scar should have been.
Should have been, but wasn’t.
I drew back as the heat fled. With shaking hands, I pushed my hair away from my face, searching his eyes for some explanation.
“Miss me?” He moved in for another kiss.
“I don’t miss,” I murmured.
And punched him square in the face.
END OF FIRST MOVEMENT
BEGIN
SECOND
MOVEMENT
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BLOOD POURED FROM SIMON’S NOSE. someone in the crowd shrieked, reminding me that our reunion—and my punch—had been a very public one.
“What the fuck?” he snarled, cupping his hand against his face.
I scrambled away. “Who the hell are—” I started, then thought better of it. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Simon Lane, obviously,” he said, taunting even as he tried to stanch the bleeding. “I thought you wanted me to come home. That’s what I kept hearing, anyway. Hell of a greeting.”
He grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward him again. The sound of his frequency—an exact match to the Key World—scrambled my brain for a moment.
But only a moment. I thrashed, stomping on his foot with my boot. He let go, and I turned so my back was to the crowd instead of the wall. Dangerous to be so exposed, but more dangerous to be trapped.
“Del?” Eliot said from behind me, half-appalled, half-delighted.
A circle formed around us. Simon pinched his nose and scowled. “What’s the problem, Delancey?”
“You,” I spat, ignoring the crowd. All the digs my classmates had made about me in the past—every whisper, every snide remark, every hushed rumor—were repeated now, loud and clear, aimed directly at me.
I didn’t care. All I cared about was that the Simon in front of me was wrong. Completely wrong, and impossible, and an impostor. “You’re the problem. You walk in here and expect me to believe nothing’s changed? I’m not stupid. Everything’s changed, especially you.”
“He hasn’t,” Eliot said softly, urgently, hands on my shoulders. “It’s him, Del.”
“No, it isn’t.” My eyes burned. “What do you want? Why are you even here?”
Lazily his eyes traveled over me, from the crown of my head to the tips of my boots. But those eyes—the cold, dark blue of deep water—weren’t appreciative, but calculating. The kind that would root out your softest places and scrape them clean. “There’s no place like home.” He glanced around at the crowd, then back at me. “Let’s finish this somewhere more private. The equipment room, maybe?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said Principal Sayers. “Fighting is an automatic suspension, as you’re both aware. It’s good to see you, Simon.”
“It’s good to be back.”
• • •
Ten minutes later I was sitting in my usual spot in the office, my hand throbbing in time with my head. This time Sayers had closed the blinds, shutting me out. Through the door I could hear the impostor pleading my case—an impossible situation veering further into unreality.
“The rules are very clear, Simon. Physical fighting, no matter who instigates it, is an automatic suspension for both participants.”
“She wasn’t fighting,” he said. “It was my fault.”
“I have at least twelve witnesses who say otherwise. There’s not a mark on Delancey, and you should be in the nurse’s office right now, getting your nose checked out. At least let them bring you an ice pack.”
“She punched me, sure. But I deserved it. I might have gotten a little . . . carried away . . . when she kissed me. If you know what I mean.”
There was a pause. “You’re saying you made an unwanted advance toward Delancey Sullivan, and she was defending herself?”
“It won’t happen again, sir.”
“I should hope not”—a frosty note entering his voice—“because that, too, is a suspension.”
“The thing is,” the imposter said, “I’m not technically a student. Not until I re-enroll. You can’t suspend me.”
A few minutes later the door swung open. “Delancey, based on Simon’s account of the incident, you will not be suspended. I do need to ask if you’d like to press charges against him, however. Should I call the authorities?”
“God, no,” I said. “He won’t try it again.”
“Then you’re both free to go.” Sayers massaged his temple as if a migraine was brewing. “Simon, I will assume that once re-enrolled, you will be a model student. There will be no warnings or second chances. For either of you.”
I murmured my understanding alongside Simon. He reached out as if to take my arm, but I jerked away.
“Locker,” I said. “I need to get my stuff.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“Is it broken?” I asked, gesturing to his nose.
He touched it gingerly. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll try harder