Page 96 of Swallow Your Sorries

“You didn’t reserve a spot in the lab, so why are you even here?”

“I have detention,” I say in bewilderment. “I’m supposed to clean the third floor.”

Ms. El-Agha relaxes her lemon-sucking expression in exchange for a confused one.

“No one has detention with me tonight. And if they did, it’s seldom on the third floor. There’s hardly any foot traffic up here. If anything, you’d be on the first floor.”

“B-but, I got a red card from Mr Sharpe with implicit instructions—”

“Mr. Sharpe hasneverscheduled a detention with me. He makes students help him in his beloved, carnivorous greenhouse.” The way she says it lets me know she certainly doesn’t have any love for it.

“But—”

“Clean this up.Now. Then get out. The tech department will have to look at the computer tomorrow. If it’s unfixable, the school will bill it to your parents.”

My stomach churns and clenches. “My mother can’t afford to pay for something like that.”

“Then she can’t afford to have a liar as a daughter either. But here you are and on a scholarship to boot. Follow me.”

I bite my tongue so hard blood fills my mouth as I glare at the back of her fuzzy, wavy sandy blonde hair and follow her out of the lab, past dead-to-me Enaj, and to the small broom closet nestled between the lab and the bathroom.

I watch stoically as she pulls out a mop bucket and broom and shoves them at me before turning on her heel and disappearing down the stairs with promises to file the report about the computer, right at that second.

But as I watch her leave, and I glance at her side profile, I finally realise where I know her from.

She’s the woman in Mr. Lexington’s Instagram photo kissing his cheek while he looks headlong into the camera.

At first, I couldn’t fault his lack of attraction to Ms Trix. But now that I’ve met the bitchy librarian, I know that his dating tastes still suck ass cheeks, regardless.

But more thoughts than a potential four-figure bill and teacher’s dating drama bombard me.

Someone had pranked me. Lured me to the library and I don’t need three clues and a fucking notebook and crayon to figure out who.

Gant Auclair’s smug face floats to the forefront of my brain that’s already pulsing with an impending migraine.

He’d pranked me. Lured me here. But why?

And why had Enaj been so bloody unhelpful?

Why am I so angry at Enaj when everyone has treated me like dog shit ever since I arrived? Why did I think Enaj would be any different?

Maybe because I saw myself in her and I know if the tables were turned, I’d have stood up for her. But Enaj isn’t me. She isn’t a glutton for punishment in the name of justice that’ll never come. I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to stay out of Rin’s burn book.

Still, my anger deserved or not rears its head as I mop up the puddle.

“You know,” I say after three minutes of dead silence. “Rin wouldn’t have helped you.”

Enaj doesn’t spare me a glance as she types up her essay. “She already did.”

Elle

Five minutes later, when the mop is full and so is my despisal for both Rin and Enaj, I slip into the bathroom with the filthy mop water I’d soaked up and head for a toilet to flush it.

But two steps in and I’m stopped by sobs filling the tiny space. The kind that wracks your soul so heavily that you’re mostly just hyperventilating.

I know better than to call out. The last thing I want is for anyone to see me cry. Not publically anyway.

As I dump the water, flush, and head to the sink to wash my hands, I spot a shoe underneath the stall in the mirror’s reflection. Immediately I know it’s Stassi. She must have twenty different pairs of black loafers, but most of them have cute little charms running across the toes or above the heel and these do. This pair seemed to be her favourite, with shooting golden stars.

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