brooch? It really matches your eyes. Mr. Dr. Ross is quite the gift giver, I see.” With that, I slide into my seat, hoping everyone is distracted and annoyed enough that the hostile vibes rolling off Sugar aren’t discernable.
The final bell rings and Dr. Ross jumps right into the lesson. I get out my notebook and pencil, flipping it open to a clean page. The rest of the class settles in, the muscle memory kicking in after a few weeks off. On the best of days, I struggle with staying attentive, but today it’s outright impossible. I lean back, stretching one leg forward, and flip my pencil through my fingers. Sugar makes a sound—this soft, yet somehow hard breath—and jerks to the side to yank her backpack closer to her desk, all protective and tense. What does she think I’m going to do, grab it and run off? No,Sugar, that’s my boy Reyn back there. He’d steal the shirt right off your back, if given half a chance. But thievery isn’t my vice.
I knew the girl, Sugar, was small. That had been entirely too evident when I decked her. But she seems even smaller now that she’s sitting right in front of me, so close. Slim, narrow shoulders that almost curve inward, petite little ears with tiny hoops slipped through them. I stare at the long, dark hair in front of me, wondering when she got rid of the blue tips, wondering why she moved here, trying to figure out how in the hell this little townie from the Briar Cliffs—my biggest sin—showed up at Preston Prep.
I’m not the one who doesn’t belong here. This turf is as close to mine as any other.
She shifts, making the ends of her hair drag along the top of my desk. I slide my pencil forward and cave to the desire—no, compulsion—to run the tip of it through the inky black fringe. Mesmerized, I slowly run the pencil from one end to the other, watching the little strands fall like a silky, dark, sweet-smelling curtain—
Whip!
“WHAT THE HELL?!”
Still holding my pencil, I look up into Sugar’s face—her blood-red, pinched, and totally pissed-the-fuck-off face. She’s looming in the aisle, having thrown herself violently out of her seat. Her eyes are an inferno, chest heaving in these sharp little jerks that make zero sense to me. It’s like she’s having a problem breathing. There’s this vein on her neck that I’m pretty sure I can see throbbing.
I sit here, stunned speechless as I look back at her.
Please don’t scream.
“Miss Voss,” Dr. Ross says, standing wide-eyed at the front of the room. “Calm yourself right now.”
“This guy touched me!” Sugar spits, thrusting an accusatory finger at me. I don’t miss the way it trembles. “He grabbed my hair!”
I gape, my baffled gaze pinging between her fiery eyes and Dr. Ross. “I did not!”
Dr. Ross looks more concerned than pissed. She takes a step toward Sugar, who reacts by grabbing her backpack and promptly sprinting for the door. It closes with a sharp click behind her when she flies from the room without a second look.
The whole class is stunned silent, although a few people are definitely looking at me. Aubrey, Elana, and Afton, for sure. I shrug, all ‘hell if I know’, and Afton narrows her eyes.
“I’ll go find her,” Afton offers, standing quickly.
“Take her to the infirmary.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Afton grabs her own bag and walks out of the room. This time, every guy watches her go.
I exhale and sink into my seat, tapping my pencil on the desk. I’m thinking that, this time at least, I’m wrong. Maybe everything isn’t about me. Whatever is going on with that girl, it has to be something else. I mean, that shit was straight up coconuts, wasn’t it?
For some reason, I look back at Reyn for confirmation of this.
He looks just as confused.
I shift my gaze to the front of the room and realize Dr. Ross is staring at me. “Mr. Wilcox.”
I straighten in my seat, pulling a polite expression over my features. “Yes, ma’am?”
She peers over her glasses at me. “I don’t know what you did to that girl, but make sure you apologize.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And prepare for two days of detention for interrupting my class.”
Annoyance flickers in my chest. Two days? What the fucking fuck? I don’t argue back. I know she’ll make it five in a heartbeat. Maybe longer. I bite back the anger and nod. “Yes, ma’am.”