Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He’s the first to look away, and it leaves me feeling empty, though I’m not sure why. The loss of that connection is oddly disappointing. I don’t even like him. He’s an asshole with a heart of barbed wire, and that’s what I find myself drawing on the blank page next to my tear-soaked art. A beating heart wrapped in barbed wire. I drew it for him, but when I stop to examine it, I can see myself in there too.
When my forty-five minutes are finally up, Mr. Carter rises from his desk with the authority of someone who should be ruling a boardroom rather than a classroom. His black oxfords clip across the floor with military precision, and he ensnares me with a dark look as he opens the door. I don’t dare move. Not until he tells me to. Another standoff ensues, our eyes battling our respective roles in silence. I could almost swear the edge of his lip twitches in victory. He’s a man who likes to exert his power, and right now, he’s exerting it over me.
“You’re free to go, Miss LeClaire.”
I stuff all my belongings back into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. When I glance back up, I expect him to be gone, but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, caging me in with his eyes. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, and I don’t know if I want to either. There’s something mysterious about him. Something sinister, certainly. But something alluring too. Does he know that I feel that way? Can he recognize my desperation for his approval? Even as I’m calculating all the ways I should hate him, I’m wondering how I can win him over too.
I join him at the door, and he gestures me out first. To my displeasure, I find we aren’t alone. Along the corridor, Ethan and his Lacrosse buddies are waiting for someone, and when their heads swivel in my direction, it becomes apparent that someone is me.
“Hey, Cherrybomb.” Ethan grins as he uses the name he must have heard from Sybil. “You’re finally sprung, huh?”
“Yep.” I rock back on my heels and glance at Mr. Carter, whose gaze is practically glacial as he examines Ethan.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Mr. Dupree?” he clips out.
Ethan’s jaw flexes, and he raises his chin in challenge as he meets Mr. Carter’s gaze. The temperature in the building plummets as they stare at each other. If I didn’t know any better, I would say the scowling beast of a teacher doesn’t want me hanging out with Ethan and his buddies, but the question is why?
“What’s the big deal?” Ethan claps back. “She’s out of detention, right? We’re allowed to socialize in public quarters, and last I checked, this is the student center.”
“Miss LeClaire has a maintenance issue to deal with back at her dorm,” Mr. Carter answers flatly. “So why don’t you boys run along and find something else to do?”
Ethan turns to me, but I’m too busy staring up at Mr. Carter in confusion. Is he referring to my locked room? And if he is, how the hell does he even know about that?
“The door,” I murmur though it comes out sounding more like a question.
“Damn. Someone already pennied your doorjamb?” Ethan asks.
“Yeah, your girlfriend.” I glare at him.
“Louisa?” He scrunches his nose and his buddies laugh. “She isn’t my girlfriend. She wishes she was, but she isn’t.”
“That’s nice.” I wave him away. “But I don’t need any more trouble, and Mr. Carter’s right. I have to go deal with that now.”
“All right.” Ethan hops down off the table he’s perched on and allows his eyes to do one full sweep over my body in slow motion. Pig. “We’ll see you around then.”
They disappear down the hall, and I turn back to Mr. Carter. “How did you know about my door?”
“I know everything that goes on in this school.” He pivots on his heel and locks the door behind us. “And you’d be wise to remember that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
STELLA
I SPEND the next afternoon shooting photos around campus while Sybil finishes up her dance practice, and I’m surprised to see just how many extracurricular activities Loyola Academy has. Everything from fencing to cheer to swim is on offer, and even though my mother requested I choose at least two, I haven’t signed up for any yet.
“There’s still time,” Sybil tells me as she crash-lands into my camera view. “You could do swimming. That’s easy.”
“Not really a fan of the chlorine,” I admit.
“Hmm.” She does a triple cartwheel across the lawn and plops down gracefully in a cross-legged position. “What about cheer squad? You could come to practice with me next Wednesday.”
“Really?” I laugh. “You want me on the cheer team? I don’t exactly have the right look. Or the pep. Or the coordination.”