“I saw you with Principal Edwards. You can deny it all you want, but I know what I saw. And what I heard.”
She turns to me. “You don’t knowanything. I’m disgusted you’d even say something like that.”
I lower my voice. “He didn’t force himself on you so why are you telling Jackson that? Why are you involving him in this? If you want to be with your stepdad, then be with him. But leave Jackson out of it.”
She leans down to my face, her eyes narrowed. “You’re never going to have him. Jackson is mine.” She rises back up, a smilecreeping up her face. “Oh, and I do have marks.” She moves her hair aside and shows me her neck. I see a faint pink line barely visible through her makeup.
“He really did that?” I ask, feeling guilty for doubting her. Why isn’t she upset about this? Last night she was hysterical, and now she’s acting like it’s no big deal. “Kristen, you need to go to the police. You can’t let him hurt you like that.”
She lets out a laugh. “When you’re with aman, you’ll understand.”
“I don’t want to be with a man who strangles me, and neither should you.”
She leans down to my ear and whispers. “Pleasure and pain. Try it sometime.”
A girl comes into the bathroom, and Kristen goes around me and leaves.
What was she telling me? That the marks on her neck were intentional? Like some kind of sex thing?
Why is she doing this? Why is she telling Jackson one thing and me another? Is it just to get Jackson’s sympathy? Why does she want Jackson when she’s already doing it with Principal Edwards? What is she up to?
I arrive at English class right as the bell rings. As I take my seat in the back, Ms. Pruitt is already starting her lecture. I’m not even listening. My mind is still on Kristen, trying to figure out what she’s up to and why.
“Ms. Halliway,” Ms. Pruitt says, interrupting my thoughts. I look up and see her nose in the air, peering at me through her wire-rimmed glasses.
“Yes,” I mumble, sitting up straight.
“Please identify and correct the dangling participle in this example.” Ms. Pruitt points to the board.
Everyone turns and looks at me. They know I don’t have the answer. I never do, and Ms. Pruitt still calls on me.
“I don’t know what a dangling participle is,” I say, because I honestly don’t. I’ve seen it in the book, but couldn’t tell you what it means.
Ms. Pruitt sighs. “Anyone else?”
A girl in the front row who always has the answers shoots her hand up. “I do! I know what it is!”
She gives the answer like she’s memorized it from the book.
“Very good, Ms. Shaffer,” Ms. Pruitt says, then her eyes go back to me. “Ms. Halliway, I’ll need to see you after class.”
Is she serious? I’m in trouble because I didn’t answer a question?
Class drags on for ten more minutes, and when the bell rings, everyone leaves while I remain in my seat.
Ms. Pruitt shuts the door.
“I’m going to be late for my next class,” I tell her.
“I’ll write you a note.” She sits at her desk. “Come up here, please.”
Grabbing my backpack, I get up and go to the front. “What is it?”
“I’m concerned you’re falling behind. You didn’t pass the last two quizzes.”
“I have a lot going on.”
Her brows rise. “At home?”
