Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Savina
THE NEXT DAY, I try to forget about everything that happened at the fight last night, but literally everyone in school is talking about it.
I can’t escape the whispered rumors about the fighters, and I can’t help but cringe every time someone says Dimitri’s name.
He’s built up quite the reputation for himself in such a short period of time, and he’s not even a student here. The whole thing is just absurd.
I’m sitting in the middle of second period when a knock sounds at the classroom door.
My English Lit teacher, Mr. Pendleton, says, “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing into the hallway.
I take the opportunity to pull out my beloved sketchbook.
The cover is worn and covered with doodles, constellations, pretty faces and twisted trees.
I first started drawing at the suggestion of my psychiatrist, Dr. Barlowe, who my father sent me to shortly after my mother died.
I was hesitant about it at first, but now I can’t fathom my life without drawing.
It’s an escape for me. The world always felt too loud, and my sketchbook has always been like living inside my own little universe.
I draw everything I see, loving to capture real life art and using my imagination to shape and shade it how I see fit.
Mr. Pendleton walks back into the room and announces, “We have a new student joining us today.”
My eyes are glued to the sketchbook as I fill in some shading around a pretty bird I drew earlier this morning.
I’m barely paying attention when I hear heavy footsteps enter the room.
Risking a glance, I stare at the black boots of the newcomer.
They look scuffed and worn, and my fingers twitch at the thought of drawing their imperfections.
“Everyone, please welcome Dimitri Sokolov,” the teacher says.
The pencil in my hand freezes. Slowly, I look up.
My gaze rises from the boots, to the navy blue pants, his untucked white button-up and plaid tie.
Shadows of bruises litter his brutally handsome face, and I’m staring at them intently when I feel his eyes lock onto mine.
Quickly, I duck my head and pretend to be doing something else. Something other than staring at him.
“There’s an empty seat beside Miss Cipriano,” Mr. Pendleton says.
I slowly close my eyes and internally mutter a curse. Of course there is.
“Perfect,” Dimitri mutters under his breath.
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but I’m sure he is.
Until he proves me wrong, I’m going to assume he hates me.
Every interaction I’ve had with him thus far has clearly shown that much.
I’m just not sure why he has so much anger towards me.
I mean, it’s not like either one of us willingly agreed to the contract or anything.
We’re both stuck in this situation, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
However, if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t say I’m very fond of him either.
He frightens me. I feel like I never know what his next move is going to be.
He seems to be volatile, aloof. I’m a planner, never doing anything spontaneously, and I have a feeling he’s the exact opposite of that.
I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though.
I’ll be nice. Well, as nice as I possibly can be.
And if Dimitri chooses to take a different approach and be a dick, then I’ll be a dick right back to him.
As he approaches, I snap my sketchbook shut and cradle it hard against my chest, as if protecting it from him. He eyes me suspiciously but simply takes a seat next to me and leans back in his chair.
Mr. Pendleton starts writing things on the whiteboard behind his desk while the class takes notes. I bury my face in my notebook as I write, shielding my view of Dimitri with my long, dark hair.
Suddenly, I feel his presence beside me. His scent wafts over. Expensive cologne with a hint of tobacco and mint. “Why are you in this class for juniors?” he leans over and asks me in a hushed whisper.
“Advanced c-c-courses. I’m a couple years ahead of my p-p-peers,” I admit in a low voice.
While I technically should be proud of that fact, I suddenly regret telling my father years ago that I was bored in school.
I wasn’t being challenged, so my stepmother decided to force the principals and teachers to put me in harder classes.
If I wouldn’t have opened my mouth back then, I wouldn’t be in the same class as Dimitri right now. Funny how things work.
“Why are you here?” I quietly ask, stressing the last word.
“Your father thought this school would be a good fit for me,” he answers.
Ah, so my father is responsible for this.
Considering the cost of tuition and the fact that half of the students who apply get turned away, Papà must have really pulled some strings.
I don’t know why that makes me so infuriated, but it does.
I was enjoying my Dimitri-free life for two years, and now it’s ruined.
