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I wish his words made me feel better. A part of me desperately wants to believe him. But the other knows that it would be foolish of me. If Haze wants to talk to me, he’ll find a way. After all, he said it himself. Haze Adams always gets what he wants.
I WALK TOWARD MY FOURTH CLASS of the day and sigh in anticipation. English class is already making me suffer, and I haven’t even stepped inside the classroom yet. It’s been around a week since my life got turned upside down. To think that barely a couple of days ago, my only worries were getting lost in my gigantic new school and not making friends. I have been hanging out with Kendrick, Alex, Will, and Blake since school started, afraid I’ll run into Haze at every corner.
Just like I expected, he hasn’t been in class. I know that I share English and science class with him from the way the teachers say his name during the attendance only to end up not writing down that he’s absent. Kassidy was right. He disappears whenever he feels like it, and no one dares to ask why.
Must be nice.
His absence has reassured Kendrick and made him think that maybe he forgot about me. I sure hope so.
As I make my way through the crowded halls, I let my mind wander to my friends back in Canada. I miss Allie, my best friend, more than words. I’ve been meaning to talk to her. I repeatedly scroll down to her number and almost call her only to end up talking myself out of it every time. I want to tell her about the deal and the craziness that now comes with my life, but I can’t. I can’t involve her in Kendrick’s mess.
I step into the already packed classroom and sit down at the first desk I see.
“Are you going to Bianca’s party?” I overhear a brunette ask her friend. This party is literally all everybody’s been talking about recently. I think back to the warning Kassidy uttered in her car on my first day. Bianca Reed and her minions. Definitely don’t give them a reason to hate you. I don’t think I’ve met Bianca, the so-called mean girl of Riverside High, yet.
The bell rings as Ms. Jenkins, my English teacher, walks into the room, going off about the previous week’s homework.
I look at the forty-year-old woman standing in front of the class. Dark circles under her eyes give away that she’s exhausted. All I see is her lips moving, but I’m unable to listen to a word she says. I’ve always had trouble paying attention in class, but luckily for me, I was blessed with a photographic memory that gets me amazing grades without having to listen to a word the teacher says.
No, I’m just kidding. I had to get extra tutoring during my early high school years because I couldn’t bring myself to listen in class. Call it a learning problem, a complete incapacity to focus on something that doesn’t interest me, or an amazing ability to get distracted by literally everything and anything. I call it the “look, a butterfly” syndrome. My mom called it her own personal nightmare.
My thoughts hold me hostage as I look out the window next to me. The sound of the door opening startles me. Ms. Jenkins stops talking abruptly, and whispers rise in the back of the class.
My eyes jump to the person who walked into the room and interrupted the class with no shame.
Haze Adams.
His entrance is enough for the oxygen in my lungs to say “Oh hell no. I’m out.” Looks like he finally decided to bless Riverside High with his presence. He’s wearing a white shirt, the tight fabric defining his perfectly sculpted body and muscled torso. For God’s sake. How is this even legal? There should be a limit of beauty allowed for one person and a
fine to pay for being too attractive.
The sleeve of tattoos on his left arm immediately catches my eyes. How many tattoos does he have? I’ve always wanted to get one but never had the guts. I remember asking my mother if I could get a tattoo when I turned sixteen. She called it auto-mutilation and threatened to kick me out if I ever did.
Great woman, my mother.
“Mr. Adams. You’re late.” Ms. Jenkins tries to sound as credible as she can, but we both know she’s completely helpless against him. If the rumors are true, his parents pretty much own the school.
“Sorry. I had to find my dog.” He snickers, not even bothering to look at her.
“Last time, you said your dog died.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Must be why I didn’t find him.”
The entire class bursts out laughing at his remark. Ms. Jenkins rolls her eyes and proceeds with whatever it was she was talking about.
As he walks toward one of the last desks available, I find myself holding my breath. Being in the same room as him again isn’t as scary as I thought it would be. It’s worse.
I look down, hoping he won’t notice me. Then, like he’s reading my mind, his eyes stop on me.
Of course they do.
I can feel the weight of his stare on my shoulder as he stops in his path. What is he waiting for? I look up to see him glancing at something.
And that something…
Is the empty desk next to me.
He wouldn’t dare.
