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“Now, just a minute—”
“What do you want, Dad?”
“I called because I’m concerned about my son.”
“I stopped being your son a long time ago.”
“Hawk.”
“It’s every man for himself. That’s what you taught me, Dad. I know that now. And that’s why you’ll never get what you want from me.”
“And what do I want from you?”
“Forgiveness.” I slip the phone from my ear and cancel the call.
7
SHANEL
The elevator spits me out on the ground floor. I want to head right back up there and give both Hawk and Miles a piece of my mind.
How dare they toss me out like I’m yesterday’s garbage?
Someone needs to put those B4 snobs in their place. This is my dream. My world. They should show some damn respect.
When I press the elevator button to take me back to the playroom, it doesn’t respond.
I poke it some more.
Nothing.
Turning, I try to find another way up.
B4’s classroom looks more like a bar lounge than a conventional hall. Instead of desks and chairs, there are high stools and round tables—all in dark wooden finishes.
Rich red curtains. Lounge sofas.
I do a three-sixty spin. Talk about learning in luxury.
If my classrooms were this bright, open and high-tech, maybe it wouldn’t be such a slog to pay attention in class.
With a huff, I give up on getting back upstairs and throw the door open.
A group of girls wait outside.
They huddle in, trapping me in place.
“Excuse me,” I mumble.
No one moves.
Chuckling anxiously, I step left.
They block me.
Step right.
Blocked again.
