He splits his hands apart, letting out an audible sigh. “So,” he says finally, his brows arching slightly, causing a wave of wrinkles to flood his forehead. “You're new here, so I want to cut you some slack. Maybe you lost your temper, maybe you got pushed to react, maybe there's a lot of reasons. Stacy isn't new to me, but you are.” Pressing flat palms into the top of the desk, he sits back in his chair. “Do you want to tell me what happened in your words?”
“We had a disagreement; it didn't end well. I apologize for my misconduct; I don't know what else there is I can say.”
“Prairie, you're a smart girl. I read your transcripts from your other school, I see the college prep courses you're in, your grades, the fact you have an almost perfect grade point average.” He wags a finger as he stiffens in the chair and lifts his shoulders. “But, what I can't understand is why you're mingling with some of the people you are.”
What the hell does that mean?
“I don't understand. What do you mean?” Cocking a brow, I'm trying to figure out where he's going with this.
“Stacy told me about Max Ramon. She said you two were close, and that's what started this tiff between you both.” His finger swings side to side as he points at the various cuts and scrapes he can see. “Let me give you a little advice. I won't speak ill of any of my students, because that's unprofessional, but I will say this, for your own sake, and your future: it's best if you don't get involved with that boy.”
What the is with these people?
It strikes a nerve. The entire town has put Max into a box. Every single person. From my uncle, to the teachers, to the kids. Why am I the only one who sees different?
Screw everyone else.
“Mr. Murphy, I appreciate the concern, I really do—”
“Uh,” he cuts in, holding up his hand. “This little stunt of yours, it's the only thing on your record like this, so I don't want to tarnish it with a fluke. I'm giving you one, just this one free pass. Understand?”
Nodding, I tuck my hands under my legs. “Yes, Sir.”
Tapping the pile of papers in front of him, he places them off to the side. “Good. I suggest you take my advice too. I don't want to see you in here again.”
“Yes, Sir.” Shaking his head, he flips a finger toward the door, signaling I can go back to class.
I'm at the door, holding the handle in my hand, when he calls to me. “Oh and, Prairie. . .” Turning to face him, his eyes looking down at his desk. “I'm serious about Max. You're on the right path, don't veer off.”
I smile through closed lips, giving him a simple nod as I walk out the door, closing it behind me. The secretary hands me a late slip for my next class as I pass by her desk. The halls are empty and quiet. My sneakers squeak on the tiles as I walk back to the gym to change and get my stuff.
My brain is going crazy in the silence. I don't want to think that Max just used me. I don't want to think that all he was after is sex.
Could I be this wrong about him?
Is it really possible the light I see in him is just a predator who found its prey?
Am I his prey?
11
Max
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Rolling onto my side, I drop my hand on the button to shut off the alarm. Pushing myself up in bed, I rub my eyes, and yawn.
Twisting, I press my feet onto the cold wood floor. My fingers clamp down on the end of the mattress as I try to force my brain to wake up.
It's too fucking early for this shit.
Standing up, I go into the bathroom and splash my face with cool water. It helps a little to erase the sleepy haze that's fogging my brain, but I still don't feel ready for the day. Grabbing my jeans off the floor, I tug them on, and find a t-shirt on the end of the bed to pull over my head.
Brushing my teeth, I look in the mirror, and use my fingertips to comb my hair down. I don't spend a lot of time on my appearance, it's never really been a top priority. I've always hated those people anyway. The ones who think that appearance is everything.
Newsflash—it's not. Your appearance is hardly important. Sadly, it's something people have been trained to judge people by. So it's easy for me to take that expectation and rip it to shreds.
Leaning my forearm against the fridge, I search for something to call breakfast.
Sliced cheese. Ranch dressing. Stale rolls. Applesauce. . .
“Look who's up,” my brother says.
Popping my head out from the fridge, I see my brother leaning against the kitchen sink, sipping a beer. My eyes jump to the clock on the wall, and then back to my brother.
“A little early don't you think?” I flick my eyes to the beer in his hand, not hiding my disapproval of his beverage choice.
“Not according to our father. He had two before leaving for work. At least I waited until the sun came up.”
Taking out a bottle of water, I close the fridge door with my hip. “Following in his footsteps, I see. Glad you got a role model to look up to.”
“Fuck you, douchebag,” he snaps.
Shrugging my shoulders, I take a giant swig of water. “Hey, you're the one defending your choice to get wasted at seven in the morning, not me. I'm just pointing out the facts.”
“Since when did you become the fucking alcohol police?” He throws his head back, downing the rest of his beer, and smashes the empty bottle against the wall.
Glass shards spray across the floor, mixing with the ones my father left a few nights ago. Stray bits slide across the tiles, coming to a stop at my feet.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
His eyes peer at me, and I know that look. If he could shoot razors from his glare, he'd slice me where I stand. But he can't, so instead he takes an intimidating step forward, clutching his fists at his sides.
“What are you going to do, hit me?” I ask, squaring my shoulders and staring him right in the eyes.
We're nose to nose, chest to chest. Neither of us blink, we just glare at each other like two bears fighting for the same territory.
Harlow finally breaks, smirking and giving me a shove. “Nah, I can't hit you little bro, I'd fucking hurt you.” Swiping his fingers through my hair, he ruffles the top. “You're going to be late.”
“For what?” I ask, caught off guard. Combing my fingertips through my hair, I fix it.
“School. Unless you finally woke up and realized that shit is never going to help you in the real world.”
“Shit, that's right.” Taking a step back, I grab my sneakers off the floor and sit at the table. “What are your plans for today?”
His smile grows, and the look in his eyes makes me sit up straight. “I've got a few plans.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I don't like the sound of his voice right now. That's a voice with a hidden agenda. It's the same voice I heard when he wanted to break into the neighbor's house when we were younger, and when he needed my help to tag up one of his teacher's cars when he did go to school. It's also the same voice I heard the night of the fire.
My skin bristles as our eyes connect. He's empty, there's nothing in his eyes anymore. Any remnants of the brother I used to have is long gone. Life killed him, and jail finished him off.