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His smile is all sorts of amusement. “That’s because we like you. If we didn’t, we’d make sure you feared us.”
I rest my elbow on the desk and slant closer to him. “By doing what exactly?”
He chuckles. “I’m not sure, since I have a feeling it’d take a lot to scare you.”
I point the end of the pencil at him. “You’re right, Jax … Hey, I don’t even know you’re last name, dude.” Although Katy had mentioned it yesterday, it was so brief that I don’t remember it.
He winks at me. “That’s because it’s a secret.”
I roll my eyes then lean over and look at the top of his paper where he’s written his name. “Jaxon Capperellie …” My smile falters a little when I spot the wordravenwritten in the middle of the inked words staining the page.
He hurriedly moves the paper away from me so I can no longer see it, and for a moment, I think I’ve made him upset, like maybe he’s writing the poem about me. But that just sort of makes me feel vain.
Seriously, Raven, you think he’s writing a poem about you? Don’t be an idiot.
“I never let anyone read my poems,” he explains with a smile. “And no one calls me Jaxon.”
I arch a brow at him. “Even the teacher doesn’t get to read your poem? Because this is an assignment, dude. How are you going to get credit?”
He rolls his eyes but continues to smile. “I don’t let anyone read thembutthe teacher, smartass.”
I can’t help but laugh. My laughter fades, though, when the teacher calls us out for talking. Luckily, he approaches our desks and quietly scolds us instead of calling us out in front of everyone.
“Jaxon, while I appreciate you befriending Ravenlee, I would appreciate it if you worked on the assignment during class and set a good example for her,” he says to Jax.
I smash my lips together, trying not to smile. But it’s kind of funny that he thinks I need a good example, like I haven’t learned yet that I’m not supposed to talk in class.
“Sorry, Mr. Johnson,” Jax apologizes.
“It’s fine. Just make sure to get this poem done.”
Mr. Johnson turns to me. “Do you need any help with the assignment?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay.”
“Okay then, let’s get to work.” He walks down the aisle, returning to the desk.
“Sorry,Jaxon, for getting you in trouble,” I whisper under my breath while flashing him a smile. “You really should be a better example, though.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but it’s a playful move. “Jaxon, huh? So that’s how it’s gonna be? Okay then,Ravenlee, two can play this game.”
I roll my eyes, and he smirks at me. Normally, I’d worry if someone was smirking at me like that, but I don’t know … As scary as people think Jax is, I just don’t see it. Like, at all. And that feeling only magnifies as we return to our poems and I watch him write from out of the corner of my eye.
He’s extremely intense when he writes, all hunched over, his gaze fixed on the paper that his hand swiftly moves across, staining the pages with ink. Part of me wants to know what he’s writing about, but the other part kind of just enjoys watching him. Butle sigh, unfortunately, I need to work on my own assignment.
Tearing my gaze off Jax, I stare down at my own paper. And stare. And stare. And stare.
I stare so hard my eyes start to hurt.Gah, I’m going to fail the assignment.
Finally, I set down the pencil and reach up to rub my eyes. The instant I do, someone walks by my desk and drops a piece of paper onto it. At first, I think it was an accident, so I pick it up and open my mouth to call out to the person who dropped it. But the person—a blond-haired guy who’s wearing a letterman jacket—is already sitting down in his desk, right beside Dixie May, who’s smirking at me with the end of her pencil touching her lips.
Gritting my teeth, I unfold the paper.
Murderer.
You’ll get what you deserve one day.
It’s not in Dixie May’s handwriting, which means she told someone about my past.