I’m going to have to see him every day. I can only hope that this is the only class we have together.
Maybe I can switch seats with someone or…
“You look like you’re ready to jump out of the window to get away from me, privighetoare mic?,” Dimitri comments, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smirk.
There’s that phrase again. I couldn’t pronounce it even if I tried. He called me that after I stopped the underground fight. I’m sure it’s something to the equivalent of a swear word in English, like bitch or something. “M-M-Maybe I am,” I admit.
Mr. Pendleton clears his throat from the front of his class, his eyes zeroed in on Dimitri and me. “Less talking and more note taking, please,” he says. “You two can get to know each other after class.”
The entire class erupts into ooohs, as if we were just flirting with each other or something.
Completely and utterly embarrassed, I focus on my notes, intent on ignoring Dimitri if he tries to strike up another conversation.
But, thankfully, he doesn’t. The rest of the class goes by so slowly, and I swear it feels like I’ve been sitting at this desk for four hours before the bell finally rings.
I’m the first out of my seat and the first out the door.
I rush to my locker, trading out my books for my next class and practically running to it as if I’m being chased by the damn boogeyman.
It almost feels like I am at this point.
Dimitri has a black cloud of doom that follows him wherever he goes, and I don’t want to get swallowed up into it.
When I get to my next period, I wait with bated breath to see if Dimitri will walk through the door. He doesn’t. I finish out my morning Dimitri free, and I couldn’t be happier.
By the time lunch rolls around, the entire school is buzzing about the fact that Dimitri “The Destroyer” Sokolov is the new student.
I can’t even walk a few feet without hearing someone in the hall talking about him, and it’s infuriating.
They’re treating him like he’s some kind of god or something, and it’s painful to hear.
Darby finds me in line at the cafeteria and asks, “Hey, can you buy me a drink? My evil stepbrother refused to put any money in my school account and wouldn’t give me cash this morning.
I guess his newest form of torture is trying to make me starve to death.
” She tries to play it all off with humor, but I can see the lingering hurt in her eyes.
A deep frown forms on my lips. The more she talks about her stepbrother and how he’s been treating her lately, the more I find myself hating him just as much as Darby.
“Of course,” I tell her. “In fact, w-w-whatever you w-want, it’s on me.
” I’m not going to let my best friend go hungry because her stepbrother is an asshole.
Ever since their parents died, he acts like money is more important than everything, including Darby.
“You’re the best,” she tells me with a sad smile.
“I know, b-b-but it’s still n-nice to hear,” I quip.
She laughs and then grabs a chicken salad wrap and a water. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
I wave my hand, dismissing her. “No b-b-biggie. My dad p-puts p-p-plenty of money in my account.”
“God, I can’t wait until I turn twenty-one,” she says while we wait in line. “Then the money my parents left me in their will goes into my actual bank account, and I won’t have my stepbrother breathing down my neck over every single penny he gives to me. I’ll finally be financially free of him.”
I’m sure Darby wants to rush time at this point, finish high school, graduate and race towards turning twenty-one. But for me…all I want to do is slow down time. Because the faster it goes by, the quicker I’ll be turning twenty-three, and the sooner my life is inevitably over.
“Whoa, is he going here now?” Darby hisses conspiratorially in my ear while pointing behind us.
I turn and see Dimitri instantly in the back of the line.
He stands out like a sore thumb, not even trying to conform to the rules of the school or look like the other students.
The sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt are rolled up over his muscular forearms, and I can see the veins underneath his tanned skin and tattoos bulging every time he reaches for something.
I steel my spine as I face forward, refusing to let my gaze linger on him.
I don’t want him catching me staring at him.
“Uh, yeah, he w-w-was in my English Lit c-class earlier.”
“And you’re just now telling me this?” Darby says while mimicking that her head is exploding.
“I, uh, f-f-forgot,” I lie. In fact, he’s all I’ve been thinking about all morning. I’ve barely been able to concentrate on anything else, let alone my classes.
“Okay, forget the sleepover. I need all the deets today about this guy and your connection to him.”