Chapter SevenRoe
Chapter Seven
Roe
East reluctantly left me at the administration office as the bell rang. She had wanted to wait and show me to my first class but was asked, non-so gently, by the snotty, pinched-faced prim behind the counter to make haste. I encouraged her to go, needing a moment to process this morning's events in peace, while I waited for Mrs. Saxton, the student advisor, to make an appearance. And by this morning's events, I mean West.
The Duke was a misogynistic ass, an overbearing mother hen with an I'm-too-good-for-everyone attitude.
But he was also fine as fuck. My body's reaction to him was foreign but, undeniably, a strong attraction. It was a problem that I would have to deal with in some way or another.
"Miss Nixon, apologies for my tardiness," a sickly-sweet voice practically splits my head in two as a heavily made-up face pops out from her office. "Please, do come in!"
I wince but manage to mask it with a forced grin .
The office is modern, with a white desk and matching filing cabinets. Two straight-backed chairs sit across from the desk, with a velvet midnight blue loveseat against the far wall. The walls were a soft baby blue, which created a calming effect that was immediately squashed by the overbearing, smoking incense stick burning on the windowsill.
"Doesn't that smell…" I stifle a sneeze, "pleasant."
"Is it not lovely?" Mrs. Saxton squeals, making me cringe. Hello there, migraine.
She rattles on about the scent (Buddhist Temple or some shit) while I make myself as comfortable as possible in the stifling room. I opt for the love seat and sink into its thick folds gratefully.
"Anyhow," Mrs. Saxton says, shuffling through some papers on her desk. "Most of our current curriculum are required courses and I have gone ahead and pre-selected the optional ones for you. Would you like to have a look before I send you off to your first class?"
She makes as if to pack my timetable into a folder, as though I could not possibly question her choices. Yeah right, lady.
"I would love to," I say, holding my hand out. She pauses with a frown as if it is the first time anyone has ever wanted their own opinions identified. Perhaps it is. I wiggle my fingers, an extra big smile on my face, to let her know I am not kidding,
"O-of course, Miss Nixon," her smile is strained as she hands me the papers.
I quickly scan through the required courses but am unsurprised by the selections: mathematics, sports, and English. When I reach the selections section, I frown.
"How in the ever-loving fuck is 'cake decorating' and 'photography' going to help me in my life?" I scowl, snatching a fluffy pink pen off Mrs. Saxton's desk.
I hastily scribbled out the selections Mrs. Saxton had pre-selected for me. Who the fuck does she think I am?
Mrs. Saxton, in the meantime, looks close to blowing a gasket as I graffiti her neat and tidy page. Her eyes have blown to twice their size, and her mouth is hanging in a slack impression of an 'O'. She looks quite comical.
After a quick browse, I decide on 'Business and Enterprises' and 'Design and Technology'.
I decided to have a quick re-read of the required courses and found there are 3 sports sessions to choose from.
"What is the difference between Sports A, B, and C?" I ask .
Gathering herself with a slight shake, she replies, "Oh, do not worry about the sports selections, Miss Nixon. C is where you belong," she says decisively.
"Oh?" I enquire, raising an eyebrow.
After a slight pause, she relents.
"Sports is divided into 3 levels, depending on a student's athleticism. Sports A is for the athletes. Their stamina and muscle maintenance requires a tough training regime and after-hours upkeep is sometimes required. Sports B is for the remaining young men less acquired to a sportsman life. Sports C is for the young ladies, of course. Pilates, yoga, dancing, and sometimes light swimming. Just the right amount to keep your bodies in perfect condition."
I blink blankly at the daft woman.
Then I draw a big cross through the preselected 'C' and circle 'A' instead.
"Did I speak unclearly?" Mrs. Saxton frowns as she sees what I have selected.
"Oh, no, you were very clear, Mrs. Saxton," I smile sweetly. "You see, though, I like to push my body to its limits. I have spent a lot of time in juvie, did you know?" By her horrified expression, that would be a no. "There wasn't much to do in there, as you can imagine. But there was a gym. I will be sticking to sports A, thank you. "
By the time a frantic Mrs. Saxton has fixed up a new schedule for me, the first period is over, and the second has well and truly started.
