Emily Jane! Please check your email today. :)
Thanks again and a ginormous thank you to Aprilynne Pike and HaperCollins for making this possible. Okay and here is the next promised teaser:
“Stop! Stop!” Kimberlee melted through the wall with her hands over her eyes. “Put the razor down. Do you really shave?” she asked, peeking through her fingers.
I pointed to the razor with my best ‘duh’ look.
“No, I mean do you have to shave? You get stubble and everything?”
“Lemme see.” She leaned close and studied the fringe of hair on my chin and around my mouth. “That’s sexy, you can’t get rid of that.”
“But the dress code says no facial hair.”
“Oh, please. They won’t bust you for stubble.”
“Why would I want stubble?”
“Girls love stubble. If you can grow it, it shows you’re more virile.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you even know what that word means?”
“Capable of performing sexually as a male,” she said proudly. “I looked it up.”
I looked at my chin in the mirror and my thoughts flashed to Serafina. That wrestler guy yesterday probably had a little stubble too. “Virile. You know, I’m feeling virile.”
“Whatever—do your hair.”
I took a comb and parted my hair then brushed it back with my fingers.
“You’re kidding me.”
“What? It’s the messy look.”
“I know the messy look, Jeff, and that is not it. Do you have any gel?”
Last straw. “Listen, I am not changing my hair. If you want me to help you, you take me the way I am or no deal.”
Kimberlee folded her arms across her chest. “Whatever,” she said. “But if no girl will touch you, don’t say I didn’t try.”
It took fifteen minutes of coaching before Kimberlee was satisfied. I wasn’t convinced. I had pokey spears on one side with a flattened patch on the other and bits of crunchy bangs were hanging down over one eye. “I look like an idiot.”
“No, you look hot!”
“I don’t know Kim, maybe—”
“Kimberlee. Maybe this really isn’t the look for me.”
“Trust me. You’ve never looked better.”
Trust Kimberlee? Every instinct rebelled against that thought, but what choice did I really have? Kimberlee was born and raised in Santa Monica and based on what I’d skimmed from her Internet presence—yes, I did more Googling—she apparently was the queen of Whitestone for almost three years before the riptide cut her reign short. I had nothing.
Besides, I’d spent so long on my hair I only had ten minutes to get to school. No time to start over.