I SKIPPED AMERICAN GOVERNMENT.
I couldn’t stand the thought of facing Whit after our conversation in the library. I hate that he’s tainted my safe space. The one building I haven’t found him in yet. He’s ruined it. I have nowhere else to go to escape him.
He took the library away from me with just his presence.
I retreated to my dorm room and ate my late lunch. Instead of saving half the sandwich for later, I downed it all. Including the chips, and the Coke. It was like I was starving after that interaction with Whit, with Elliot, all of it. The fight with the girls in line. Listening to Matthews drone on, the word cunt falling from his lips so easily—twice—had taken its toll. Even the bitchy cashier in the lunch line almost sent me into an emotional breakdown.
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?
Pressing my lips together, I concentrate on the words she just wrote, reading them over again. I start to write, not wanting to get into too much detail, just in case someone—Matthews—catches us passing notes and we get in trouble.
Let’s talk after detention. I can tell you what happened then.
I fold the note, then hold my left arm down straight, the paper pinched between my fingers. I let it fall at the same exact time a familiar voice yells out, “Headmaster Matthews!”
Dread fills me, my stomach churning, my sandwich threatening to come back up. It’s Elliot. I glance over at him to find him watching me, a smirk on his face, his eyes dancing. He’s ready to get me back for what I did to him earlier.
“Yes, Elliot?” Matthews asks.
“Sylvie and Summer are passing—”
Sylvie erupts into violent coughing. It’s loud. Bone rattling. I turn to her in concern to find her hunched over her desk, her hands covering her mouth, her entire body shaking. I slide out of my seat and go to her, resting my hand on her back. I can feel her trembling, the coughing continuous and Matthews rises from his seat, making his way over to us.
“Are you all right, Sylvie?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“She doesn’t sound all right,” I tell him, fear racing through my blood. She wasn’t lying. She sounds terrible, so she must be getting over something. She’s so small, so thin, I don’t know why she isn’t passing out from the exertion the coughing is taking.
“I—I am.” She wheezes. “I’m f-fine,” she gasps out.
“Let’s get you to the nurse’s office,” Matthews says, glancing around the classroom. “I’ll be right back.”
“You can’t leave, Mr. Matthews,” Sylvie says. Her voice is scratchy, the words like air. No substance. “I-I can walk there by m-myself.”
She starts coughing again. I glance around the room, noting the expressions on everyone’s faces. Most of them seem completely unaffected, as if they’ve witnessed this sort of thing before, and they’re bored.
“Absolutely not. Someone needs to accompany you.” His gaze lands on me. “Will you walk her, Summer?”
I can’t even believe he’s going to let me. Elliot was fully prepared to rat us out, and now Matthews is letting us leave. “Yes, sir.”
“Drop her off and come right back. That should take you no longer than fifteen minutes. Understood?” He sends me a look.
I nod.
Sylvie gathers her things and I wait for her, concern making me want to tell her to stop. I’ll help her, though she suddenly seems perfectly capable. Matthews heads back to his desk, sitting down, his gaze zeroing in on the boy who was about to snitch on our note passing. “Did you have something to say, Elliot?”
“Never mind,” he mutters, sulking. “Doesn’t matter.”
We leave the classroom, Elliot’s gaze never leaving us, a scowl on his handsome face. He’s mad. I can tell, but I don’t care.
Clearly neither does Sylvie.
The moment we walk down the flight of stairs and head for the exit, Sylvie breathes deep, flashing me a smile.
“That hurt like hell, but it was worth it to get out of there,” she says.
I push open the door and we walk through it, the breeze and waning sunshine greeting us. “Did you just cough like that as a diversion?”
“I had to. Elliot was going to tell Matthews what we were doing,” she says, as if her coughing fit was the logical choice.
“Sounded painful.”
“It was awful. But again, worth it.” She steers me to the right, toward the administration building. “Got me out of detention at least. Sorry that you have to go back.”
“I’d rather get a break than stay there the whole time. I was getting sleepy.”
“It’s the most boring thing in the world. Sucks that Matthews sits there and plays on his phone the entire time. It’s like he does it on purpose,” she says.
“I’m sure he does.” I hesitate. “Does he always supervise detention?”
“Yeah. I think it gives him a thrill, torturing us.”
“I had the same thought.”
Sylvie comes to a stop just outside the admin building, reaching out to touch my arm and causing me to stop too. “Is Whit making your life a living hell on campus?”