As I trudge down the empty hallways toward my English lesson, the anxious energy I had managed to shake off earlier is back with a vengeance. Not only am I the new girl, but I am also the extremely late new girl. It turns out most of my classes are in doubles, and lucky me had a double English period this morning.
I am half tempted to skip by this point. Chill out in the toilets for a half hour. Or maybe scope the bleachers for the truanting stoner kids.
I sigh, Katie's promise of removing my allowance echoing throw my head.
Fuck it.
Straightening my spine (and resolve), I open the door to my English lesson.
The eyes of my new classmates burn my very soul.
Sitting at tables of twos, I spy a few familiar faces .
The blonde girl from the airport lavatory glares at me from her seat beside an equally glare-y princess. I send them a smirk and a finger wave.
Trent is seated a few lengths back, and my smirk grows into a genuine grin as I meet his twinkling eyes.
Moving on, I scan the room for an empty seat. I spy one smack-bang in the center of the classroom. My smile vanishes, and I groan.
Mother fucking Western Mazzuchelli.
He's lounging like a freaking King in the center of the supposed two-seater table, the spare chair thrown carelessly into the aisle where, apparently, the teacher is cool for it to sit.
"Ah, you must be Ms. Nixon," a gravelly voice interrupts my inner musings, and I turn to find an attractive middle-aged man dressed in a smart grey suit leaning against his tidy desk. His eyes are latched onto me, head tilted slightly to the side.
I have never been into older men, but hot-damn, this man can fit a suit! He is handsome, and from the arch of his left eyebrow, he knows it.
"Yes, Sir," I smile sweetly, feigning shyness with a look to my feet, a bite at my bottom lip, and a glance back up to Mr. Handsome .
He sends me a smile in return, which is more of a smirk, really. Well, well. Mr. English Teacher likes himself a shy schoolgirl.
"My name is Mr. Foster, but Sir works too," he says, and I swear there is not a dry pair of panties left in the room. "Why don't you take a seat next to Western? I'm sure he will catch you up on what you've missed this morning.”
He sends West a stern look.
"No," West says. Plain and simple.
Asshole. I send him a scowl.
"No, you will not allow Ms. Nixon to sit next to you or no, you won't share your work?" Mr. Foster asks, though it seems he is not expecting an answer as he continues, "Unfortunately, Mr. Mazzuchelli, your table has the only spare seat in the room. As to the notes, I am sure you haven't bothered taking any yourself anyway. Would anybody like to volunteer their notes for Rowena?"
I freeze. God-damn-it. Did he really just drop my full name in front of dozens of immature teenagers? On my first day!
"It's Roe," I say quickly, but the damage is done.
"Weiner? Like a cock?" prissy princess down the front perks up, eyes sparkling with glee. "Is your mommy a whore? "
Toilet BJ girl laughs at her friend's smart mouth. "Maybe her mommy had big plans for her daughter to join the family business, gave her a stripper name so she wouldn't have to think one up in the future."
The class hoots and hollers. Even Wests' lips are curled up at one side.
"I could think of a comeback, but seeing as I literally witnessed you swallowing a load yesterday, I won't bother," I hiss.
The class fills with ' oooohs ’ as the two girls glare daggers at me.
"Alright, alright, simmer down, everyone," Mr. Foster yells. "Apologies, Roe, I will take note of your preferred name. Please, have a seat next to Mr. Mazzuchelli."
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," I say as I sashay to my seat.
I drag the chair from the aisle and squeeze it beside West, who refuses to move an inch to the left so I can actually fit.
"Asshole," I mutter as I sit straddling the table leg.
West glares at me in all his broody glory before turning back to face Mr. Foster. I scowl, taking in his profile from the side. He really is a beautiful human being. Too bad he was a fucking douchebag. A beautiful douchebag.