there,” I tell the boy, trying to keep my voice gruff and raspy. He looks up at me like I'm crazy and then squints.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks me, like we're in some fancy corporate office and not standing outside a freaking faux student government with no real power. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes.
“No. But I just need to pop in for a second.”
“Yeah, not happening,” the boy tells me, looking over something on his screen, and then pausing after a moment like he's surprised I'm still there. He leans over and taps the iPad on the edge of the desk. “Fill that out. There's a calendar that shows availability.” He goes back to his computer, and I squeeze the piece of paper in my right hand until it's all wrinkled.
Just before I accidentally let some bitchy Valley Girl slip, the door behind me opens and in walks a boy in a third year uniform, adjusting his sleeves and strolling past like he owns the place.
He pauses as I glance over at him, those turquoise eyes catching my attention. My mouth drops open as the boy tosses his silver-ash colored hair and smirks at me. It’s almost the same color as Eugene’s, but with darker roots, and a much edgier cut. Yeah, this isn’t Eugene, it’s that Spencer douche.
“Hello there, Charlie,” he says, reaching up to adjust his shiny Student Council pin. He's also got a blue arm band on his left sleeve, and a red one just below it. Uh-oh. I look up at him as he saunters over to me, a feral grin working its way across his face. “Not creeping around the woods today, eh?”
“Takes one to know one,” I blurt, and the guy laughs. My fingers reach up and I subconsciously find myself touching the tender skin of my throat. “So you're a delinquent and a member of the Student Council?”
“Sergeant-at-arms.” He smirks and swaggers a few steps closer, leaning down to get into my face. “Basically a glorified hall monitor. I see you have successfully managed to get the entire council to hate you. Congratulations on that. You're the least liked boy at school.”
Anger revs up inside of me, and I have to swallow three times to hold back a fresh rant. I lift up the piece of paper and Spencer plucks it from my hand with two fingers, scanning the words and then shrugging dismissively as he chucks it back at me.
“What do you want me to do about this?”
The paper flutters to the floor between us, and I bend down to pick it up.
“Get me an appointment, you nutjob.” I exhale and squeeze the paper into a crumbled little ball in my fist. “Or maybe I should talk to someone about what I saw in the woods?”
Spencer's face hardens, and he reaches out to grab me by the tie. I go to smack his hand away, and he grabs my wrist instead. He squeezes a little too hard and a small yelp escapes me. It's a bit feminine sounding, and I get nervous fast. Spencer is narrowing his eyes on me in confusion, although the secretary doesn't seem to care much either way.
“Let me go,” I grind out, as Spencer's grip on my wrist loosens. I yank back, and he lets go suddenly, sending me sprawling butt first into a potted fern.
Dirt flies everywhere, and I end up stuck in the damn thing, flailing around as I try to dig myself out. Spencer crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to one side to study me.
“You get more flies with honey, you know,” he says, and then he saunters off, pulling a huge iron skeleton key from his pocket, so he can unlock the double doors. He disappears inside while I'm still struggling to free myself from the ceramic butt-coffin I'm now trapped in.
“Little help here?” I ask, but the secretary simply turns up the classical music streaming from his phone and ignores me. Eventually, I get myself out of the pot, but the fern is now most definitely dead, and my navy blue slacks are covered in dirt. Fantastic.
It's become quite obvious the Student Council has no intention of seeing me, so I excuse myself with as much dignity as I can muster and then make plans to return later in the week.
These jerks haven't seen the last of me.
Even though I know it's a bad idea to bring their attention to me, I