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Well that’s everyone’s go to reaction when they see me.
Except for my girls here.
I don’t let it bother me too much right now though; I’m here on a mission.
“Good morning, Principal Carlisle,” I say cheerfully. “May I have a word with Mr. Marshall here?”
I can sense his eyes on me, dark and beady and yes, stupid.
But I’m not looking at him until I’m good and ready. Let him wait on tenterhooks.
She sighs again and looks at the devil for a second before coming back to me. “All right. But Poe, I want you to behave.”
I keep my smile on as I reach up and draw an imaginary halo over my head. “Of course. Consider me the angel of peace and serenity for the rest of the day.”
Another sigh. Then she glances over at the man beside me and nods. “I’ll leave you to it.”
With that, she walks away and then there are two of us. I mean if you don’t count the rest of the student body population coming and going in the hallway.
Taking a deep breath, I finally, finally turn to him.
And tighten my fists even more.
Because I was lying before, okay?
I was lying.
His eyes aren’t beady or stupid.
His eyes are… pretty.
His eyes are dark and shiny and beautiful. Soulful.
You know the kind of eyes that tell you that they’ve seen things and done things and felt things? His eyes are like that.
They’re also dark brown like chocolate and I used to love chocolate.
Until him.
Now I hate it because I hate him.
I hate how pretty his eyes are.
“Hey, Mr. Marshall,” I say. “Long time, no see.”
I want him to sigh like Principal Carlisle just did. I really do.
Or at least shake in his brown leather boots from fear.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t sigh or shake or show any kind of reaction at my presence or my overly cheerful greeting. Except, “Poe.”
Again something I hate.
That he is so unshakable.
So calm and cool.
In the face of trouble aka me.
“Can we talk?” I ask him with raised eyebrows.
He runs his eyes over my face for a second or two before nodding and reaching over to open the door to the principal’s office. “After you.”
I take a deep breath again and step into the room. When I hear him come in and close the door, I spin around. “What are you doing here?”
Standing at the door, he runs his eyes over my face again, all cool-like. “Talking to Principal Carlisle.” Then, “Or rather was talking to Principal Carlisle.”
“Cut the bullshit, okay? What the fuck are you doing here? At St. Mary’s.”
It looks like he was expecting this question because he leans against the door and folds his arms across his chest as if settling in for a long debate with me before saying, “I know you think this is a part of my diabolical plan of ruining your life but –“
“Diabolical?” I scoff before running my eyes over him, his body.
From the top of his rich dark hair that has a tendency to curl to his dark eyes. Before going to his massive shoulders and that dark gray tweed jacket that should look boring and it does.
But for some reason, it also makes me curious.
It has always made me curious.
About things like are his shoulders really that broad and what about his chest? Is it really that muscular or is that padding underneath that old-fashioned suit jacket?
And every time I think that I want the lightning to strike me down
The fact that I’m wondering about the enemy.
“You don’t have the panache or the personality for that,” I tell him, injecting as much venom in my voice and my features as possible. “You need a certain flair to pull something diabolical off.”
My words don’t affect him at all as he murmurs, “Something that you clearly have.”
I shrug. “Clearly.”
He hums, staring at me. “Well not everyone can be as diabolical and stylish as you are, Poe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. While he keeps them all calm and composed with a very slight hint of amusement.
“Why are you here?” I ask again.
“Leah is a friend,” he says. “She told me she was planning to quit as soon as possible and I offered to fill in the position. Until they can find someone permanent. Which should be by the fall I think.”
I know Leah is his friend.
That’s the whole reason he sent me here almost three years ago. When he realized that he couldn’t handle being the guardian of an unruly fifteen-year-old girl.
“Are you the reason then?” I ask, clenching my teeth. “For my graduation being… stopped.”
He is, isn’t he?
I’ve been wondering and wondering since I found out a couple of days ago. That I won’t be graduating with the rest of my classmates.
That I’m the victim of The Unspeakable.
Something that never happens at St. Mary’s. Or rather it happens extremely rarely.
