Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Dylan narrows his eyes at her and throws her an annoyed look, making us all laugh.
“What about the other bullet wound?” Penelope asks.
“Another one?!” the lady almost screeches.
I shush the lady. “The entire campus doesn’t need to know.”
The nurse rolls her eyes and says, “Where? Show me.”
Dylan lifts his shirt. The wound is still oozing blood and is covered in dirt.
“Yikes,” the nurse says, and she immediately grabs her kit and sits down in front of him. “Lie down.”
He does what she asks and she immediately pushes his shirt farther up, then inspects the wound. “This is gonna hurt.”
When she pours on the alcohol, he hisses. “F-Fuck.”
“Told you,” the nurse says.
“Jesus,” Penelope mutters.
“Told you, she’s used to some shit,” Dylan replies.
“No talking,” the nurse barks, and she shoves some needles up his waist and shoulder, then goes to work on him, digging like she’s trying to find some trinkets.
The bullets finally appears and she drops them into a bowl. “There. Now to stitch it up.”
She grabs her suturing kit again and finishes the job, cleaning him up.
“Thanks,” Dylan mutters, and he sits up again.
“You’re welcome. I guess you’re not going to tell me who did this to you?” she asks.
“Sorry, confidential,” Dylan replies.
She rolls her eyes again. “Always the same bullshit with you kids.”
Lana snorts but hide her laughter behind her hand.
The nurse starts cleaning up Ali’s wounds, which are only mild scratches and cuts, easily cleaned with alcohol. The bullet that entered my shoulder is easily taken out and the wound is sutured up. One grazed past my cheek, which only needed some glue after the cleaning, but other than that I’m fine.
I take off my jacket which is covered in blood and drenched in rain and throw it into the bin. I’ll buy a new one easily.
Ali does the same with his hoodie, chucking it all away until we’re both left in simple white shirts.
“What about you?” the nurse asks Lana. “Are you okay? Got any wounds?”
She throws her hair back. “Not a single scratch. No one touches me without my permission.” Lana eyes me and the tape on my cheek.
Dylan bursts out into laughter when he sees my face. “God, this alone is worth it.”
“Shut up,” I growl back.
“Okay, then I’m all done,” the nurse says.
“Thanks for taking care of them,” Penelope says. “Are they in the clear now, or will they need more help?”
“Re-bandage him every day,” she says, pointing at Dylan. “Keep a close eye on the wound. If it gets infected, go to the hospital.”
“Okay,” Penelope replies as she and Ali help Dylan up.
“Feels much better already,” Dylan says as he pushes himself away from them. “I can walk.”
“You sure? We’ll probably need to go up all the fucking stairs,” I say.
He shrugs, but immediately cringes from the pain. “Pain is for pussies.”
Ali snorts and shakes his head. “Typical.”
A police officer near the door clears his throat. “Are you all done?”
It’s Ali’s dad.
We nod and follow him outside.
“Your father’s up here,” he tell us as he leads the way up the stairs, past the bit that got burned. But we keep going up more stairs until we finally reach the highest floor. The one where the dean’s office was.
“He’s in the dean’s old office?” Ali asks, frowning.
“Typical,” Lana says. “Take over. Assert dominance.”
Dylan coughs wildly.
“In here,” Mr. King says, pointing at the third room on the third floor.
“Right,” I say, sighing when everyone else looks at me. “I’ll go first.”
I open the door, while the policeman stations himself outside, guarding the place as we head inside.
My father’s standing behind the desk, looking out at the window down below as though he’s admiring his newfound rich view of the world.
“Took you long enough,” he says, and he gazes at us over his shoulder, the stern look on his face making me sweat.
Our drenched, bloodstained faces don’t seem to impress him in the slightest.
Typical.
“Sit,” he barks. “All of you.”
The door closes on us, and we sit down on the chairs in the back.
“You made quite a show here …” he mutters.
“Sir, I can explain,” Dylan says.
“Damn right you will,” my father says, turning around. “Because the second I left this school in Caruso’s hands, it burned down to a crisp.”
“That’s my fault,” Penelope says.
“Wow,” Lana says. “You’re actually admitting it?”
My eyes widen. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
“I wanted to lure Caruso out,” she adds, ignoring me.
“Lure him out?” my father rasps.
“He was responsible for my sister’s death,” she says. “Eve Ricci.”
“And the plot thickens …” Lana muses, crossing her legs.
“Lana,” my father warns, and his eyes home in on Penelope. “Ricci … That’s not what you told me your name was.”
Penelope gulps. “I know.”
“I wouldn’t tell a soul either, knowing how our families live,” Dylan says. “I don’t blame her for giving a fake name.”
“You defend her?” my father asks. “After burning down the entire school?”