“A husky.” Snorting, I stop at my locker and switch out my biology book for sheet music. It’s an instant relief not to have that book weighing me down. Because seriously, how many chapters on mitosis does the school district really think we’ll need? How many of us, years from now, are going to be grateful for knowing the lifespan of a cell? Honestly, schools should teach us how to do taxes and finance a house. “I’ve never heard someone claim to be a husky before.”
“Maybe you’re just not around the right kind of people,” he slyly responds, leaning against the locker and grinning down at me. This close, I can see flecks of golden caramel and agate green in his eyes. He really is an attractive specimen.
And he’s really making me reconsider my whole “no relationships while here” rule.
“So, you’re new here as well, correct?” I query as I slam my locker shut and zip up my backpack. Surprise splays across his face, and his eyes narrow almost suspiciously. I can’t help but snort at his paranoia. “Calm down. I’m not a stalker. I just went to school here when I was in middle school, and I don’t remember seeing you before.”
“Oh.” Emmett relaxes instantly and laughs once more, forking his fingers through his fauxhawk. The strands becoming wild and disheveled, no longer immaculately styled at the top of his head, and his eyes flash with irritation as he brushes at one of the strands grazing his eyes. “I moved two years ago, during sophomore year.”
“From?” I unfold my class schedule—from where I had placed it in my pocket—and see that I’m supposed to be on the second floor for my next hour. Emmett once more peers over my shoulder before gently grabbing my elbow and steering me in the opposite direction, towards the now emptying stairwell.
“Minnesota,” he responds.
“Why?” I continue my pestering as we climb the curving staircase. I don’t know if Emmett has his class up here as well, but I’m honestly grateful for the tour guide. There are so many hallways and so many levels, that I’m sure I’ll get lost in record time.
“You’re a nosey one, aren’t you?” He doesn’t sound upset about it, only amused. His jade eyes spark in the fluorescent lighting as we turn down a hallway with only a few students present. Not that I’m surprised. The music department always has significantly less classmates compared to, say, the athletic one.
“Sorry.” I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s a fatal flaw.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He blows out a breath as his steps slow, hinting that we may be closer to my destination than I initially suspected. “My mom got remarried.”
“And you guys moved to be with him?” I guess.
This time, his laughter is harsh. Cold, even, like a keen icicle falling from a rooftop and impaling someone’s heart. “No. The bitch kicked me out.” Resentment underlies his words as his eyes harden. “Told me it was time to live with my dad.”
My heart hurts for him, because I, more than probably anyone, can relate.
“My mom kicked me out too,” I admit with a shrug. “But hey, it’s not the end of the world, right?”
Honestly, a part of me was grateful when my mom threw me out the door like yesterday’s trash. I knew I would be sent to Nana’s…and I also knew that I would return to the town that had once been my personal hell. Only this time, I won’t be the one burned by hell’s flames. I survived the inferno once before, and now, I’ll set the world aflame in the name of sweet, sweet revenge.
Totally fucked up logic? Yes.
Do I care? Nope.
“Yeah.” Emmett doesn’t sound so sure, but our conversation ceases when he stops in front of my next class. “Room two twenty-six.” He taps his knuckles to the wall adjacent to the door. “Maybe I’ll see you again later on today?”
Those wide eyes blink down at me, and against my better judgement—against the voice telling me not to get involved—I mutter, “Yeah, probably.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
But the beatific smile that erupts on Emmett’s face? The one that reveals two dimples on his cheeks? It makes my own hesitation and unease totally worth it.
Flashing him a tentative one of my own, I slip inside of the classroom just as the bell rings, signaling the beginning of class.
Ten pairs of eyes turn to stare at me with varying degrees of confusion and apprehension. Only one appears annoyed, her slate-brown eyes narrowed at me from where she sits with the two other violists.
“You must be Peony.” The teacher, a balding man with a protruding belly and a bowtie, hurries forward with a hand extended. “I’m Mr. Tucker, the orchestra conductor.”
“Hello.” I accept his hand with a soft smile.
“Come. Come.” He gestures towards one of the black chairs located near the conductor’s stand. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned that you needed to borrow an instrument for the time being, correct?”
“That’s correct,” I reply. Back at the coven, I had my own violin, an instrument I adored more than anything else. After a particularly brutal fight with my mother, the bitch snapped it over her knee, rendering it impossible to play. I vowed to myself that I would buy a new one…as soon as I came into any sort of money.
“There are some violins you can rent and bring home with you,” Mr. Tucker explains as he unlocks a cupboard and procures a black violin case. “But we can discuss those options at a later time. For now, feel free to use this one. You won’t be able to bring it home with you, which will impact your grade in the long run, but it should work for now.” The man is practically exuding energy, his eagerness almost palpable. It reminds me of the conversation with Emmett a few minutes earlier. If Mariabella is a Golden Retriever puppy, then this man is a full-grown one. I half expect to see his tail wagging back and forth as he hands me the instrument.
This violin has almost a reddish sheen, and when I pluck at the strings, I’m surprised by how in tune the instrument is, especially since the case itself has been collecting dust.
“I heard about you from the middle school conductor,” Mr. Tucker gushes, and the rest of the orchestra exchange hushed whispers. There are three boys, none of which I recognize, and two girls I remember from my time in middle school. Sadie and Lauren, I believe? The rest I’m not overly familiar with. The dark-haired violist is still hurling daggers at me as she sits primly in the seat opposite mine. Her black hair hangs in loose curls over her shoulders, and her eyes are a similar shade of obsidian, the brown so dark they’re almost black.
“That’s Felicia,” Sadie whispers from the seat beside mine. I never really had a problem with the petite blonde before. She wasn’t necessarily my friend or anything, but she was never openly hostile like some of the other students. And from the confused look in her eyes, I don’t think she recognizes me. Though how many white-haired, amber-eyed women she knows remains a mystery. “She’s a grade-A bitch, especially when she’s not Mr. Tucker’s sole focus.”
“Kiss ass.” Lauren pantomimes barfing from the seat on the other side of Sadie, and the four girls around them—all slightly familiar—giggle. Two are cellists, one’s a bassist, and the other one is a violinist, as well as Sadie and Lauren.