Free Winning by Lara Deloza Page B

out from under me.
    â€œIt’s time to focus, Samantha. We’ve got a crown to win.”
    I decide to take a drive after I leave Sam’s. I need to think. Plus, I want to blow off some steam before I head home to Natalie. I could find her at home, still flying around, or she could’ve crashed . . . hard. I have no idea what I’ll be walking into.
    I knew there was a possibility that Erin Hewett could end up a candidate for Homecoming Queen. A new student from coastal California is exactly the kind of shiny object that would attract the attention of my classmates. But eleven votes? In two days?
    Is it possible that some of the ballots were faked? I play out the scenario in my head. Frick is Erin’s aunt. Frick hates me. Frick would do anything to take me down.
    There is no doubt in my mind that Frick is twisted enough to try to manipulate this election in her niece’s favor. Especially if it means delivering a blow to my undefeated record.
    As for Erin herself—if she was, as she informed so many of our classmates, a candidate for Homecoming Queen in her old school, it’s possible that she’s hungry enough for the win to do whatever Aunt Fricky tells her.
    Winston Churchill said, “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.”
    Is that what Erin is doing? Ensuring her social survival at Spencer?
    I can’t take the chance of being eclipsed by the New Girl. Not when so much is already on the line.
    Goddamn that Erin Hewett! Everything had been going according to plan until she showed up. Now, suddenly, there are all of these unknown variables.
    I don’t like it, not one bit.
    I feel so agitated that I decide to try the deep breathingexercise I learned from the headshrinker I saw after my father died. Breathe in through the nose for four seconds, hold for three, exhale slowly through the mouth for five. Four, three, five . Four, three, five .
    The headshrinker was a waste, but the deep breathing thing actually works. I can literally feel the tension start to drain from my body. Time to go home, take a hot shower, and butter my body with that coconut-scented stuff that makes Matt want to devour me. Maybe I’ll call him to see if I can come over. Maybe his hotness is the cure to all that ails me.
    That’s when I realize where I am.
    The corner of Lakeside and Lafayette.
    No. No no no no no —
    I don’t want to be here. It makes me think about him . About what happened to him.
    I don’t want to think about that. Not today. Not ever.
    I make the left onto Lafayette, then a sharp right onto Baker Street. Only, I take the turn too fast and end up scraping the curb. There’s a loud thunk, followed by a hiss—or maybe the hiss is only in my head. All I know is that thirty seconds later, the check tire gauge comes on, indicating a flat.
    â€œSon of a bitch!” I smack the steering wheel with the palm of my hand and end up banging my wrist too hard. The pain is surprisingly sharp. That’s definitely going to leave a bruise.
    The breakdown lane is too narrow for my liking, but I don’t want to risk further damage. I ease over, throw the hazard lights on, and get out of the car to inspect the tire. It’s bad. Not onlydo I have a full-on flat, but I’ve also managed to rip the rim to shreds.
    This is what happens when you allow for distraction. You crash. You burn. And you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.
    I’m going to have to call for help. Who’s it going to be? Uncle Douglas or Matt? Doug will tell me to call AAA. Matt will come and change the tire himself.
    I choose Matt. I don’t love playing a damsel in distress, but I hate breaking a nail even more.
    I’m fishing around for my phone when a timid voice addresses me by my full name: “Alexandra Miles?”
    I look up, startled to see none other than