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“Is she okay?” Jaxon asks as he gathers his books.
“I’m not sure.” I tuck my books under my arm. “Do you know what class she has next?”
He shakes his head. “No, but maybe Rhyland does.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I head up to Mr. G. so I can get my phone.
When I reach his desk, he has my phone in his hand but doesn’t immediately give it to me.
“Blaise, I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed in you.” He sits down on the edge of his desk. “You’ve always been a decent student, despite your reputation, but texting in class is unacceptable.”
“I’m really sorry.” I nervously scratch my wrist.
I loathe being reprimanded by adults. It makes me feel twitchy and uncomfortable and while I don’t like to admit it, like a little kid scared out of my damn mind. This is no way Mr. G.’s fault but stems from my own personal issues, many of which have to do with my father, but not all of them.
“Sorry or not, I feel like I need to punish you.” He offers me an apologetic look. “If I don’t, I’m afraid other students will think I’m lenient and the little clicks of keys will end up plaguing my classroom.” He stands up and hands me my phone. “I’m giving you afterschool detention. It’s only for half the time, so it won’t be too terrible. But my leniency is only because I believe you’re a good kid.”
Fuck. I was supposed to drive Jaxon to his therapy session right after school. I guess I’ll have to see if Rhyland can do it.
What really needs to happen is Jaxon needs to get his driver’s license, but he has issues with driving, which is understandable, considering how our mother died.
“Thanks, Mr. G.” I shove my phone into my back pocket. “And again, I’m sorry for disrupting your class.” I wave then hurry out of the classroom, scanning the crowded hallways for one of my brothers or Hadley.
“Good morning, awesome brother of mine.” Scarlett steps in front of me with a huge grin on her face.
“Why do you look so happy?” I wonder as we start down the hallway.
Her smile has me concerned because sometimes a happy Scarlett isn’t a good thing. Not because I don’t love her and don’t want her to be happy. Of course I do. She’s my half-sister. But Scarlett can also be … hmmm ... what’s the best way to put this? Crazy? Vindictive? Revenge thirsty? Not toward me or anything. Just toward the people who hurt and torment her.
Sadly, that happens frequently and has been going on since grade school after Scarlett’s mother showed up to pick her up from class drunk off her ass, shirtless, and ranting about how Scarlett’s dad—aka, my dad—hated Scarlett. It didn’t help that Scarlett was admitted to a psychiatric hospital a couple of years ago. No one, besides my brothers and me, knows the reasoning behind it, but people around here love to gossip and have conjured up stories ranging from Scarlett having a mental breakdown to her cutting her ex-boyfriend with a butter knife. Which, a). if the latter were true, she’d be in jail. And b). a butter knife barely cuts through butter, let alone human flesh.
Doesn’t matter what the truth is, though. People love the juicy versions of the story and continue to talk about it, even now. My brothers and I do our best to protect her, but Scarlett refuses to tell us the identities of her main tormentors. She typically carries around the pain, bottling it up until she snaps. And that huge smile on her face has got me worried she may have done just that.
“You act like me being happy is a terrible thing.” She juts out her lip, sulking as she hugs her books to her chest.
“No.” I swing around a group of people in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the stares tracking our every move. The staring shit has been going on for as long as I can remember. I’ve gotten used to it by now. “But sometimes when you’re smiling, it’s because you’ve gotten revenge on someone, and that usually results in you getting suspended or arrested.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess I see your point.” The smile remains on her face. “But I swear that’s not what I’m happy about.”
“Then, what’s up?”
“Oh, nothing.” She gives a nonchalant half-shrug. “I think I just made a new friend. That’s all.”
“Really?” I ask, and when she nods, an ounce of relief chips through the constant worry inside me. “That’s good. I’m happy for you, kid.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why you’re always calling me kid. I’m only like two years younger than you.”
“You’ll always be a kid to me, Scar.” I teasingly ruffle her hair.
She swats my hand away but laughs. The sound is so foreign it startles me.
“So, who’s the lucky person who gets the awesome privilege of being your friend?” I stop at my locker.Please tell me it’s someone good who won’t get Scarlett into more trouble than she already gets herself into.
She stops with me and leans her shoulder against the locker beside mine. “Oh someone you’re going to love,” she replies with a wicked grin.
Any comfort I had fizzles. “I sure as hell hope that isn’t sarcasm.”
“It’s not.”
