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“I said I’m fine,” I say with a little more force than I intend, but Shy doesn’t push. I press shaky fingers to the sensitive spot on my head—they come away clean, no blood. Shy still stands in my peripheral, hands in his pockets, staring.
“So...do you want to have lunch today? I thought maybe we could sneak off campus or something.”
I stare at him, surprised by his suggestion. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since he approached and it’s a mistake. When my eyes meet his, I can’t stop my brain from short-circuiting. This boy is handsome, like teenage heartthrob handsome. His hair is messier today, like maybe he ran out of time getting ready this morning, except instead of looking like complete slob, he somehow looks...sexier.
God, I hate him.
“Are you asking the right person?”
That makes him chuckle, but the humor doesn’t touch his eyes. “You are Anora Silby, right? No one walked in and stole your soul?”
Those words make me shiver, and not in a good way.
“I can’t. I have detention.” Then, because I feel like I need to offer an explanation, I say. “I was late to Trig.”
Shy frowns. “Didn’t I warn you? Mr. Val...?”
“Is a prick? You did.” So did Thane. Seems everyone is in agreement.
He smiles again, almost sadly, disappointment evident in those eyes, as vivid as morning light breaking through a dark horizon. “Maybe tomorrow, then?”
I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve been given two days of this purgatory.
I start to leave when he stops me. “Oh, hey. I learned something interesting about you yesterday.”
Oh no.
“You did?”
“Your mom works for mine,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah...I thought you said your mom moved here for a job.”
“It fell through.”
I’m proud of that lie. It is smooth; not a flicker of the uncertainty I feel on the inside manages to make its way free, and yet as Shy watches me, I start to waiver in my confidence.
It is just my luck Mom would end up working for one of my classmate’s parents. Also my luck that he would be a boy who listens to what I’m saying. I wonder if Shy intended to catch me in a lie.
“Maybe that was for the best. Mom’s happy to have her.”
I smile. “I’ll let her know.”
“See you around.” The smile he gives me as he steps back pulls at my heart and as he walks away, it unravels at my feet, like it too is made of thread.
Detention is over before lunch ends and with a few minutes to spare before art, I collect my books and start across campus, hoping for the third time today to retrace my steps. As I go, I watch my feet, searching for a gold gleam in the tangled grass. I’m not even close to Hollingsworth when I hear my name—or, at least half of it.
“Miss Silby!”
Is there a rule against using first names here?
I look up to find Mr. Seth strolling toward me; a leather satchel hangs on his shoulder. Without the classroom setting, his juvenile features scream at me—oversized-glasses, patchy stubble covering a round chin, and acne splattered across an oily forehead. His presence brings a wave of shame and all the anxiety of yesterday washes over me. Even the smells are back—the metallic tang of blood, the rancid odor of vomit, the scent of stale air.
“Looking for something?” he asks.
“Oh...no.” I shake my head.
