Chapter 8
Wednesday morning, right after breakfast in the dining hall, I head straight for Calculus.
I always sit up front. There’s less distraction that way.
People have a habit of trying to get my attention for anything but class.
It’s exhausting being who I am. Whatever the hell that means to them.
I just want to get in, get through, and get out.
Not that I hate Calculus. I’m actually good at math. It clicks in my head, clean and simple. Sitting up front also means I can leave faster, which has started to matter again… since she showed up.
Olivia walks in right before the bell, clutching her bag like it’s a shield.
There’s only one seat left and it’s the one directly behind me.
She slips past my desk, and the hem of her dress flutters across my leg.
I hear her bag thud against the desk and the sound grates against me.
Everything about her manages to poke at my nerves.
I turn and glare at her. Her eyes go wide, mouth parting slightly like she’s about to say something but Mr. Briggs clears his throat behind me. I face forward, and a second later I hear a soft sigh escape her lips.
I smirk.
Mr. Briggs shuffles past us, dropping thick packets at every row of desks.
The stack of packets lands on my desk with a thud.
A diagnostic test, figures. Every class this week has done one to gauge where we’re at.
I grab the stack, take one, and extend the rest behind me without looking.
After a few seconds, no one takes it. I glance over my shoulder.
Liv’s hesitating. I drop the stack on her desk, staring until she finally picks it up and passes the stack along. Her eyes stay on me the whole time.
“Good luck, Wendy,” I say, just loud enough for her to hear.
She glares at me but doesn’t say anything.
Once the last pencil stops scratching, Mr. Briggs leans on the edge of his desk with a grunt.
“All right,” he says, voice dry as sandpaper. “Pass your tests to the person behind you. Back row, bring them up.”
I slide my paper off the top of my desk and hand it back.
Let her grade it. Let her see I actually know what I’m doing here.
Maybe then she’ll stop looking at me like I’m some burnout with nothing between his ears.
Still, the idea of her reading over my answers, of her seeing the way my mind works, does something weird in my chest. I don’t like that.
Once everyone finishes grading, Mr. Briggs tells us to hand the tests back to their owners. I turn in my seat and take mine from Liv. She’s got a smug little look on her face.
“Learn something, Princess?” I ask, throwing that ridiculous nickname Silas gave her right back in her face.
“No,” she snaps. “But you might need to.”
I scoff and snatch the test from her hand. “Please. I could do circles around you in this class.”
“Not when I’m getting a higher grade than you.”
She lifts her own paper and points to the top like she’s displaying a trophy. A fat, red 100 stares me down.
I roll my eyes and raise mine, ready to shut her up, until I catch the front page. Ninety-five.
My jaw tightens. “You really can’t follow directions?”
“I’m not the one who got the question wrong, Rafe.” Her arms cross. She scowls.
“Well I sure as shit didn’t get it wrong either,” I shoot back, heat rising to my neck.
“What’s the problem here?” Mr. Briggs growls from the front of the room.
“She graded my test wrong,” I say, still glaring at her.
“Give me the test.”
Mr. Briggs holds out his hand. I slap the paper into it harder than I should.
He scans it, then points at the red mark. “No. She’s right. It’s wrong. Look here, you skipped a step. Minor, but important. Happens to the best of us, Mr. Haverhill.” He drops the paper back on my desk like it’s settled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can feel every pair of eyes in the room on me. This little twit did not just humiliate me in front of the whole class. I grind my teeth. My hands are clenched tight, knuckles pale.
“Rafe, I… I’m sorry it was wrong,” she stammers, her tone quieter now. The confidence is gone, arms unfolding into nervous fingers fidgeting at her sides.
I crumple the test in my fist, snatch my bag from the floor, and storm out the door.
“Goodbye, Mr. Haverhill,” Mr. Briggs calls after me. Let him be exasperated. With my grades and my name, none of them can make me stay where I don’t want to be.
At lunch, I’m sitting in the dining hall with Silas and Archer.
Across from us is Maddison and her band of populars.
Silas is currently holding court, going on and on about how his precious Princess humiliated me in front of the entire class.
I swear he gets off on degradation. Word spreads fast around here.
I’m not listening. Not really. I’m too busy glaring across the room at her.
“Stop it, Silas. You’re upsetting Rafe, and he’s gonna punch you again,” Victoria says without looking up, too focused on inspecting her nails.
“Let him try,” Silas barks out a laugh.
She’s not wrong. I’d punch him. But I’m too busy focusing on Liv. I can feel her presence like a pulled thread in the back of my mind, taut and fraying. Then Archer makes a noise, low and sharp. Almost a growl and it cuts through my concentration.
“Whoa,” I say, glancing at him. “What’s got you in a mood?”
He’s hunched forward, elbows on the table, fingers threaded through his hair yanking at it. His eyes are closed, brows tight.
“Does anyone else smell that?” he mutters, voice strained.
“Smell what, man?” Silas asks from my other side.
“I don’t know. Mint. But sweet. If I knew what it was, it wouldn’t be bothering me so damn much, would it?” His voice climbs louder and sharper until heads start turning from nearby tables.
Archer doesn’t raise his voice. Ever. He’s laid-back to the point of being horizontal. This isn’t normal. My anger toward Olivia evaporates like steam.
“Hey, man. You good?” I ask, shifting toward him. I reach out, but before I can touch his shoulder, he bolts up from the bench.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, storming off without a glance.
“That was weird…” Silas trails off, for once sounding uncertain.
“Yeah. Definitely weird.”
Victoria starts to rise, brushing her hair over her shoulder like she’s preparing for a performance. “I’ll go check on him.”
“Sit. Down.”
She freezes, startled, and slowly lowers herself back into her seat like she just remembered her place. I’m not in the mood to deal with clingy drama queens.