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When she’s sure we’ve all settled down, she steps back into her classroom, and as soon as the door closes, Lincoln’s gaze snaps to Savannah again. He mutters another few words under his breath, and although she clearly hates what he’s saying, she doesn’t challenge him. She shoots a piercing glare at me, flips her hair over her shoulder, and storms off down the hall.
Her entourage of cheerleaders trail after her like baby ducks, and the three other kings turn back to face Dax and me. As soon as their gazes land on us, I realize that even though I broke Dax’s grip, our bodies are still pressed tightly together. His broad chest moves against me as he breathes, and I can feel the heat from his body seeping into mine.
I step away from him, putting distance between me and all four boys.
“Whatever you think you’re doing, just stop.” My voice is low and hard, but only because I’m trying not to fucking cry. “Stop trying to manage me. You lost your right to have any input on how I live my life when you let my mom go to jail.”
River winces, his gaze locked on my face. Chase actually looks a little chagrined, like maybe he regrets the fact that they stopped me from going after Savannah—or from helping my mom. Dax’s expression is a lot more serious than usual, and he shakes his head, like he’s trying to tell me something without words.
Lincoln’s lips press together, that same anger I saw when he confronted me outside the gate flashing in his eyes.
I don’t know what the fuck he has to be mad about though.
What did I do to him?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, forgetting that I don’t want to talk to any of these guys, but before I can, he turns on his heel and strides away. The other three break away from me too, River casting one last glance over his shoulder as they go.
The hallway starts to empty out, and I stare after the kings of Linwood for several moments until the bell rings, signaling that I’m late for class.
Goddammit.
My body jerks into motion, and I scoop up my discarded backpack before darting down the hall toward my Political Science classroom.
These fucking boys.
4
The rest of the morning is a blur of annoyed teachers and piles of make-up homework. I stop by the principal’s office on my lunch break and talk to Mr. Osterhaut.
Every single person in the building knows about what happened to my mom, so it’s not like it’s a total shocker that I’ve been absent this week. And it turns out he’s already gotten a call from Mr. Black asking him to excuse my absences due to a family trauma.
I’m not sure if Mr. Black’s call carried more or less weight than one from Mom would’ve, but Mr. Osterhaut purses his lips sympathetically as he leans back in his chair, resting his folded hands on the little shelf of his gut. He’s not a bad looking guy, probably in his mid-forties, but this job seems to have aged him a little prematurely.
“I understand this must be a very difficult time for you, Harlow. Unfortunately, the wheels of our institution don’t stop spinning, even in times of personal tragedy, and if you get too far behind, that will be a problem. But if you’re willing to do the work to make up what you missed and commit to maintaining your attendance going forward, your absences won’t be counted against you.”
Personal tragedy. That’s one way to put it, I guess.
I keep my snarky thoughts to myself though, shooting him a grateful look as I nod.
“Thanks, Mr. Osterhaut. I will. I’ve already gotten make-up assignments from half my teachers. I’ll make sure I get them from the others too.”
I stand, slinging my backpack over one shoulder, and am about to head out the door when the principal lifts one hand.
“Oh, and Harlow? No matter how difficult things are for you, I don’t want to hear about another altercation like the one you had with Savannah Harris earlier this semester… or this morning. Mrs. Morrison told me
she heard yelling and profanity in the halls before first period.”
Great. I guess even though the sharp-faced woman only poked her head out of her classroom for a second, she managed to get a pretty good handle on what was going on anyway.
“I… won’t, sir,” I promise, hoping he can’t hear the lie in my voice.
I mean, I’ll try not to. But if Savannah keeps talking shit about my mom, I know that’s not a vow I’ll be able to keep.
“Good.” He nods, as if congratulating himself on setting another student on the straight and narrow path, then waves his hand again to dismiss me.
I see the four kings of Linwood in the hall a couple times as the afternoon creeps by, but I don’t acknowledge them. My heart thuds harder as I pass them by though, and I do what I can to wrestle my pulse back under control. I was dreading going back to school because of all the homework—work I’m not sure my distracted brain is really up to handling—but I forgot all about the thing that really makes it a struggle.
The people.
