Chapter 20
Skyla
The scratching of pencils against paper mingles with the soft patter of rain still hitting the windows, creating a sound that would be soothing if not for the fact that Gage has been avoiding me like I’m carrying some highly contagious STD—one that he’s convinced I got from Logan.
Gage and I have every single class together, which under normal circumstances is fantastic.
Today, it’s like being trapped in a very small elevator with someone who’s pretending you don’t exist. He’s sitting three seats away, which might as well be three continents given how determinedly he’s staring at his notebook.
Marshall prowls around the front of the classroom as if he owns not just the space but everyone in it, and honestly, the way half the girls are sighing and batting their eyelashes, he so does.
His hair is perfectly tousled in that way that probably took Michelle Miller an hour to achieve in bed, but looks effortless, and his smile could melt steel beams.
“Now, who can tell me what we get when we solve for X in this particularly challenging equation?” Marshall asks, his voice carrying that slight celestial—yet quasi-British—accent that makes even mathematical concepts sound like seduction.
Practically every female hand in the room shoots up like they’re volunteering for something much more interesting than algebra, and when Marshall’s molten gaze lingers on mine, I realize I might be willing to volunteer for his advanced curriculum myself.
What am I saying? Geez. These teenage biological impulses are no joke. No wonder I was making out with every Tom, Dick, and Harry way back when. On second thought, it was more like every Logan, Gage, and Marshall. At least I was consistent in something.
Logan’s leg brushes against my ankle under the desk—our old school signal for a telepathic conversation. The moment our skin connects, his voice fills my head, warm and familiar.
Having fun watching the Marshall Dudley Fan Club meeting?
Oh, for sure. This is better than stumbling across Ellis’ stash with a lighter, I think back, watching as Lexy Bakova practically levitates out of her seat, trying to get Marshall’s attention.
At least her boobs aren’t on full display like Michelle’s.
And Chloe’s. And Nat’s. Props to Kate and Em for keeping the girls in check.
Bree is sort of a wild card and oddly has one prominently displayed, and is holding back the other. She’s such a tease.
Okay, so that whole stumbling across Ellis’ stash thing really did happen once and—well, never mind how I decided to resolve it.
Let’s just say teen heartbreak meets a pile of weed, equals one very mellow night with fewer tears and far more giggles.
Add a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and you’ve got one hell of a chef’s kiss at play.
Speaking of entertainment, I continue with Logan, Gage has been giving me the arctic treatment all morning. I’m starting to think I’ve been blacklisted. I turn just enough to see Logan’s reaction, which is basically a dry chuckle.
Join the club. I tried to say good morning, and he looked at me like I’d asked him to donate a kidney.
I sigh just hearing it. I guess our little heart-to-heart in the butterfly room didn’t go over as well as we hoped. I may have put him in the friend zone, and oddly enough, he sort of landed me there at the very same time.
I can hear Logan shift in his seat. That’s not like him. I think maybe we broke him.
I turn and frown at him for even going there. Maybe we should talk to him together. Show a united front.
Good idea. Assuming he doesn’t teleport to Mars the second he sees us coming.
Our silent conversation is interrupted when Chloe’s hand shoots up with the kind of enthusiasm that immediately makes my spidey senses tingle.
“Mr. Dudley,” she purrs, and I swear half the room grunts in collective jealousy at her ability to make his name sound like a proposition. “I’m having trouble with this concept. Could you give me some personal attention?”
Marshall’s smile is pure sin as he saunters over to her desk. “Of course, Ms. Bishop. I live to serve every one of my students’ educational needs.”
The innuendo in that statement is enough to violate several state laws and at least two commandments. And according to Chloe, she’s already broken more than a few commandments with the seductive Sector—as demons are prone to do.
“I just find it so hard to concentrate when the material is so—stimulating.” Chloe wiggles her boobs, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from making gagging noises.
Marshall’s mouth curves with devilish intent. “Mathematics can indeed be quite exciting when approached with the right mindset,” he replies, leaning over her desk in a way that gives her a perfect view of whatever cologne commercial he escaped from.
“Maybe Skyla could help me understand,” Chloe says suddenly, turning those wicked eyes my way with a smile that’s laced with venom. “She seems to have such a natural grasp of complex relationships.”
And there it is. Trust Chloe to turn a math problem into a commentary on my love life.
“I’m sure Ms. Messenger would be happy to share her insights,” Marshall frowns as he says it.
His eyes find mine with an intensity that makes the temperature in the room spike about ten degrees.
“She does have a talent for solving difficult equations, and yet in the process, creating a heck of a lot of work for herself.”
Ain’t that the truth.
I slide down in my seat a notch. I’ve never felt so seen.
