Never His Girl (Kings of Cypress Prep #2) by Rachel Jonas

Chapter 1

@QweenPandora: Me again, lovelies! Still no word from NewGirl, but my sources say she was last spotted riding off into the sunset, following yesterday’s fiasco. Rumor has it, her knight in shining armor was none other than the mysterious cutie who has us all contemplating a move to the south side, SeXyBeAsT.

Maybe NewGirl has plans to test out a theory. The one about getting under someone new to get over someone from the past. Or, ya know, someone who released a sex tape where you’re the star.

What? Too soon?

Well, let’s take a moment to mourn the death of the KingMidas/NewGirl union. No way they’ll survive this. Not only did we all witness NewGirl getting the boot only moments after giving up the goods, but having your naughty bits plastered all over the web isn’t great for building a solid foundation.

Then again, I’m no relationship expert. I suppose only time will tell what’ll happen when all is said and done.

Later, Peeps.



It’s never-ending.

The insults. The hate they eagerly plaster wherever they can, for all to see.

And out of everything that’s gone on, the worst part is that they’re not just coming for me. A pack of venomous teens from South Cypress High—girls and guys—have made a target out of Scar, too.

I haven’t even had the courage to call her myself. Instead, I settle for check-ins with Jules every few hours, making sure Scar’s holding up okay. Every time, the report is the same: that she’s perfectly fine and is more worried about me than anything.

I bury my face in the pillow when my eyes need a break from the phone screen. Shame—my closest companion—curls up beside me, never letting me forget that it will always be there, no matter what I do.

The thoughts that must have gone through Scar’s head when she saw the video. After walking in on her with Shane, I made it so clear that we had to be careful who we let get that close to us. Turns out I should’ve taken my own damn advice.

I’m such an idiot.

Now, I’ve officially been labeled Cypress Prep’s whore. No, I’m not West’s first conquest, but I’m the first who let it get filmed and then leaked for the world to see. I’m also the first to, publicly, get kicked to the curb right after.

Pride is a funny thing, because I think that’s the part of me that hurts the worst. It’s not so much that the video is out there, but that West and I are clearly not facing this as a united front.

I’m alone.

My eyes drift back to the screen, and I’m not surprised by the list of new comments that have flooded in, a myriad of nasty names and taunts. None of which are aimed at West. Just me.

“You gonna put that shit down yet? You’ll drive yourself crazy, B.”

An exasperated huff when the other bed creaks behind me is proof of Ricky’s frustration, but I don’t turn to see his stern glare. Still, I feel it. It’s the same one he’s been giving me the past two hours as I pour through the shitstorm on social media.

Am I aware of how unhealthy it is? Sure, but I can’t turn away. It’s not every day a person gets to observe what the world thinks of them in real time. Not every day someone gets to read the unfiltered thoughts and opinions of their peers as they spill out onto their platform of choice.

The consensus is in, and it’s crystal clear. They think I’m a slut and an idiot for letting this happen to me. Apparently, sleeping with a guy who then kicks you out within seconds of it being over doesn’t do a whole lot for a girl’s reputation. Humiliated doesn’t even begin to touch what I’m feeling. There’s so much more than that.



Disgusted with myself.

What got me through the night was fantasizing about the many ways I could kill West Golden. I settled on genital mutilation, bringing the torture session to a close with him bleeding out alone in a dark room, regretting that he ever crossed me.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jules. I read the message that pops up before swiping it out of sight. She wants me to call, but I can’t. Not yet.

For some reason, the only person I can stomach even looking at me right now is Ricky. He’s never one to judge, which reminds me of how I haven’t always afforded him that same luxury over the past few months. He showed up without a single question and had been holed up in this seedy motel room with me for a little more than twenty-four hours.