jack."

"Yeah, so?"

"In my bed..."

"...And...?" He blinks. "It's not like she was that good."

Jordana gasps so loudly you could probably hear it from the town over, but Jack just rolls his eyes and gets on his way.

"Jack, wait," she calls out, but he's already gone.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of Jordana, but even that was messed up.