Chapter ThreeKami
I walked out without looking back. I know it was rude, I know I should have controlled myself, but I couldn’t stand him acting that way with me. It didn’t make sense! Or maybe it did, because ever since we’d confessed our feelings, we couldn’t seem to stop being pissed at each other, except when we were stealing glances through our bedroom windows. Were we mad because we couldn’t act on our feelings? Were we just taking it out on the one person who mattered most? And did those stolen glances really mean anything if we were constantly acting like we hated each other?
I walked down the hall toward the library, thinking I’d study a bit, when behind me, I heard a door creak open. I stopped and turned. It was Thiago.
I studied him carefully as he came over. He was dressed in jeans, a shirt and tie, and a navy-blue sweater vest. He looked like the classic sexy professor, and he was driving me wild, but of course I had to try my best to pretend he wasn’t affecting me.
“What?” I asked. “Are you here to say sorry?”
He grinned. Did he think this was funny? “I’ll move your detention to your free period. Every day for the rest of the month.That way, you won’t have to miss work,” he said.
“What made you change your mind?” I asked with crossed arms.
“I’ll be in my office in the gym, not in the teacher’s lounge, FYI,” he said, without answering my question, looking down at me like I was a child.
“So?”
“Wait for me there, for your detention.”
He turned around and walked away, and I called after him, unable to help myself: “You know, you’re taking this way too far.”
He stopped and said blithely, “See you during your free period, Kamila.” Then he disappeared into the classroom, and I stormed off to the library, practically steaming.
Every free period for a month!
I headed into the library and saw that one of two plush chairs was unoccupied. All the students fought over these spots during exam season since the other tables just had hard wooden seats. There was no better place to flop down, stay warm, and study. But since classes were in session, there were only a few people in there: seniors who had their free period and were studying for finals, which would start in December and could count for as much as 70 percent of our grades. Everyone was cramming like mad, including Kate, apparently. I saw her just past the last shelf by the window, sitting in one of the plush chairs. In her lap was her history book, and she looked mesmerized. And haggard. And incredibly sad. When I got close, she glanced up, surprised.
“You mind if I sit down?” I asked, pointing at the empty chair next to her.
She looked over and started gathering her things. “Sure, I was just about to go.”
As she started to stand, I said, “No, please, Kate, don’t go. I’m just here looking for a little peace and quiet. I mean, I’m also herebecause I got kicked out of class.”
I was hoping to find a way to connect with her. “What?” she asked. “They kicked you out of class? You?”
Her comment showed how little we’d talked recently. Whatever reputation I had for staying out of trouble was gone at this point. I’d almost gotten kicked out of school over fights and other problems I hadn’t even started.
“Yeah, me,” I said, sitting down, seeing that at least for now she’d given up on her idea of leaving.
“Who was your teacher?”
“Thiago Di Bianco,” I responded sarcastically.
“He’s a teacher now?”
“Sub. I was ten minutes late to class and he told me I had to give up my free period for the rest of the month.”
“I was twenty minutes late to PE the other day and he didn’t say a word,” she said.
Now that pissed me off. “He’s a jerk,” I said, rubbing my hands together by the heater to warm them. For a few seconds, we sat there in an awkward silence until I gathered the courage to say, “Kate, are you OK?”
She blinked several times and replied in a thin voice, “Yeah, I’m great. Why do you ask?”
I hesitated, then answered, “What happened with your brother must have been hard for you.”
“Stepbrother,” she corrected me.
I could have corrected her in turn—he was her half brother, not her stepbrother. They had the same dad. But who was I to criticize her for wanting to create some separation between herself and the most manipulative person I’d ever met?