I nod. Her kind eyes and low tone could almost make me start to cry if I don’t watch it.
She blows out a breath, gazing toward the chapel. “He loves nothing more than torturing a girl he’s interested in. He’s done it before. He’s like that boy in first grade who chases you and hits you, but he actually really likes you.”
“He’s not interested in me. Not like that,” I say firmly, the lies falling easily from my lips. He might dislike me, but he’s definitely interested in me. “He hates me for what my mother did with your father.”
“His hatred is aimed in the wrong direction. He should be mad at our dad.”
“He’s also mad at me.”
“Whit is loyal to a fault. That includes being loyal to our mother, even though she’s a snake, always lying in wait and coiled to strike,” Sylvie says bitterly.
I’m taken aback by her tone, her words. I’ve never heard anyone say anything bad about Elise Lancaster before. All details shared about the Lancaster divorce painted Augustus as a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants—ever—and his wife is the patron saint of the family.
“I don’t understand why Elliot was so ready to tell on us,” Sylvie continues as we get closer to the building. “He’s a friend of Whit’s. Meaning he shouldn’t be so quick to get me in trouble.”
I explain to her what happened earlier. How Elliot grabbed me, and I kneed him in the balls to get free. I don’t go into detail about my encounter with her brother, or the things we said to each other.
That incident doesn’t matter.
“Oh my God, that is so awesome,” Sylvie says with relish once I’m finished explaining. “He fell onto the ground? Really?”
The wind picks up, whipping across us, and I glance up to see clouds rolling in the sky, black and foreboding. “He dropped like a sack of potatoes.”
We both start laughing and it feels so good, so light. The lightest moment I’ve had since arriving here. Until Sylvie’s laugh turns into a cough and she covers her mouth, her chest heaving with exertion.
“We can’t laugh,” I tell her, smoothing my hand down her arm. “Come on. It’s getting cold out here. Let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”
“I’ll tell my brother to call off his dogs,” she says as we enter the building. “He’s not playing fair. Though he never does, so this shouldn’t surprise me.”
I say nothing. She can ask him to call off his supposed dogs, but I don’t believe it’ll happen. He won’t be happy until I’m gone from this campus. And even then, my leaving still probably wouldn’t satisfy him.
Once I make sure Sylvie is under the nurse’s care, I hurriedly make my way back to the detention classroom, practically sprinting. No way do I want to get more detentions because I took longer than I should’ve. I breeze into the room, nodding in Matthews’ direction when he lifts his gaze to me. He says nothing.
Neither do I.
Guess I passed that test.
I resume preparing for an essay for Romeo and Juliet, making notes. Writing and rewriting my introduction sentence. It occupies my time for the rest of the period, and I’m startled when Matthews announces, “You’re dismissed. Have a nice weekend.”
Everyone quickly gathers their things. Matthews walks over to the window and shuts it, cutting off the cold wind blowing through. “No wonder she caught a cough,” I hear him say.
Huh. Maybe he’s not so bad. Still don’t trust him though.
I’m about to head out of the classroom when I realize Elliot is right there, glaring at me. He falls into step beside me, keeping pace as I hurry down the hall. Run down the stairs.
He never says a word, which is creepy. I’d rather he give me a bunch of shit.
“Go away,” I tell him once we’re outside. No one else is around. The sun is completely gone, masked by the ominous black clouds in the sky, and thunder rolls in the near distance.
“No one’s around to save you now,” he says with a big grin.
“I don’t need to be saved. I’ll just knee you in the balls again,” I retort.
He takes a step back. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Such a bitch.”
I turn and start walking, the wind pressing against me, making it a struggle. I hate this guy. I don’t know why I’ve suddenly become a target, but he makes me uneasy. And he’s right.
There’s no one around to save me.
I make my way toward the dorms, picking up my pace. I can hear Elliot behind me, screaming obscenities, the words lost in the impending storm. Water droplets hit me, one after the other, and I realize it’s raining.
I begin to run.
Within minutes, I’m inside the girls’ dormitory, the door tightly shut. I turn and face the window, watching as Elliot approaches. My newfound jogging habit has made me faster, but I’m panting heavily, my heart racing triple time.
He marches right up to the window and bangs on the door, making me jump. He grins, the wind blowing his dark hair across his forehead, his jacket flapping open. I take a step back, my mouth dry as he runs his finger across his throat and then points at me.
Just before he turns and walks away.
