turned to look at him. Mostly bald, he was overdressed in an outdated suit and tie, but had friendly eyes behind his gold wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m Mr. Schubert. We’re studying Shakespeare’s Tempest. If you’ll introduce yourself to the class, we’ll continue our discussion.”
One of the reasons I really hated being the new girl was this part. I never understood why teachers always insisted on doing it.
“I’m Lace Lowell. I transferred to Southside from Alliance Prep.”
Some kids gasped. I’d gasped too when Uncle Bruce had told us that he was changing jobs and we’d have to move again, during the middle of my sophomore-credited year and Dizzy’s junior one. Going from a great school to a not-so-great one would make it even harder for me to get the scholarship I wanted so I could study fashion.
“Well, hello, Lace.” A blond guy in a red-and-black football letterman jacket whistled low and scanned my entire body with his dark blue eyes.
I lifted my chin and marched down the aisle, pausing at his desk and kicking one of his neon-green Nike sneakers. Locating an empty seat on the back row, I took it, feeling his gaze and more than a few others on me. Ignoring them, I unzipped my backpack and withdrew paper and a pen.
Luckily, Mr. Schubert returned to teaching, and heads swiveled around to pay attention.
I listened and took notes. He had an engaging style, asking interesting questions that involved the students. I’d studied Tempest at Alliance, but his analysis of the material was fresh.
The class went by fast, and the bell rang again. I packed up my supplies, not surprised when the blond guy made his way back to me through the line of students exiting.
“Hey, Lace. Sorry if I pissed you off somehow.” He raked a hand through his short hair. “It’s just that you’re pretty.”
“So?” I wasn’t opposed to using my looks to get what I wanted. But I knew what this guy really wanted, and I wasn’t willing to give it to him.
“So I’m Randy Rhodes.”
My brow lifted. His name didn’t mean shit to me, but he dropped it like it should.
“I’d like to get to know you.” He reached out and touched my arm, and it was all I could do not to recoil. I didn’t like people, especially guys like him, touching me without permission. “Can I walk you to your next class?”
“No, that’s okay. I want to stay and talk to the teacher. You go on ahead.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Randy,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “Listen, I’m not interested. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
His eyes narrowed. “Got it.” He turned and stomped away, muttering bitch under his breath.
Fuck him for not taking a polite decline. Fuck his expensive clothes. And fuck his rich, popular-boy, entitled attitude.
I zipped my backpack and walked up the aisle, hitching the strap higher on my shoulder and clearing my throat at the teacher’s desk to get his attention. “Mr. Schubert? Can I speak to you?”
“Yes, of course.” He set his glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can I help you, Miss Lowell?”
“I enjoyed your class.”
His eyes brightened. “I’m glad. That’s high praise. I’m sure you had great teachers at Alliance.”
“I had a few. I’m looking forward to taking your class. Can I possibly get your notes for the lectures I missed?”
“Absolutely.” Looking equal parts surprised and impressed, he glanced down, and I saw he’d been reading my academic report. “Send it to your Lowell email?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He tipped his chin toward the door. “Better move on to your next class. It’s best not to be stranded in the hall on this side of the building when the students clear out.”
Shit. Sabrina had warned me.
I stepped out into the hallway and glanced both ways. Only a few students remained, and all were wearing navy and black colors. They gave me long looks that didn’t feel friendly. I didn’t know where my next class was, but I figured that at this point, returning the way I’d come was my best option.
Turning, I walked fast, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as rapid footsteps approached me from behind.
“Hey, güera.” A short Latina suddenly appeared and moved right in front of me.
I came to a screeching stop, glancing nervously at a taller girl who joined the girl who’d called me blondie. The taller girl had a cruel glint in her eyes.
“Qué es?” I asked them. What’s up?
The shorter one