Page 7 of Spin the Damn Bottle

“Look, I don’t smoke. If you found a cigarette butt, get it tested for my DNA, fingerprints, or whatever the police do to determine the culprit. It won’t be me.”

"I should, in fact, get the authorities involved,” he agrees. “You're fortunate the school board frowns at drawing such attention. Don’t push your luck, young lady. The fire came from your room. If you keep denying your involvement, I won’t have any choice but to call the police, and when they prove that it was you, the consequences will be much more severe than if you’d come clean today.”

Fuck. I'm eighteen. The last thing I need is a record as a pyro.I know I didn’t do anything, but what if they can’t—or won’t—prove it? Shit. Do I need a lawyer?

"The only reason why you boast the privilege of staying here, and out of prison, is because your uncle has supported Cross and Roses for years. We value his contribution, and we value your cousin’s grades.” Not mine, needless to say.

Lucas’s test scores are crazy high, and ensure Cross remains one of the top private schools in the country. I’m average at best.

“But regardless of your connections, your offense will not be left unpunished." He grins, relishing every second of this farce, like the dick on a power trip he is. "You will make up your debt to the school with community service, aiding the janitors every day after class, until the end of the year."

He can't be fucking serious. Lucius pays almost fifty thousand per year so I can study at Cross—an entire salary for median households in some states—and he wants me to provide free labor on top of that? I don't balk at getting my hands dirty, and I'm no stranger to cleaning, having helped out at my father's restaurant many times since I was a teenager, but this is something else. Heknowswhat that would do to me, how it will change the way my peers treat me in this school. The kids enrolled here are ruthless to anyone who isn't wealthy and powerful.

I'm half Latina, half Italian, and my parents don't have millions; that was enough for people to pretend I didn't exist for years. Put a broomstick in my hands and that's an invitation to give me shit for life. I don't think the bulk of the student corp is racist—they don't mind rich brown kids—but they're completely elitist. Things might have been bad for me in the fall, but this edict would make my life literal hell.

I'm just about to tell him where he can shove his community service when the door opens behind me.

With all the confidence in the world, like the entire place belongs to him—and it might as well—Jason strolls into the room, though he wasn't invited in. He doesn't even bother with an "excuse me."

The headmaster's face falls, looking both confused and subservient now. His smirk gives way to a professional mask. "Mr. Alden."

CHAPTER SIX

I don't like how my body immediately relaxes, all the anxiety leaving me, which is freaking stupid. Why, oh, why do I feel safe with Jason Alden?

My instincts are all wrong when it comes to him. He’s an asshole and my body should remember that.

I'm in this boatin the first place becauseof him. He's the one who had both the student body and the administrative employees shit on me last term. Before this precise moment, I actually thought he'd asked Mr. Bone to serve this punishment. The old guy's expression invalidates that theory: he looks like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

“John.” Jason drags the metallic chair next to mine—the one parents usually occupy—along the hardwood floor and sits.

His hand moves to my thigh and squeezes it. I don't know whether he means to comfort or intimidate me, but he manages both. "Where were we?"

That boy. Eighteen, and already the self-assurance of a king.I don’t doubt he’ll become a force to be reckoned with like his father.

Mr. Bone clears his throat. I shouldn't enjoy his visible discomfort at this reversal of our situations, but he certainly liked seeing me squirm. After his bullshit, I'm all for Jason giving him a little taste of his own medicine.

The headmaster’s racking his brain, and before he comes up with some well-crafted lie wrapped up in a big bow, I opt to answer for him. "He was telling me that he'd like me to clean toilets or whatever for the rest of the year. See, he believes I cause the fire by smoking in my room—though he can't have proof, because I didn’t.” I smirk at Mr. Bone. “I was just about to let him know that I'll contact my uncle about switching to another school."

I hold my head high, delighted to be hitting two birds at once with that declaration. I'm telling that asshole of a teacher to fuck off, and showing Jason just how limited his power over me is.

Oh, he’s one of the kings of Cross, it’s true, but I can leave. If things get too bad for me, I will. It's not smart for my future, but the pro and con columns between leaving and staying are fairly even at my current status quo. If anyone pushes me too hard, I'm out of here.

I won't claim to understand Jason Alden, but I suspect hedoesn't want me out of his grasp. He's not done with me. He wouldn't be sitting next to me otherwise.

His fingers tighten over my legs, digging into my skin. I shouldn't savor his lapse of control as much as I do, but here we are. I never said I was nice.

He shoots me that cold look I know all too well, silently communicating something along the lines of "I'll deal with you later." Then his steely eyes make the man shake in his striped suit. "Let me get things straight. One of your students is locked in her bedroom, while someone starts a fire in the utility closet across the hall, and you want to punish her?"

The headmaster's face is ashen, his eyes wide, like prey caught in a trap. He's also visibly confused. I don't doubt that's because just a few months ago, Jason was right in this same chair telling him to make things as difficult as possible for me.

I snatch his wrist and pry his hand off my leg, my eyes narrowing. God, he's such a dick.

"I thought you said the fire started in my room." I play dumb, batting my lashes innocently. "Which I found confusing as hell, as I was taking a shower—and I've never smoked in my entire life."

Mr. Bone sits, sweat dotting his forehead. "I was told the cigarette butt was found on the floor close to your room. It's only logical…"

In a rare show of kindness,Jace doesn't let him continue to embarrass himself with his flimsy excuse."My father, who sits on the school board, ordered a thorough examination of the incident, John. The fire started in the utility closet—the cigarette butt was surrounded by flammable substances, and doused in gasoline, which makes it clear that the perpetrator had ill intent. You ought to have received the details by email." Jason's laidback countenance is hilarious, in contrast toJohn's increasing uneasiness. He seems bored with the entire conversation.