Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,60

over the large, crowded room. “Volunteering as a peer group leader will look good on your applications. Plus, you have some experience with counseling.”

Staring at her, I say, “I’m usually on the other side of it, though.”

She smiles patiently. “That experience will be useful, too.”

“Look,” I start, shifting my gaze to a pair of middle-schoolers huddled around a phone. “I’m not qualified to give advice. I’m not sure I’m even qualified to tell someone to get advice.” The truth is, I’m a hot mess. Now that my rubber band has been rendered weirdly ineffective, my thigh looks like a collage of pen-bruising, and on top of that, I’ve been hooking up with one of the vilest men this school has ever seen, even though I don’t really want to. I’m a hazard to myself on every level. Who am I to tell some kid to face their inner demons or whatever?

“You don’t have to give advice,” she insists, voice low. “Just be there for someone. Listen to them. Opening yourself up to someone else’s problems might help put your own into perspective.” She gives me a meaningful look. “I am speaking from experience. Do you suppose I always feel qualified to counsel you?”

I point out, “Your degree probably helps.”

Luckily, I spot Micha hovering around the donut table, sipping daintily at a cup of something hot and sweet.

He sighs when I sidle up to him. “You got roped into this, too, huh?”

“Definitely not in my top ten choices of ways to spend a Saturday morning.” I’d rather be in bed, finishing knitting the scarf I’d started for Sebastian last week.

He nods. “Did Mrs. Gilbert give you a whole speech about how it’d look good on college applications?”

“You too?”

“Apparently being super queer gives me ‘a special insight into the struggles of LGBT youth’. Like I’m some kind of expert.” He rolls his eyes, picking a sprinkle off a donut. “It didn’t really matter. My mom makes all of us do one personal volunteer project every school year. It was between this and charity construction. Can you imagine me with a power drill?”

“Not so much.” I look at the donuts, figuring if I’m going to do this thing, I might as well get something glazed out of it. “So what’s the scoop? We just walk up to some poor kid and start a deep conversation?”

Micha is methodically plucking each sprinkle from his donut and eating them. “I was thinking of just standing here and looking all unapproachable.” He gives me a dark, sulky look. “Working?”

I snort, nudging him with my elbow. “You look like someone just told you Lakevale got cancelled.” It’s been brought to my attention, from the way he constantly talks about it during our swim class, that Lakevale is Micha’s favorite terrible teen show.

He swings a far more natural glare at me. “Bite your tongue, beeyach! It’s bad enough that I have to miss it live because swim class got moved up to evenings.”

We chat for a little while longer before Mrs. Gilbert’s stern gaze forces us to part. Sheesh, I think. What if I’m counseling Micha?!

She gives me a slow, disapproving shake of her head.

I take a seat among a row of empty chairs, pushed against the wall, and decide that he has a pretty good idea about looking unapproachable. I’d brought my knitting bag just in case I found myself in the position to work on this scarf, and I pull it all out.

As soon as I get into the rhythm of threading and hooking, something inside of me loosens and calms. Truthfully, scarves are one of only three things I know how to make, but I think I’ve gotten really good at them. I’ve already made one for Vandy, Caroline, Emory, and Reynolds. Now I’m working on Sebastian and Sugar’s. With the out-of-state Devils all coming home for winter break in a few months, it’ll be the perfect addition to all their gift bags.

“Oh, cool,” comes a low voice to my right. Looking over, I notice a younger girl—maybe a Freshman—watching my fingers move the needles. “Is that hard?”

Brightening, I answer, “Not in the least. Takes a little practice, but it’s easy to pick up if you have the patience.”

The girl grimaces, eyes pinging up to meet my gaze before instantly darting away. “I have ADHD, so I’d probably be bad at it.”

“What? No way!” Laughing nervously, I add, “If you’re like me and don’t have any patience, then it’s also a good way to learn some.