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Jaw clenching, Brandon sputters a harsh grunt and cuts his gaze from her. He catches me staring yet again and glares at me.
“Shit.” I duck my head.
“What’s that?” Sam asks, halting her note-taking.
“Oh, um.” I achieve a calm smile. “I forgot something at home.”
She bobs and refocuses on her notes.
I’m an anxious mess until the end of class, wondering if Brandon will unleash his minions on me for continually staring.
My body relaxes when he peels off in the opposite direction. His sister stalls in the hallway, watching his back, as Sam and I walk past.
Rajid enters the cafeteria while we’re in line, filling our trays.
“How’s it going so far, Kayla?” he inquires once we’re at a table.
“All right. I’m looking forward to art class later. I haven’t sketched all morning.”
“Withdrawals?” he teases.
I chuckle softly. “Something like that.”
“Charleston has one of the best art programs to prepare you for college,” Sam says after swallowing her food. “Is that why you applied for the grant?”
“Yeah. I’m hoping my portfolio will land me a scholarship to Pratt.”
Her eyes gleam at my remarks. “Oh, nice. That’s a great university.”
“What about you two?” I ask, wanting to learn more. “What are your plans after Charleston?”
“We’re aiming for Harvard,” Sam answers for the both of them.
I don’t miss the less than discreet twitch on Rajid’s face. He half-smiles, but it’s not hard to tell he’s uncertain.
“Right?” Sam playfully bumps his arm. “Raj’s going to become a doctor, and I’ll be a lawyer. That’s been the plan since we were toddlers.”
I lean my head in thought. “Childhood friends. Cool. Natalie’s been my best friend since freshman year.”
A frown steals her liveliness. “Must be so hard to finish your senior year at different schools.”
“Um, it’s almost weird.” My heart hurts a little, thinking about it. “But Nat understands art means a lot to me.”
We continue talking in between bites, learning about each other, and Sam offers a ride to the bus stop after school.
Following lunch, I head to the girls’ bathroom to catch a breather.
“So far, so good,” I murmur to myself, checking my reflection in the mirror.
Then I adjust my bun and apply a bit of moisturizer, revitalizing my skin for the remainder of the day.
Sadly, neither Rajid nor Sam are in my Spanish class. They left me with directions, and so I walk down the corridor with large windows on either side, heading towards the left-wing of the academy.
The bell already went, so I have to put a pep in my step. As I turn the corner, I glimpse three suspicious figures in a smaller garden.
I slow and draw closer to the wall, spotting the dark-haired boy from that morning I’ve learned is Eric Easton, a lanky guy who appears nervous, and an expressionless Brandon. Muscular jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Gaze dark as if studying his prey.
“It wasn’t like that,” the guy in the center swears. “It just didn’t work. She wasn’t serious about us.”
