You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
You Said I Was Your Favorite: Chapter 10

My entire body relaxes only after Arch Lancaster walks away. I reach for my travel cup with shaky fingers and take another fortifying sip of icy cold water, frowning down at the plain sandwich I’ve barely eaten. It wasn’t that good.

I grab the apple instead of the sandwich, sinking my teeth into it, savoring the satisfying crunch when I bite into the fruit. I keep eating, glancing around at the full tables, everyone seeming to sit with their backs to me. I’m at a table in the middle of the dining hall, yet not a single person talks to me, or even approaches me. No one ever really looks at me.

Except for Arch. Oh and his sister.

This is all so new, and I’m not sure if I like it. Have I become so accustomed to being invisible to everyone that it now feels strange having someone—especially a Lancaster someone—notice me?

Yes. I think so.

I’m comfortable in my invisible existence. I know what I look like to the people who attend this school. I’ve even heard it murmured here and there over the years. It’s no secret, how they all feel about me.

I’m beneath them. I think I make them uneasy whenever I come around, and while at first it hurt, I’ve slowly grown used to it.

Grabbing my book, I try to resume reading but all I can think about is Arch sneaking up on me. Catching me reading it. Oh God, maybe he read a few snippets over my shoulder. That would be embarrassing. The cover is relatively harmless—more like it’s downright cute—but the contents inside are pretty spicy.

After I give up on trying to read, I quickly polish off the apple and gather my things, tossing my trash in the bin before I leave the dining hall. No one pays attention as I exit. Not a single person makes eye contact with me or says hello or calls out my name and yet again I feel like a ghost.

Once I’m outside, I spot Arch sitting at a picnic bench under a massive tree, a boy sitting next to him. They’re both handsome, but my gaze is stuck on Arch.

He doesn’t see me, too busy chatting with his friend—I don’t recognize him and it’s definitely not JJ. They’re talking animatedly, their combined laughter lingering in the air and I almost smile at the sound.

Reminding myself I can’t smile about anything in regards to Arch Lancaster, I keep walking with my head down, going the long way to my next class so I don’t have to walk directly by him. Doing whatever I can to avoid another interaction with him.

Gee, how mature of me.

I clutch both shoulder straps extra tight as I enter the building and make my way toward my class, the nylon fabric straps cutting into my hands. The hallway is mostly vacant since the bell hasn’t rung yet, and I’m grateful for the quiet.

When I reach my classroom I test the handle, finding the door is unlocked. I enter the room, thrilled it’s blessedly empty. I settle into my desk and crack open my book, excited to get back to the story now that no one is around.

I may enjoy the classics and there are some quality YA books and series out there that I’ve devoured, but there’s nothing like a thrilling romance that gets my blood pumping. Not that I would ever say that out loud. Dad knows I read romances but he doesn’t know exactly what the content is like inside the book. Because the books I like to read, while also swoony and romantic, they’re also very, very…

Sexy.

Within minutes, I’m digging in my backpack again, pulling out my favorite teal blue pen and coordinating sticky tabs that match the cover of the book. I’ve totally gotten into annotating books lately, highlighting or underlining my favorite parts. My favorite lines.

The main male character in this book says the best things.

I read over the last few pages I consumed while in the dining hall, drawing lines beneath the sentences. Adding a few small hearts around his name. I get so lost in annotating and rereading my favorite parts, I don’t realize the classroom is starting to fill up until a few minutes before the bell rings.

Taking a deep breath, I gently shut my book, putting away the tabs and my pen. Our statistics teacher enters the room, walking right past my desk since I sit in the first row and she smiles at me.

“I read that book over the summer.” She inclines her head toward the very book sitting on my desk. “It’s a good one.”

My cheeks feel as if they turned twenty shades of pink and I grab it, shoving it into the open slot of the desk that none of us really ever use. “Oh yeah?”

Mrs. Nelson smiles. I will say this—the staff always acknowledges me but that’s probably only because I’m a good student who never causes any problems and does well. “Yes. Kind of sexy though.”

Now my face is turning various shades of red, I swear.

Mrs. Nelson laughs. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

After school is finished, I head back home to find my father is already in the garden, which is surprising since he’s usually still on the clock at this time of day. He’s among the rows of vegetables, kneeling in the dirt and plucking the ripe tomatoes, carefully setting them in a basket that’s already full.

I immediately think of Edie and how she wants my dad’s tomatoes in the salad bar. Should I mention it to him?

“Daisy Mae,” he calls when he sees me, a big grin on his face.

I smile, remembering how only a few years ago, I thought my first and middle name made me sound like a country bumpkin. Now I like it. Only because it brings my father so much joy to call me by both names. “Hi, Dad.”

“How was school?” he asks as I deposit my backpack on the potting bench, careful not to set it in the soil that’s spilled all over the surface.

“It was good.” I wander over to my rose bushes, smiling at them like I can’t help myself. Their fragrance tickles my nose and I lean over one perfect, deep red rose, breathing in its scent. Savoring it because this won’t last much longer.

A sigh leaves me and I grab my pruning shears and bucket like I usually do and resume clipping off some of the old, dying roses, dropping them in the bucket. “Soon the roses won’t bloom anymore.”

