Page 26 of The Forbidden Note

It’s a scary, sinister game.

I learned very quickly not to show any signs of weakness. In that sense, Redwood has already changed me. Who’s to say if it’s for the worse or the better?

Musical chimes ring out.

I inhale deeply, enjoying the shift in energy as students make a frantic dash for the classrooms.

In a moment, the crowd is gone.

I take my time as I stroll, not ready to go to class yet. As a teacher, that’s my only privilege.

Redwood is particularly stunning today. Sunshine splashes over gleaming wooden statues. The hint of furniture cleaner and a light lemony fragrance fills the air, dragging my memories back to the days when I was more acquainted with the janitor’s closet than any other room.

I can appreciate the school for its beauty—now that I’m not the one preserving that grand display. Giant arched ceilings tower overhead. Delicate windows let in tons of sunlight. I look through them and see the elegantly maintained lawn.

Money. Pretention. Secrets.

It flows through this building’s veins.

Lockers mounted against the wall and the students in uniforms are the only indication Redwood serves a higher purpose. Everything about the architecture feels distant, like a cold cathedral.

I almost laugh. Redwood Prep may have the face of an ancient church, but the acts committed within these walls are far from holy.

My classroom is up ahead. I screech to a stop when I see Zane sitting in the back row. His blue eyes lock on mine, piercing me through the glass.

Unholy secrets.

I have a few of my own to toss on the Redwood Prep altar.

Heels clicking against the ground, I saunter into the classroom and set my purse on the desk.

“Good morning.” Carefully looking away from Zane, I face my students. “Romeo and Juliet. Did anyone read the assigned chapters this weekend?”

Every hand shoots up.

I’m not surprised.

I run a tight ship. The students sitting in these chairs haveearnedthe right to be there. They care about school, about college, about their futures.

My eyes slide past the raised arms until I get to Zane. He’s slouched in the back, the only one without his arm up.

I’ve done everything I can to try and kick him out of my class, but he’s still here, skating by and giving the least amount of effort.

My voice quivers. “Good. Let’s begin.”

As I turn and write on the board, I feel Zane’s perusal.

His heavy gaze is a relentless reminder of that night.

That mistake.

That pleasure.

I turn back around, my palms sweaty.

Zane’s still watching.

Taunting me with those sea blue eyes.

---