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If he only knew.
“Sometimes.”
“I like you, kid. Just don’t fuck it up with Bree because then I’ll be forced to dislike you,” he warns with a smile.
The air abandons my lungs with relief. I think that I might be able to survive this, after all. I’m convinced that things will get better after this.
They have to.
Chapter Thirty-One
On Monday, Bree and I are still in our perfect bubble, where nothing can affect us. Things are slowly taking its natural course on campus. Bree still has to deal with the constant stares—I think she always will—but it’s gotten better. Fewer people are giving relevance to the incident, and the students seem to have forgotten all about it. The memories of the screenshot were replaced by the video of Ryder punching Carter at the cafeteria. It’s a treasure, and I’ll save it for when I feel down because I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.
However, I don’t think it will be something that lifts a revolution in our student life. We’re part of a temporary drama that won’t stick around for long. People will always carry on with their lives after they’ve done their damage. It’s the path of life. What society has taught us since the moment where we can categorize right from wrong.
Next semester things will be different, and no one will remember that this happened. It will be a lacrosse season. There will be new gossips and dramas to maintain the student body entertained.
During chemistry class, Bree’s focused on taking notes so that Luanna can help us. For the first time in the semester, we’re starting to understand what’s going on in the course, but that’s only because Lu spent the whole Saturday tutoring us. She was close to hitting us with the book, but somehow, we understood some concepts.
Now, we have the chemical knowledge of a high school kid, if that’s worth anything. We’re still far behind, there’s no doubt in that, but we’re getting there. There’s a big chance that Luanna will help us pass the final test. The main problem of this class is that the professor sucks. She’s terrible at teaching, inaccessible, with archaic methods of discipline, and she doesn’t connect with the students. Her nickname doesn’t come from thin air. Professor Byrne truly deserves it and wears it as her honor badge.
While Bree writes using pens of different colors to concentrate, or that’s what she says, I make doodles on the edges of my notebook—occasionally cutting tiny pieces of paper to throw them at Bree’s back during the class.
“Stop it,” she mumbles with irritation, passing her hands through the strands of her hair to get rid of the papers.
I’ve managed to piss her off successfully, and I want to laugh, but I don’t want to attract the attention of the professor.
“Don’t be bitter,” I tell her in a low tone.
“You’re exasperating,” she lets out, rolling her eyes.
I hum.
“Nah, I’m in a good mood,” I retort.
“Your good mood is a pain in the ass.”
Bree turns to pay attention to the professor, and I decide to stop messing with her for the rest of the class. It’s early, and I’ve noticed that Bree’s not a morning person. It takes her a while to fully wake up and adapt to the schedule.
Unless I’m teasing her, she’s cranky during the mornings. We haven’t done anything remotely sexual during the weekend since she got her period on Saturday and has been clingier. So, yesterday we spent the day watching a TV show until we became part of the furniture.
I don’t complain, honestly. Spending time with an excessively affectionate Bree is something that I want to repeat. Today, she’s irritable, and it takes me back to the time where we could barely stand each other. The difference is that she can’t get rid of me now. At least not so quickly.
“Everyone, turn in your assignments, and you can go,” the professor announces, and I start to put my notebook in my backpack. “Except Bree Pierce and Stanley McKinley.”
Bree stops in the middle of gathering her things. Her hands squeeze the papers of the assignments as the tension rises in the room. A couple of our classmates give us a curious look, but they abandon the classroom because no one wants to spend more time in here. Typically, Bree and I are the first ones to leave. That room is the closest thing to hell on campus.
The world seems to be against us. There’s no way that a discussion with this woman ends up well.
Bree and I get close to her desk sheepishly, being careful. We don’t want to seem happy about being held back, but we don’t want to look guilty.
“Is there a reason why we have to stay behind?” Bree asks, her voice sounds neutral, but I know that she’s making an effort by the way her neck contracts.
The Harpy waits until the last student leaves before she breaks the ice, drawing a fake smile that wrinkles her face.
“I find you to be the most interesting students that I’ve had in a while,” she comments with an ice-cold tone.
“Thanks?” I mutter without knowing what else to say.
