Page 23 of Cruel Games

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Lips curling into a shy smile, he gazed at me under his lashes. “I could use the moral support.”

Excitement bubbled up in my chest, making me return his smile. “When are we going?”

“The next one is at the end of the month. We could take the evening bus to Glasgow and pick up the bus returning to the academy at noon.”

“Brilliant! Are you going to wear that dress?”

“May I?”

“It’s yours.”

*

Everyone still called me Hand-Cock, handjob, or some other variation. Whatever. I mostly ignored it unless someone decided to step up the harassment. Some idiot placed drawing pins on my chair, but I tipped them to the ground before sitting. Another twat gave me a pat on the back, but I tore off my blazer, ripped off the sticker that said ‘I LUV COCK’ and stuck it on his forehead.

Throughout these silly pranks, either Orlando, Maxwell, or both would stand in the vicinity, giving me wry smiles.

None of that mattered because the upcoming Glasgow weekend kept me going. Now that I knew Gideon’s secret, we became closer, and he no longer bothered with the elocution lessons, saying that my south London accent was part of my charm.

One morning, a package arrived at breakfast, mostly containing an array of MAC makeup in colors too vibrant for my skin.

I pulled out a plum lip gloss and whispered, “What’s this?”

Gideon held his teacup to his lips. “Consider it our shared stash. I bought a few things that will suit your shade, but if there’s anything else you want, give me the product names, and I’ll add them to my next order.”

“Really? What will your parents say when they see your credit card statement?”

“They’ll think I have a girlfriend.” He set his cup down. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

I gave him an eager nod. “And a girl, too.”

“What’s this?” said a haughty voice.

I closed the box and glowered into the pale eyes of Elizabeth Liddell.

She stuck her nose in the air. “It doesn’t surprise me that you need so much makeup to look presentable. I wager you’re a beast without several layers of concealer.”

“Go back to your seat and get a life,” I muttered.

“The academy has rules against makeup.” She swiped her hand over my cheek and studied her clean finger. “What the hell is this, a waterproof brand?”

“Unlike you, I don’t need a trowel to hide a mass of acne scars.” My insides twisted with guilt. Lots of people at home got bullied for having too many blemishes, but these daily insults ground down on my patience.

I gave her a wink. “A little word of advice. Exfoliate before you conceal. Your skin looks like the surface of an apple crumble.”

“Ha!” Someone in the next table clapped a hand over their mouth.

Elizabeth’s lips trembled. “Not all of us have the benefit of semen masks.”

“What on earth are you girls talking about?” Mrs. Campbell’s shrill voice made me flinch.

Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips. “Miss Hand-Cock was disparaging my skin condition.”

I hooked my thumb at the honey-blonde menace. “Because this one over there tried to wipe off my makeup to find I wasn’t wearing any. And she implied I kept my skin clear with male ejaculate.”

“Liar,” she snapped.