Page 67 of Royal Havoc

“Awww, our first date,” I mock, hiding the butterflies bashing at my insides.

“I’ll pick you up. Don’t make me chase you,” he warns before ending the call.

As if I don’t already have enough shit distracting me. Please add another layer to the garbage cake I’ve been picking through all day.

The gate moves slower than a snail, leaving me what seems like hours to stare off into space, gaining nothing but more confusion and annoyance.

Today sucks assholes!

Cars litter the parking lot, reminding me there are athletes who want to hang around after school hours.

I’m surprised to find Mr. Brickman leaning against the row of senior lockers, scrolling on his phone. It’s amazing how easily he could be mistaken for a student.

His head pops up at the sound of my footsteps. “Hey, you made it,” he greets me, smiling as he shoves his phone in his pocket. “I grabbed us a table in the back,” he tells me, leading me into the library.

We take our seats, and my eyes instantly begin to scan the rows of books around us. I notice he’s chosen a spot in the horror section.

Slowly, I shake off my nerves, busying myself with pulling my stuff out of my bag. “Gotta say, it’s odd interviewing a teacher,” I confess jokingly, hoping to break the weird atmosphere clustered around us.

He tilts his head, lacing his hands calmly on the table. “Why? Teachers are people, too.”

“Not usually people I want to get to know.”

A smile slips over his plump lips. “But I’m different?”

Embarrassment heats my skin when I realize what I’ve said. “Mmhmm.” Fidgeting with my pen, avoiding him.

“Different, good or bad?” he asks, brows raised.

Releasing a breath. “I’m gonna act right and not answer that,” I tell him, opening my notebook. “Anyways, where’s this hill you’re from in West Virginia?” I ask, hiding the nerves from my voice.

“Devil Ridge,” he answers quickly.

For a teacher, he smells amazing.

Noticing he’s not going to elaborate. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” he answers easily, resting his head on his fist.

Wow, I’d have guessed twenty-five. He looks…

Quickly, I stop my racing thoughts. “Is there a Mrs. Brickman?” my voice cracks, setting my cheeks on fire.

“No,” he answers, straightening in his seat.

“Wait, is that a tattoo?” I ask, genuinely interested in seeing his choice of ink.

He tugs his sleeve, pulling it down to his wrist to cover his forearm. “Next,” he says, lacing his hands.

Now, I really want to know what he literally has hidden up his sleeve. I start to doodle on my paper, thinking about what to ask next to get us back on track.

“My turn,” he says. “What’s with you and Carver? I thought he and Graves were a done deal?” he asks.

My eyes snap up to meet his. “Vex and I have known each other our whole lives.” I shrug.

Mr. B nods slowly. “Right. He’s kind of an —”

“Asshol…” my voice dies off, and I bite my lip.

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