“And we’ll have to cut back the bushes to get them ready for next spring.” Dad’s voice never wavers. Always cheerful, always positive, when he’s got plenty to be sad about.

I stand amongst the row of rose bushes, taking in their beauty. I helped him plant them when I was ten, alongside my mother, who chattered happily the entire time, telling me how roses made her think of her great-grandmother, who died before I was born.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat, I try to shove the memory from my brain. Back when we all lived on campus together. Our own little family. Dad was the groundskeeper and Mom worked in the dining hall and I was the little girl who would help out in the late afternoon anywhere I was needed.

“I hate the winter,” I say, my voice soft, my mood shifting as it often does when I get caught up in thoughts of the past. My mother’s face looms in my memory, so much like mine. I don’t know how my father can stand looking at me sometimes. The older I get, the more I resemble her, and that can’t be easy for him.

“It’s needed,” Dad says, rising to his feet, clutching the basket handle as he starts to make his way toward me. A tomato falls out, rolling onto the dirt, and he shakes his head, not bothering to pick it up. “I’m going to take these to the dining hall. Kathy was asking me about them.”

“Really? I was just talking to someone who wanted to know when your tomatoes would end up on the salad bar.”

“Who was it?”

Should I tell him it was a Lancaster? He might run to the kitchen right now and make sure the tomatoes make their appearance first thing tomorrow just to please Edie.

Arch though? More like he’d throw tomatoes at him, aiming at his handsome face.

Or he might want to please Kathy. I think he likes her. She works in the kitchen, just like Mom did and she seems nice enough. She’s around my father’s age and she’s divorced. Though I don’t know her that well, my father acts like he’s more than a little enamored with her.

Which is…odd. I can’t lie. It’s weird to think of my father with someone else that’s not my mother.

“Edie Lancaster,” I finally admit.

“You friends with the sister now?” His brows shoot up and I can see the concern swirling in his gaze.

“We talked for a little bit. It was no big deal.” I shrug, trying to play it off. I didn’t see her at all today. I’m sure it was a one-off moment. Like I’m an animal in a cage at the zoo and she wanted to check me out to see what all the fuss was about.

Guess she wasn’t impressed.

“Well, Kathy likes the fresh veggies and we’ve got more than we could ever eat so I’m going to give her a bunch. I’ll be back.” He starts to walk away and I watch him go.

“Will you be back by dinner?” I call out to him.

He turns, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Go ahead and eat at the dining hall tonight, or make yourself something at home. I have some work to catch up on.”

Disappointment fills me but I wave at him before he turns and heads toward the center of campus. I’d sort of wished we could eat together tonight. I was craving some of his cooking or at the very least, would’ve cooked something for both of us myself, but I guess he’s working.

More like he’s spending extra time with Kathy.

Once I’ve finished trimming the rose bushes, I go to my backpack, eager to grab my book and sit in the sun at the café table Dad set up a few years ago just for me. I like to read there, especially in the late afternoon, though it’s still kind of hot.

As I rifle through my backpack though, dread settles in my stomach, slowly spreading until it coats my insides.

I can’t find my book.

Determined, I dig through my stuff again. The papers and the notebooks and the pens and the book I’m supposed to read for English that I’m already putting off. But it’s not here.

And then I remember.

I left it in my math class after Mrs. Nelson distracted me with her commentary about said book.

A groan leaves me and I hang my head, hoping it’ll still be there when I check tomorrow. No one uses those storage compartments at our desks anyway. We’re always getting moved around to different desks when we’re in class and we all either use our backpacks or our lockers. I’ll check in the morning, before school starts. Hopefully the classroom will be open.

I just don’t want to lose my book. They’re not cheap and I only allow myself to buy paperbacks of my favorite authors. Dad always makes sure to give me gift cards for my birthday and Christmas, but money is tight. I worked part-time during the summer at the coffeeshop downtown and while I didn’t get a lot of hours, I do my best to save as much money as possible. Not only do I not want to replace the book by buying another one, I also wasn’t finished with it yet. That’s the most frustrating part of it all.

What am I going to read tonight?

Taking out one of my notebooks instead, I grab a couple of pens and start doodling. I’m no artist but I do enjoy drawing sometimes. I find myself sketching a face. A boy. With longish hair and intense blue eyes, a scowl on his handsome face.

Ugh, I’m drawing Arch Lancaster. I don’t even like him and I’m sitting here mooning over him like he’s my secret crush. All because he pays attention to me—and it’s mostly bad attention too.

I must be starved for human interaction, I swear.

As if I conjured him up from my brain, I glance to my right to see him approaching the closest building. The one that’s used by the Lancaster family instead of the dorms. They don’t sleep with the little people. They have their own suites to stay in.

Remaining very quiet, I watch him stride down the sidewalk, his head held high, his hair blowing away from his face with the breeze. I stare at that handsome face, really taking him in, marveling at how freaking attractive he is.

Straight out of a romance novel.

Thankfully he doesn’t notice me and within minutes, he disappears inside the building and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I can’t let this boy distract me.

He’s not worth my time.

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