She starts to flounce off, but then she pauses, does a half-turn and stares down her long nose at me. “Isn’t it great that Mr. Porter’s back?”
“Why the fuck would they let that pedophile back on school grounds?” Liam snarls.
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” By Laurel’s tone, I can tell she’s been waiting to drop whatever bomb she’s got ready all morning. “Turns out, Mr. Porter is innocent.”
I fold my arm over my stomach, pressing hard because I know that’s a lie. He’d personally confirmed that the last time I saw him. “What the actual fuck?” I whisper, but it comes out sounding like a one-syllabled word.
“Zoe Buckley, lying whore that she is, recanted her story and said she’d made the whole thing up. The dick pics on her phone weren’t even his.”
I don’t believe that, and I’m positive that neither does Laurel. If Zoe recanted her story, it’s because someone made her do it. I glance toward the front of the class at Dylan, whose head is still bowed. No doubt he’s waiting until the last possible moment to start class so he can avoid the scrutiny he knows is coming.
“Bull,” I hiss, meeting Laurel’s mocking gaze. “He did it.”
She tilts her head so far to one side that I almost expect her head to start spinning in slow circles. “How would you know that for sure, Mallory?” Saint tells her to shut up again, but she continues, her voice laced with fake concern. “If you know something, anything at all, you should go straight to Headmaster Aldridge. Student-teacher relationships are no laughing matter.”
Pressing my lips together, I glare at her, but remain silent.
Her grin is victorious, and I’m not surprised when she juts out one of her skinny hips and opens her mouth to finish decimating my day. “FYI, welfare slut, last week, Angelview’s board voted unanimously to give Mr. Porter his job back. Mr. Angelle himself took up Mr. Porter’s defense and demanded he be reinstated. I’m surprised you didn’t run into them—they were around campus all last week.”
I freeze, my whole body going rigid with tension.
When I turn my head toward Saint, he’s not looking at me but up at Laurel, his hand closed in a tight fist on his desk.
“Did you not give your little masochist a heads up about Mr. Porter?” she questions him, and whatever he mouths to her makes her gulp hard. “Sh-she looks so shocked.”
He knew. He knew Dylan was coming back, and he didn’t say a word.
I push to my feet, needing to get away from all of them. I can’t be here right now, or I might lose my goddamn mind.
Dylan finally looks up at my sudden movements, his eyes narrowing and following me as I march toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, Ms. Ellis?”
I don’t look at him. “Go ahead and just report me to Headmaster Aldridge. Save us all the trouble.”
I heard his chair scrape across the floor as he no doubt shoots to his feet. I still don’t stop.
Not even when he adds, “Can I just report you to Headmaster Aldridge as well, Mr. Angelle?”
“Fuck off,” Saint snaps.
I figured he’d follow me. He just doesn’t know when to give a person some air. Still, I don’t stop moving until we reach the end of the hallway, and then he grabs my arm and hauls me around to face him.
“Mallory, just listen—”
I hit him. Slap him right across the face. He looks momentarily stunned, which is understandable given how hard the blow was. There’s an angry red mark on his cheek already.
It’s fitting on him and an accessory that’s long overdue.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand.
“I know this looks bad—”
“Shut up!” I yell. “You don’t get to talk. You fuck me over at every turn, at every possibility, and I was an idiot to think maybe you’d changed. To sit around thinking about you and losing sleep over you when everything around me is on fire. But no, you never change. How long did it take you to run to your daddy after I told you about what happened back in Georgia? Was it that same day, or did you give it a week? What comes next, Saint?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I would never do that.”
“Right. Nothing is sacred to you. You told the whole school about my miscarriage and my mother, so it shouldn’t shock me that you’ll take every vulnerability I’m stupid enough to show you and use it to hurt me. You’re capable of anything.”
“I tried to keep you out of that classroom,” he points out, drawing me closer to him and grabbing my wrist when I start to hit him again. “You wouldn’t listen to me.”
When I laugh, there’s no humor in the sound.
“Was that your plan indefinitely? Keep me from going to class? Were you going to ward me off tomorrow? The next day? How long did you think you’d be able to keep that bullshit up? What was your endgame, Saint?”
“To keep you fucking safe!” he shouts, releasing me to throw his hands in the air. “Safe from my father and his goddamn games. Why do you think I’ve been following you around? Why do you think I’ve…”
He trails off, his ragged breaths fanning my face, and the air feels like it’s been sucked out of my lungs as I finally digest what he just said and what Laurel had told me back in the classroom. Because now, his weird behavior makes sense.
He was trying to keep me from running into his father.
“If you’re so worried about your dad coming after me, you must know what he wants,” I whisper. “Tell me, Saint, why does your father have it out for me?”
His nostrils flare, and for several beats, I don’t think he’ll answer me.
But then, he surprises me.
“I’ve figured out why, and I think you know the reason, too.”
The stare I direct up at him is intense, fevered, and for a long time neither of us move a muscle. “You know what I’ve realized?” I murmur once words find my lips again. “Nothing but bad things have happened to me ever since I met you.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond or defend himself. I don’t wait for him to touch me and try to soothe my anger away with kisses.
Pivoting away from him, I leave him behind.
That night, as I’m wallowing alone in my room, a loud knock on my door startles me. My first thought is that it’s Saint, and I plan to ignore it, but then a second knock sounds followed by a familiar voice.
“We’ve come bearing food and Patron, woman, open up!”
I immediately push out of my bed and hurry to answer the door. Loni and Henry are standing in the hallway. He’s carrying a pizza box, and she’s holding the head of a tequila bottle between her index and middle finger.
“What are you guys doing here?” I say with a wide smile, feeling tears press against the back of my eyes.
“We heard about Mr. Porter,” Loni explains. “We figured you could use some cheering up.”
I quickly step back and let them in.
As Henry moves to set the pizza down by my bed, she pauses next to me and whispers, “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but this’ll help.”