“Actually,” I say out loud, giving Chloe my brightest manufactured smile, “I find that most problems work themselves out if you just give them enough time. No need to force solutions that aren’t ready to happen.
” I bite my lip as I glance at Gage, but he’s expertly ignoring everyone in the room now.
It seems as if my contagion is spreading.
Chloe’s eyes narrow slightly. “But sometimes waiting too long means missing your opportunity entirely. Don’t you think, Gage?”
I gasp at the thought. How dare she drag Gage into our verbal sparring match. He looks up from his notebook for the first time during class, those cobalt eyes meeting mine for exactly half a second before flitting away.
Wait a minute. Is Chloe somehow aware of the beef that Gage is having with me?
“Jock Strap,” Marshall bites the air as he says Gage’s abhorrent nickname. “What says you?”
“I think,” Gage says it flat as if he were indifferent if the room erupted in flames right about now, “that some equations are more trouble than they’re worth.”
My mouth falls open.
He. Did. Not.
“What the hell?” Logan mutters from behind.
Ouch. That one hits right in the heart. And in the uterus. What is he thinking? We’ve got triplets to make.
Okay, fine. He’s hurting. Badly. And once again, it’s all my fault. And well, partly Logan’s.
“Interesting perspective,” Marshall says, more than a little amused. “Although I’ve always found that the most challenging problems often yield the most rewarding solutions.”
The way he says it while looking directly at me makes my cheeks heat dangerously.
I think Marshall just entered the competition, Logan observes.
This is not a competition. This is a disaster with really good-looking participants.
I cringe a little because I didn’t mean to say that last bit to Logan.
Chloe’s smile turns predatory. “Some people prefer simpler math. Less chance of making mistakes.”
“And some people,” I counter, “prefer problems that actually challenge them instead of settling for basic addition.”
Wait, that’s not right. I so need to get back to Paragon proper. Where the hell is my mother, anyway? I’m too old, too tired, and apparently too hopped up on teenage hormones for this nonsense.
The bell rings before Chloe can respond, which is probably for the best since I was about two seconds away from saying something that would get me detention for the rest of my natural life.
Not that Marshall would give me such a menial punishment.
He’s known for his more creative, lusty punishments that most likely involve soft restraints.
Students start gathering their books and filing out, with the usual chaos of a class change taking over. Gage is up and moving before I can even think about approaching him, and he disappears out the door like smoke.
So much for our united front approach, Logan thinks as we pack up our stuff.
He’s really committed to this whole avoidance strategy, isn’t he?
Marshall appears next to my desk as the last students filter out, close enough that I can smell that dangerous cologne of his. “Ms. Messenger, a word?”
Logan raises an eyebrow but heads for the door. “I’ll see you in the hall.”
Once we’re alone, Marshall leans against his desk with that casual confidence that probably comes standard with supernatural powers and abs you could scrub your underwear on.
“Everything all right?” he asks, and for once his voice doesn’t carry any of that playful flirtation. “You seem tense.”
“Just the usual teenage drama,” I say, shouldering my backpack. “Nothing I can’t handle. After all, I’ve done it before.” I give a wry smile because I’m not exactly happy about it. “And I know how everything ends.”
“Mmm.” His amber eyes study my face like he’s reading a particularly interesting book. “And how’s that working out for you?”
I give him a look that could strip paint. “About as well as your teaching methods are working for Chloe’s education.”
Marshall gives a predatory smile. “Touché. Though I think Ms. Bishop’s education extends well beyond mathematics. And as an educator, I’m beholden to foster any and every scholastic opportunity.”
“Lucky her.” I make a face because we both know it’s Marshall who’s getting lucky.
“Indeed.” His lips curve with devilish intent.
“I’m going to give you some advice.” Marshall straightens, towering over me in a way that should be intimidating, but somehow he still feels like an equal—in the celestial sense anyway.
“For what it’s worth, some equations are worth the extra effort to solve.
Even when they seem impossible at first glance. ”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out if we’re still talking about math or if this is another one of those conversations wrapped in sexual metaphors, or if it’s advice straight to my heart regarding Gage Oliver. Not that I don’t know the answer.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say finally, heading for the door.
“Ms. Messenger?”
I turn back.
“The most elegant solutions are often the ones that account for all variables. Even the ones that seem contradictory.”
“Everything seems contradictory these days.”
I walk out of that classroom with my head spinning and knowing full well that Marshall just gave me advice that had absolutely nothing to do with algebra.
But as I watch Gage disappear around the corner without so much as a backward glance, I can’t help but think that some variables are far more stubborn than others.
Math never was my strong suit. A part of me wonders if I’m any better at love.
Knowing how everything ends doesn’t make the journey any less painful.