Page 24 of Marked By Moonlight

Claire looked up from her attendance folder and smiled warmly at Nina, a pretty, bright-eyed girl who had transferred early second semester. “?’Morning, Nina.”

Nina neared the podium and whispered conspiratorially, “Still looking hot, Miss Morgan. You gotta tell me who does your hair.”

Claire smiled, the girl’s syrupy sweet breath making her stomach growl. “I’ve got the business card in my purse. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” The peal of the first period bell shook the air.

“Okay.” Nina hesitated before taking her seat, her perfect white teeth gnawing her bottom lip. “Have you heard from Lenny?”

The question caught Claire off guard. She had convinced herself she was the only one who cared, the only one hoping to glance up and find him sitting in his seat like any other day.

“No, I haven’t.”

“He didn’t show up for his SAT.”

“I know,” she replied vaguely, inclined to keep Nina from worrying.

“Something’s not right, Miss Morgan.”

Claire hedged, dropping her gaze and bending the attendance folder in her hands. “I’m sure he will be back. Wait and see.”

Her stomach churned at dishing out such garbage. The same garbage Jill Tanners had spewed to her. The same garbage that had ticked Claire off and prompted the ill-fated trip to Lenny’s apartment.

“Last time I saw him, he just walked right on by. Like he didn’t even see me.”

Claire’s gaze shot back up, irrational hope hammering in her chest. “You saw him? When?”

“A couple weeks ago. At Woody’s. He was with these creepy-looking older guys. He walked past me without even saying hi.”

Claire’s shoulders slumped. Nina hadn’t seen Lenny. Not recently. Unable to think of a suitable reply, she gestured to Nina’s desk. “Let’s get started.”

Nina nodded and took her seat in the front. Claire sighed, sensing Nina’s disappointment and feeling she had somehow let her down. Just like Lenny. She pushed thoughts of Lenny aside, sealing him in the far corner of her mind. Finished checking roll, she placed the folder in the pocket outside her door just as Ray Bailey strolled into the room with his loping gait. He gave her his signature nod, indifferent to his tardiness.

“Ray, it’s Wednesday. Sure you’re supposed to be here?” she asked with an edge to her voice. A few of the students chuckled at her uncustomary sarcasm.

Ray showed up once a week, usually on Friday, to provide weekend party supplies for his clients. She wondered if hisbusiness—an enterprise of which the faculty and administration were well aware but lacked proof to stop—had brought him here today.

He answered with a shrug as he dropped his six-feet-plus frame into his seat in the back—no backpack, textbook, or writing instruments anywhere on his person.

Pointing to the blackboard, she began reviewing the day’s agenda aloud, stopping to glare at the back of the room where Ray engaged in a lively conversation with the boy in the row across from him.

Her silence finally drew his attention, and he gave her a belligerent glare of his own, lifting both eyebrows in challenge. But even in that glare, his confusion was unmistakable. Claire never bothered him. All year she had ignored his disruptions, finding it easier than confronting him. She had suffered his presence in her room, telling herself it was only once a week. Yet the sight of him lounging lazily at his desk, carrying on a conversation while she tried to teach, made her blood burn.

“What?” he sneered.

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Something snapped inside her and she heard herself say, “Waiting for you to shut up.”

The words flew out of her mouth at missile speed.

Dead silence filled the room. The voice of the teacher in the neighboring classroom seemed unnaturally loud through the partition wall. As did the squeaking wheels of the janitor’s cart somewhere amid the school’s halls.

The other students exchanged looks, some incredulous, some uneasy, all uncertain.

“What’d you say, bitch?” Ray demanded. The harsh rasp of his voice scratched the air, reverberating over the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

She moved from behind the podium and strode down the narrow aisle with predatory precision, stepping over backpacks and purses without once looking down. Heads swiveled to watch her progress to the back of the room.

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