She’s still staring at me when I meet her green gaze.
One brow arches toward her ruby-red hairline like she’s just waiting for me to say something inappropriate.
Who am I to disappoint?
With a wink, I whisper, “Tell Daddy I miss him.”
Her jaw crashes to the floor. Face sheet-white.
And just like that, this crappy afternoon is almost worth it.
If you gathered all the wealthiest snobs on the East Coast, fed them from a silver spoon for forty-eight hours straight, then collected bags of their rose-scented shit and made a school out of it, you would get Caspian Prep High.
In other words, I fit in like a hair dryer in the bathtub.
Slouching in my seat, I use a black pen to trace an old sketch of a lily in my notepad while Mr. Doau drones on about division of labor. I force myself to listen for the sake of my grade, but the longer his scratchy voice grates on my ears, the stabbier my pen’s movements become. I hate his voice. I hate the shiny balding spot at the back of his head. I hate the bulging gut hanging over his belt. Everything about him threatens to make me puke, which is why when the bell rings, I’m the first student to shoot up from my seat, shove my crap into my backpack, and beeline for the exit.
I’m one measly step from the threshold when I hear it.
“Miss Rutherford.”
My eyes shut, feet freezing, as students push their way around me.
“MissRutherford.” Sharper this time.
This fucking asshat.
I grind my teeth but eventually whirl around as the last student filters out of the room.
Mr. Doau leans back against the edge of his desk, hands folded over that gross, bulging stomach. “Detention. Three o’clock.”
I squeeze the strap of my backpack slung over my shoulder.
He glances at my desk. “There’s no smoking allowed on school premises, let alone littering.”
I grudgingly follow his gaze to the used cigarette under my chair, and bitterness darkens my vision when I look back at him. “I don’t smoke.”
He’s unfazed, of course, because he already knows this.
He shrugs. “The evidence says otherwise. I’ll see you at three.” He turns away and rifles through papers on his desk.
Anger whirls inside me as I force myself to turn away too.
“As much as I enjoy your company in the afternoons,”—his voice hits my back, halting my steps—“it does pain me to see you wasting your life away.”
I press my lips together, standing in place even as his heavy cologne wafts closer.
Then his words are right behind me, testing my gag reflex. “Remember what I told you, Eva. I could make things so much easier for you.”
My stomach churns when he inhales, breathing me in.
“You should take it as a compliment, you know? The fact I still remember your touch so well after all this time.”
My expression turns blank as I stare into the hallway watching students pass by, one after another. If there’s anything to be grateful for right now, it’s their looks of pure, blissful ignorance, no clue about the conversation taking place just a few feet away.
“Remember what I toldyou, Mr. Doau,” I seethe. “I’d walk off a cliff before ever taking you up on that.”
The scent of his cologne fades when he steps back, and I use the opportunity to inhale, exhale. Anchor myself to the cold, sharp angles of the weapon tucked safely between my hip bone and the tight waistband of my jeans.
