second of it for my mental shrine.
It’s going perfectly. The gym fades away. The scent of sweat and floor polish diminishes. The giggles and grumbles of our classmates disappear. It’s just William and I skipping sideways, hand in hand. I see his eyes slip down to my bouncing chest, and his teeth bite down on his bottom lip, which only increases the butterflies in my stomach. He just checked me out!
Fuck yes!
I love Raz. This is amazing. Best day ever! But when a smile spreads unbidden across my lips, that’s when Raz rips William away.
The look on his face is pure loathing. “Laps! Now! We don’t try to stare down classmates’ shirts!”
“I…sir, I didn’t!” William stutters.
Raz just vibrates with fury and points toward the corner of the gym. “Go.” Then he turns to the room at large and yells, “Everyone down here. And if I see so much as a hint of inappropriate activity, you’ll join Mr. Washington!”
What. The. Fuck?
These demons promised they were going to help me win William over. So what the hell was that?
I stomp through the hallway, my hair up in a wet braid after showering off, squeezing my backpack with a death grip that could throttle a snake. Raz forced me to partner with Zolroth four times. Four! And he made William run laps the rest of class.
Evil.
Duh, demons are evil. Yes. I know. I’m kicking myself for momentarily thinking they were actually gonna help me out.
Of course, I couldn’t say anything to Raz or Zolroth without looking like I was nuts, but I’d stabbed the latter with my eyes repeatedly. He’d just grinned at my frustration, the fucker, leaning down and whispering, “I like it when you look sassy.”
I may or may not have pretended to stumble so I could stomp on his toes.
Stacy trots next to me, oblivious to the fact that I’m steaming like Mount Vesuvius. “I still can’t believe he picked you to demonstrate, lucky bitch!”
David walks up behind us and slides an arm around her. “Who’s a lucky bitch?”
“Katrina got to dance with our hot new gym teacher!”
“Not hot,” I mutter, but nobody listens to me.
“Dude! Did you hear the gossip about that? Supposedly, Mr. Harthorne and that counselor chick, Ms. Simmons, got caught doing it on her desk during school hours.” David gives us an exaggerated grossed out facial expression, which I’m pretty sure we all mimic, because Mr. Harthorne was a man in desperate need of a nostril hair trimmer.
But, that reminds me, Ms. Simmons was supposed to write me a letter of recommendation for several colleges I’d applied to. Harvard, Yale, Princeton—but only if I didn’t get into the other two—all the ‘right’ colleges, according to Mom and Dad. I don’t even know what I want to major in, but Lord forbid I fail to try.
I peel away from the pair and push through the cross traffic, anxious freshmen still sorting out their social pecking order and a couple of sophomores who are busy tossing a nerf football in the halls.
“Where are you going?” Stacy calls out behind me.
But I arrive at the counselor’s door just then. I point at it, then yank it open. Stace knows how my parents get about college stuff and how often I’ve had to go to this annoying office, so she just waves and turns to walk off with David.
I stride into the small, utilitarian waiting room, surprised to find it crowded. A lot of seniors are squashed into the small space, girls and guys chattering in low tones. Are they all like me? Are they worried about their letters? I can’t see over the heads of the tall guys or the girls wearing heels. I try to peer between them, but it’s impossible. I yank out my phone to see how much time I have before the next bell, thinking I’ll come back later.
But that’s when I hear a voice.
A familiar one.
No fucking way.
I shove through the other students, apologizing awkwardly as I go. “I’m sorry. It’s an emergency. Excuse me.”
One guy pushes me back, but instead of falling, a hand catches mine and yanks me forward. I find myself falling into a brown sweater vest. It cushions my cheek, and I’m grateful for it, because if I’d fallen right into the hard six pack I can feel beneath it, I might have bruises.
I awkwardly use my hands to shove myself upright so that I can glare at the new counselor, who smirks down at me.
“Did you have an appointment?”