Noah are not my problem. All I’m here to do is graduate.
I’m Mackenzie Malloy, and I don’t need anyone.
The more I repeat the mantra to myself, the less I believe it.
Now I see why the popular kids chose that particular table. Anyone wanting to eat in the quad has to walk past them. Two geeky-looking guys peel off the line in front of me and set off at a brisk pace, but Alec looks up at them like a hunter with prey in his sights, and at the last minute they veer off and take the unoccupied table in the corner. I see a girl in a wheelchair struggling to balance her tray on her knees while she wheels over the bump. Alec tosses a spitball at her head. It sticks in her hair. Her shoulders tighten. The wheels of her chair squeal as she surges forward, and she’s free.
Lucky bitch.
I try to sneak out behind her, but no such luck. Alec slides off the end of the table and stands in front of me, leaning in close. “Where you going, Malloy?”
“To eat my lunch. Far away from you.”
Noah stands up, his shoulders tense, his eyes charcoal tossed in flames – a dark void of hatred ringed in fire. No way do I want another confrontation with him. I can’t see Gabriel anywhere, and Eli’s down at the other end of the table. He stands up, too, but he’s hemmed in by a group of girls. Besides, I don’t need Eli to rescue me.
“Fine.” I whirl around and stomp out of the dining hall, tray in my hands. A waiter yells that I’m not allowed to take food from the hall, but who the fuck cares? I stalk down the corridor to the bathroom, kick open the nearest toilet door, and lock it behind me. I flip the toilet seat down, balance the tray on my knees, and pick up my knife and fork with shaking hands.
I hide in that stall as other female students come and go, trying in vain to get the fire in Noah’s eyes to stop scorching my veins. But it’s no good – I’m intrigued by his ire. And by what Eli started to say, “He holds you responsible.”
What am I responsible for?
I pull out my phone and do a quick search of the Stonehurst website and social media. He’s not hard to spot – Noah Marlowe’s statuesque features stand out from every image. He’s president of the student council, captain of the debate society, and the center of attention at every party and social event. Noah Marlowe, son of Senator John Marlowe, a deep-pocket alumnus of the school. Now that I have Noah’s last name, I Google him, just to see what comes up.
Most kids our age don’t have much of an internet presence beyond social media pages. I’m the exception – at least, I thought I was. I’m surprised at the number of hits that come up for Noah. All of them news articles about a court case from four years ago.
I click on one and start to read:
–following the death of his son, Felix Marlowe, aged 18, Senator John Marlowe has sued Howard Malloy, billionaire CEO of the nutritional supplement company Malloy International, for negligence – citing supplements supplied to his teenage son during an unregulated trial were responsible for his death. The case will be heard on Friday, with key testimony for the prosecution coming from 13-year-old Noah Marlowe, John Marlowe’s surviving son.
I scroll down to another article from a few months later. My father won the case. The Marlowes claim of negligence couldn’t be proved. The accompanying photograph shows Noah – younger, but just as dark and brooding and beautiful, exiting the courtroom with a beautiful raven-haired woman on his arm. His mother, Corrine, according to the captain. Another article, from two months after that. CORRINE MARLOWE DROWNS HERSELF IN FAMILY SWIMMING POOL.
My head spins. Fuck. So much death. So much pain. Everything I read I already knew – Noah spoke it through his eyes. I’d unwittingly enrolled myself at the same school as a guy who blames my family for the death of his brother and his mother. No wonder Noah hates me. I’d hate me.
Fuck, fuckedy, fucklestein.
I have to be careful. I have to stay out of his way – Noah Marlowe has already made it clear that he’d take great delight in ruining everything for me. I’m not going to give him the chance.