Impressing Whit with my precise aim wasn’t part of the plan. Yet somehow, his compliment felt good. His words made me stronger, despite the cruelty behind them. He still wants to break me. I know he does. He wants me to do his bidding, and every bit of that is sexual.
Would it be so awful, to become Whit Lancaster’s sexual plaything? Probably. I’d guess he was into humiliation and all sorts of weird, far too worldly things that no teenager should know about. What happened to him that he’s become so damaged?
I have no clue.
Hiding away in my dorm room wasn’t smart though. It made it that much harder for me to leave and go to detention. I check the pink slip and see that it’s being held in one of the classrooms upstairs in the main building, so I make my way there, trudging up the stairs with what feels like leaden feet. No school I’ve ever been at holds detention on a Friday afternoon. Billington had Saturday school, which was awful. I’d done my fair share of time there in the past, and hated every second of it.
I suppose a sixty-minute detention on a beautiful Friday afternoon won’t be so bad.
I walk through the open classroom door to find a smattering of other students already inside. One of them is hunched over their desk, his head resting on his backpack like it’s a pillow as he tries to nap. A few are doing homework. Others are staring morosely at the man sitting behind the desk with a faint smile on his face.
Headmaster Matthews.
Why is he wasting his time with monitoring detention?
A girl sits in the very last row, near an open window, her long, pale blonde hair gently lifting with the breeze from outside.
It’s Sylvie Lancaster.
“Summer Savage, you almost got marked late. That would’ve cost you another three days of detention,” Matthews says with glee.
I say nothing in response. Just make my way toward the empty desk next to Sylvie’s, fully prepared to settle in when Matthews warns, “Don’t sit next to each other please. And no talking.”
I take the next desk in that row and sit, glad I brought my backpack so it looks like I just came from class.
Matthews will see that absence in American Government and I’ll eventually get in trouble. It’ll mean more detention and I hate that, but it’s too late now.
We all watch as the headmaster stands and heads for the door. He’s about to close it when someone bursts through, pushing the door and our headmaster aside so he can walk in.
It’s Elliot. The moment our eyes connect, he smiles.
“You’re late,” Matthews snaps.
“Sorry, sir. Had to come clear across campus. Plus, I’m missing practice.”
Elliot is a football player. Of course.
“Are you playing tonight?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sylvie sighs loudly. I glance over at her to see her yawn, holding a delicate hand in front of her mouth. That was also loud.
“Don’t be late again,” Matthews tells him before he returns to his desk. “Just to run over the rules, detention is officially over at four o’clock. For now, your time belongs to me. There will be no talking, no looking at your phone—I will confiscate it if I see it—and no sleeping. That means you, Garza.”
Matthews slaps the edge of his desk, and Garza sits straight up, brought out of his nap and looking around in confusion.
Someone giggles. I think it’s Sylvie.
“I suggest you work on homework. Maybe get ahead on those class reading assignments. If I catch you doing anything else, I have a fun little topic for a five-hundred-word essay that’ll be due by midnight tonight.” Matthews grins. I wonder if he gets off on torturing students. “Do we understand?”
God, what a condescending jerk.
We nod. A few of us murmur yes.
“I want to hear you say it. Do you understand?” he repeats.
“Yes, sir,” we all say in unison.
“Good.” He nods.
I bend to my left and unzip my backpack to pull out my math textbook when a folded piece of paper lands on top of it. Barely glancing up, I see Sylvie flash me the quickest smile before she resumes scribbling in her open notebook.
Grabbing my textbook and notebook, I set them on the desk, the note safely tucked beneath the front cover. I grab a pencil and then open the book to my latest math assignment before opening the notebook to a clean piece of paper.
Very, very carefully, I unfold the note Sylvie passed me.
How are you holding up at our lovely institution?
Anger simmers low in my belly. She has to know how awful it’s been for me, especially lately. It’s so obvious. And the ringleader of all this mess is her asshole of a brother. I don’t hesitate in sharing my feelings with her. She’s not a friend. She’s an enemy.
Terrible. Your brother is an asshole. Don’t bother being nice. I’m sure you hate me too.
I fold the paper back up, watching Matthews the entire time. He’s on his phone, his index finger scrolling, scrolling, scrolling and I assume he’s on social media.
Dick.
As inconspicuously as I possibly can be, I drop the note backward. It flutters with the breeze, I can see it as I turn my head slightly to the left, zig-zagging in the air before it lands on the ground. Sylvie steals her foot forward, stepping on it as she drags the paper toward her desk.
I do not want to write that stupid essay Matthews referred to. If we get caught, I’m going to be pissed. Especially since communicating with Sylvie is a complete waste of my time.
Figures that the one person who seemed interesting, who also seemed interested in me, is related to the biggest asshole on this campus.
Minutes tick past—we can hear the clock that hangs on the wall ticking, it’s that quiet in the classroom—and I grow sleepy. Working on math doesn’t help the situation. I tap my pencil on top of the notebook again and again, picking up speed until Matthews lifts his head and glares.
“Stop it,” he says mildly.
I drop my head, my gaze snagging on the folded piece of paper that is somehow beneath my shoe. Making a show of it, I slam my book shut and lean over to shove it into my backpack. I pull Romeo and Juliet out, stashing the note in the middle of the book before I set it on my desk. Matthews watches me the entire time, annoyance on his face, and I crack the book open and pretend to read.
His gaze remains on me far longer than necessary until finally I glance up to find he’s returned his attention to his phone. Slowly, I open the note, tucking it into my notebook, and read Sylvie’s response.
I have no idea what’s going on. I’m sure you probably don’t believe me, but I’ve been sick and off campus for the last month. That’s why I haven’t seen you. I only just returned today, and got in trouble in World History for talking back to the teacher. That’s why I’m in detention. So stupid. I don’t have the same power as Whit, but I do have some power. Maybe I can help you, but you have to tell me what happened.
I want to believe her, but it’s hard. What does she mean, she’s been sick? I believe she’s been off campus. I haven’t seen her at all, so that makes sense. But sick? Does she have an illness? A disease? A drug addiction?
What do I say to her? I’m hot for your brother, but he treats me like shit and has ostracized me on this campus? Yet, for whatever reason, every time we talk, I’m tempted to lean in and kiss his mouth just to see if he tastes as good as I remember?