orty deliveries later, I'm ready to quit. It's not the manual labor I mind–I've been working my whole life–it's the customers I'm delivering to. Specifically, those who live in The Palisades.

Say what you want about kids like me, but at least we say thank you. The rich folk open the door with a look of disdain before demanding I carry in their parcel. If I didn't need the money so bad, I'd have shoved it down their throats.

I count down the minutes until my shift ends, convincing myself that the long hours and rude customers are worth it for the paycheck, but by the time I reach my last delivery, I'm ready to snap.

It's why, when I pick up my brother from school and see him walking with Alyssa, I scowl. She's got him carrying her bag like he's her lap dog, and it irritates me to hell. Not only does this town expect us to wait on them hand and foot, but this crush of his is worse than I thought.

My truck's parked next to her Audi, so when the pair turn up, I push myself off the driver door and look straight at Alyssa. "What, you can't carry your own bag, princess?"

Her eyes widen, like maybe she's not used to being spoken to like this. She probably isn't. "Are you the bag police?" she asks. "He offered to carry it."

Kino glares at me, but I don't care. I've had a hell of a day pandering to the residents of The Palisades, and maybe that's not Alyssa's fault, but seeing her stood here in her designer jacket, getting my brother to carry her shit, sparks something dangerous in me. Ever since this girl came along, I've been getting distracted–I don't want to be distracted anymore.

Furious, Kino turns to Alyssa and says goodbye before climbing into the truck. He slams the door after him, and I wince at the sound before checking the paintwork. Alyssa continues to stand there, arms folded, and watches me.

I ignore her and climb into the truck before reversing. Kino doesn't speak the whole ride home, which doesn't surprise me. He'll realize one day that everything I do, I do for him.

By the time we get home, Mom is already back from work, getting ready to start her next shift. She stands in the kitchen in her uniform, shoveling cereal into her mouth while checking her phone. She takes one look at the pair of us and says, "Don't tell me you boys are fighting again."

"We're not fighting," I say, kissing her cheek.

She puts down her bowl and moves to the kitchen sink to grab a glass of water. I can't help but notice how exhausted she looks: her long, dark hair is half falling out of its ponytail, and her tanned skin is sallow. Beneath her dark eyes, which were once filled with light, are harsh, dark circles. These double shifts are killing her.

"Sit down, I'll do it," I say, but she waves me away.

This is my fault. I should have been smarter in school, or sportier. Maybe I could have gotten a scholarship to college and made something of myself. Maybe we wouldn't have to live like this.

"Call in sick tonight," Kino says, and when I look at him, I can tell he is worried. "You need some rest."

She shakes her head and sips at her water. "We can't afford for me to call in sick. I'll be all right."

I clench my jaw, because I'm powerless, and being powerless is the worst feeling in the world.

I'm running on fumes when I get to the gym, itching to release this anger. I don't exactly know what it is I'm angry at. Maybe everything: the world, the hand I've been dealt, the fact that some people have it so good while others have to suffer. Or maybe I'm just angry at myself.

I walk across the gym, ignoring Hayden and Maddie as they pack up their stuff, before positioning myself in front of a bag. The fact I can't listen to music because I can't afford new headphones just adds to my rage, and I start punching like there's no tomorrow. Like my hands are made from concrete.

It's not long before Goldilocks storms in. I stop punching and watch as she crosses the room. Without a word, she scoops up the tape from the equipment box and attempts to tape her hands. Clearly, she's pissed tonight, too.

I bite my tongue as she twists it into a mess before impatience gets the better of me. "You're messing up the tape. I'll do it."

She shoots me the iciest look. Despite her innocent appearance, it's a look that lets me know this girl can be deadly when she wants to. "I didn't ask for your help."

I put my hands up. "What's wrong? Daddy lowered your allowance this month?"

She continues to tape her hands, refusing to look at me. "I really enjoy that wit of yours."

I suppress a smirk and turn back to my punching bag, trying to block her out. Whatever's got this girl unhinged is not my problem. I'm supposed to be ignoring her.

"Fine," she says finally, turning around, and she offers me the tape.

I raise an eyebrow. "Ask me nicely."

If looks could kill. "Please can you tape my hands?"

After a second or two, I take the tape, ignoring the jolt in my chest when her fingers brush mine. Slowly, I take her left hand and wrap it in tape, my movements slow and delicate. Even though my eyes are on her hand, I can feel her watching me.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" she asks.

