"I’d rather be a rebel than a slave."

I snuggled in closer, and said, "I have a lot of stuff going on right now."

From Brandon's lap, Bee giggled. "You always have a lot going on, Harper. It's, like, your thing. When you die in a hundred years, they'll probably write on your gravestone, 'Here Lies Harper Price--Damn It, She Still Had Stuff to Do!"

It was a tone I'd never heard David use . . . . He sounded steely and grown-up, and threatening. . . . .

But this was DAVID STARK. The only threatening thing about him was his toxic level of obnoxiousness.

David's grin slowly faded and his fingers fiddled with the edge of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his bicep a little. Since when did David Stark have biceps? How did you get any muscle tone when all you did was type and be annoying?

"Are you insane?" I hissed.

"I told you we'd talk today," he whispered.

"Right. Talk. Like normal people, not . . . skulking around in the broom closets."

"Skulking? Really?" David raised his eyebrows, and even in the dim light, I could see that smirk forming.

"First of all, I'm not taking crap . . . from the guy who uses 'egregrious' in every article he writes. And secondly, this"--I gestured to the cluttered shelves, the cleaning products, the damp mops--"definitely warrents the use of skulkuing."

David heaved a sigh. "Fine. We're skuling. And since the bell rings in five minutes, we need to skulk fast . . . ."