“Room E.14,” Imogen says.
Something about their expressions makes me pause. “How did you know that?”
“We’re friends,” Trinity says.
“I pay attention. He’shot,” Imogen says at the same time.
I stare at the two of them with my mouth open. Imogen raises a brow at me, as if daring me to disagree.
“Right. Thanks,” I say, before turning around and walking off to the classroom being used for uniform detention. I can hear Trinity’s soft laughter behind me.
Okay. So one — possibly two — girls think Kieran is attractive.Hot, even. Okay, fine. I won’t judge. Beauty is subjective, and whatever, and some people find guys like Kieran, with intimidating muscles and thick brown hair and intense dark eyes hot. The same way people find villains in movies hot.
Fine, fine, fine.
I stomp to E.14, and more than one kid makes eye contact with me before scattering away. When I arrive at E.14, I push the door open with more force than needed. Kieran’s the only one in the room, sitting, as always, in the back row.
He spares me a glance before returning his gaze to the table, as if I’m not interesting enough to look at for more than two seconds.
I walk over to him. “Where’s the teacher?”
“Huh?” He doesn’t look up. He has a pen in his hand, and he’s scribbling in the corner of the table, creating a blue inky mess.
“The supervising teacher. For detention?” I repeat.
“He left. I was the only one here, and he said I could look after myself.”
He still won’t look at me, even though I’m talking to him. I rip the pen out of his hand. “Don’t draw on school property.”
Kieran stands up too, and I suck in a breath.
“Give me my pen back,” he says.
“Say please,” I say automatically.
“You want me to use my manners when you stole the pen out of my hand?”
I don’t have a reply, because he’s right. I throw the pen onto his desk. He snatches it up, slides it into his pants pocket, and appraises me. “What do you want, Jasper?”
“If the teacher’s not here, why don’t you just leave?” I ask.
“I thought you didn’t want to be associated with me.”
“What?”
“You didn’t want to be associated with me,” he repeats slowly. “But now you’re here, asking me stupid questions.”
“I have a purpose,” I say.
“Bored, Jasper? Talking to me because you don’t have any friends?”
“I have friends,” I reply, sounding like I’m five years old. “And like I said, I have a purpose. Mrs Ferguson told me to get you involved in the school. You’re now on the Sustainability Day committee.”
He doesn’t react, just looks out the window.
“Okay?” I say.
“Fine.”
