The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,35

speak.

“You’ve caused enough disruption by joining my class so late in the year—I won’t stand for further theatrics.”

I’m being outright bullied and she thinks I’m trying to get attention?

“When is your next lesson with Brother Zachary?”

A cold dread seeps into my bones. “Why?”

“I ask the questions,” Sharon says. Her pen scratches on the paper as she signs whatever she was writing with a violent flourish.

“Right now.”

“Good. You will take this letter—” she looks up and folds up the piece of paper she was writing on “—and you will hand it to Brother Zachary the moment you set foot in his class.”

She holds out the paper. It’s not even in an envelope. But as if she can read my mind, she adds, “It’s for his eyes only.”

This can’t be good.

My fingers are numb when I take the paper from her. I turn and head for the door.

“And Trinity?”

I pause, biting the inside of my lip.

“If you disrupt my class again, there will be severe consequences.”

My heart’s still pounding in my throat when I make my way down the hall.

Instead of confronting Cassius about his prank, I slink down the hall and pray no one notices me. I clomp down the stairs and stand in front of Zachary’s classroom door.

A student hurries toward me from the other side of the hall, and for a moment I’m convinced he’s a messenger about to make my day even worse.

Instead, he pauses about a yard away from the door and watches me intently. “You going in, or what?”

Shit, I didn’t even recognize him. It’s Simon—a kid from my psych class. I step back and let him go ahead of me while I try and gather my courage.

But it’s a lost cause—I’m rattled.

There’s no denying I have a target on my back. But who put it there?

And why?

Zachary looks up from his desk and then down at the paper I’m holding out. It trembles ever so slightly. He takes it from me, the class falling silent behind me when he opens it. Two of the students from my English class are also in psych, but I’m positive the rest of the class already knows about what happened in English.

Did any of them see the drawing?

I’d almost peeked at the letter when I was standing outside, but then I thought back to that stained glass window I’d seen on my first tour through Saint Amos.

That big eye in the sky.

Always watching.

Omnipotent.

Anyway, I don’t want to know what it says.

Ignorance is bliss, right?

Zachary folds open the letter and scans it. He closes it up and slips it into his desk drawer. Then his eyes fall to the textbook I’m crushing against my chest.

I’d forgotten all about it, but as soon as his eyes settle on the hardback cover, the drawing inside flashes through my mind like a still from a porno film.

I imagine, anyway. I’ve never seen one. I’ve never had access to the Internet without parental supervision. The dirtiest book in the library I was allowed to use was Pride and Prejudice.

“The book,” Zachary says evenly, when I don’t make a move.

I hand it over reluctantly as my cheeks grow hot.

Zachary flips open the front cover and goes to turn the page. His hand freezes and then drops to the bottom of the page.

“Surprisingly accurate,” he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

My ears start to buzz. “What?”

He flips the cover closed and sits back in his seat. Slowly shaking his head, Zachary studies me with magnetic eyes. “What are we going to do with you, Miss Malone?”

“It’s not my book,” I say.

He cocks his head. “You stole this from someone?”

“What? No!”

“Then how did you come to be in possession of it?” His eyes narrow with irritation.

The name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say it. Which is ridiculous—if Zachary and Sister Sharon knew what Cassius had done, he’d be the one facing off with Zachary right now.

He’d be the one about to be punished.

He’d…

No, nothing would happen to him. It’s obvious Sister Sharon has a soft spot for him, and I’m pretty sure I saw him visiting Zachary on my first day here. It was only a glimpse as we passed in the hallway, but I’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.

I could try and accuse him, but I was the outsider.

The outcast.

No one was going to believe anything I said. It burns like righteous fire inside me, the fact that telling the truth would only get me into more trouble, but