I'm surprised by her forwardness, but I don't look up. "Not particularly."

"Because of where I live?"

"That's one of the reasons."

She tenses. "What are the others?"

"You really want to know?"

She gives me this look, this fierce, sarcastic look, that makes me want to smile. "Yes, obviously. That's why I'm asking."

I shake my head. "Why do you care what I think?"

She raises her chin and says, "Self-awareness."

That's it, just self-awareness, like I'm supposed to know what the hell that means. After a few seconds of silence, my curiosity gets the better of me. "Am I supposed to know what the hell you're talking about?"

She looks at me through her lashes. I doubt she does it to be sexy or seductive, but that's the way it comes across. My stomach burns with heat.

"I want to know how to improve my self-awareness," she clarifies. "It's the ability to recognize your flaws so that you can work on changing them. I mean, what if the things you don't like about me are valid points? What if everyone feels the same? Don't I owe it to myself and to society to work on those flaws?"

For a second, I just look at her. Whenever she talks, I'm torn between wanting to listen and wanting to shoot myself in the head.

"Fine," I say, my voice gruff. If she wants the truth, she'll get it. "You want to know why I don't like you? You don't know the meaning of hard work. You get everything handed to you on a plate. You're high maintenance. You care too much about your appearance and what people think. You come to the gym in three inches of makeup. Who does that? And you're dating someone like Pretty Boy, which pretty much tells me all I need to know about you."

Her expression is indifferent before anger settles in. "Okay, that's fair. Shall I tell you about you?"

I can't help but grin. "Go for it."

She glances at my biceps before saying, "You're rude and angry. You think the world owes you something for some reason. Newsflash, Max. The world doesn't owe you anything. It doesn't care about you. It doesn't care about any of us. You think I'm this terrible person because I have money or because you think I haven't struggled when you don't know anything about me. You're judging me for things that have no bearing on who I am as a person. There's a word for that: prejudice."

She's so close that all it would take is for me to lower my head before our lips touch. We don't break eye contact. Her breathing is heavy–as heavy as mine–like we're two or three seconds away from coming to blows. This girl sits on her ivory tower being adored and wants to talk about prejudice.

I'm pissed.

"You know what?" My voice is low as I speak, controlled. I'm trying to stay calm. "Just stay away from my brother, all right?"

Her anger falters. "Why?"

I give her a look as though she's insane, because she is. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"I don't care where people are from."

"You might not," I say, "but other people do. It's them I'm worried about."

Her dark eyes narrow. "You know, Kino was right about you. You buy into all this crap. You're judging me because of where I live."

My eyes gleam back as I take a step closer. "I'm not judging you for that."

She clenches her jaw. I'd think it makes her look cute if she didn't annoy me so damn much. "I think it's best we don't talk to each other during these sessions," she says haughtily.

"Agreed." I turn away from her and get back to my training, but now I can't concentrate. She pounds the bag next to me, throwing out her fists like she's trying to break her wrists, so I turn and grab her arm mid-air. I'm not making a trip to the emergency room.

She turns right into me, alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to hurt yourself," I say.

She looks at me, and for a second, I get what Maddie had been saying about the sadness in her eyes. Standing here, chest rising and falling, eyes wild, she looks lost. Lonely.

"Hey," I say. I want to ask what's wrong, but I don't want to know. If I know, then maybe I'll feel sorry for her. "Maybe we should go."

She nods, and we both pull our gloves off before grabbing our bags. I lock up behind us, and we both make our way down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. She glances down the street, then gets out her phone.

I sigh. "I'll give you a ride."

She doesn't look at me. "No, thank you."

I open the car door impatiently. "Get in the car, Alyssa."

The speed in which she slips into the passenger seat makes me smile. It's silent for the rest of the drive, only the sound of Tupac filling the car. This is better for both of us. Right now, we hate each other, and hate is good. Hate keeps us both in our respective worlds.

I pull up to her house and glance through the gates to the sprawling gardens behind them. I can't even imagine what it would be like to grow up in a house like this. Some people are lucky as hell.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Alyssa says.

I turn to look at her and notice she doesn't look impressed at all. "Yeah," I say. "It is."

She takes off her seatbelt and turns to face me. Then, out of nowhere, she says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things about you. I'm just–I don't know." She laughs a little, but it lacks any humor. "My life is a mess. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. See you tomorrow, Max."

Before I can speak, she climbs out of the car, closing the door shut behind her. Just like that, I can't hate her anymore.

❤️