“Sure. I was a new face in these dusty old halls, once upon a time.”
She smirked. “Dusty?”
“This’ll be my fourth year. Anything can get old if you give it long enough. Where do you hail from?”
“Ihailfrom Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” She arched a brow. “Now I live in theBend.”
“Should I take offense?”
“Shouldn’t you?” she countered. “I didn’t get three steps away from my car before I was labeled aBender.”
I frowned. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? An actual caste system in this day and age.”
Harper organized her materials. “Your heroic disapproval from the heights of privilege is duly noted.”
I grinned. “I like you, Bennett. You’ve got some fire to you. Some real spunk.”
“Orion, donotsay spunk.”
“Why not?” I asked, the paragon of innocence, but when she’d said my name…
Spark in the prick, if we’re being honest.
“Because,” Harper said, “on this side of the Atlantic, it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“Perhaps I knowexactlywhat it means.”
She rolled her eyes, but color came rushing to her cheeks. “Are you always this crude to girls you just met?”
“You’re right,” I said. “That was crude. I suffer an acute inability to govern my tongue.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, studying me. A wayward curl fell over her cheek, and I itched to brush it away.
“Fancy British accent aside, you’ve got quite the vocabulary for a high schooler.”
I shrugged. “I read a lot. Always have. You?”
“Not as much as I’d like lately, but yes.”
“Why not as much?”
“Well…” She toyed with her pencil and glanced at the door, as if looking for our still-absent teacher. “I have a brother, Dash. He’sseven. My mother works two jobs, so I spend a lot of time taking care of him.”
My facade slipped a wee bit at that. She was right; I did perch on the heights of privilege, and while I believed my fellow Richies were too hard on the Benders at school, I never much thought of their lives and strugglesbeyondthe walls of Castle Hill Academy.
“And your father?” I asked, then waved my hands. “No, never mind. That’s personal. See? Iamcapable of behaving myself. But I promise I won’t make a habit out of it.”
Another laugh escaped Harper, sounding rusty. “Here’s a British word for you: incorrigible.”
“Yes! Incorrigible. Intractable. Irredeemable. If only there were someone who could put me in my place.” I wagged my brows. “Or your place? I’m not picky.”
“Oh my God.” She covered her eyes with one hand.
“I was quite nearly well-behaved, wasn’t I?” I sighed. “But Iblewit.”
She was outright laughing now. “Stop.”
I didn’t want to stop. I was used to making people laugh. The sound of it wasn’t uncommon music to my ears, usually as a deflection or diversion. But Harper’s laugh…
