Page 6 of The Prom Queen Project
Glancing over at Elliot, his brows were furrowed. With one hand, he rubbed his forehead while the other was white-knuckling his pencil. The tattoos on his arms were just barely peeking out beneath his partially scrunched-up sleeves. A glint of light on the side of his head caught my eye. That’s when Inoticed the diamond stud and a small black gauge in his earlobe.How had I not noticed that before?
The sound of a hollow clank emanated through the room. My pencil had fallen onto the floor. I looked down at the pencil and then back up at Elliot. He was staring at me.Fuck.I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.
“You good?” he whispered while reaching down to retrieve my fallen pencil.
I nodded because apparently I’d lost my ability to speak.
There was a slight flutter in my chest as the heat rushed to my cheeks and spread across my skin.Crap.He caught me ogling him…annndI was still staring. Before embarrassment swallowed me whole, I stretched out my hand and took my pencil from his hand. Our fingers touched briefly, eliciting a jolt of electricity to shoot through my hand. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he just shocked me, but I doubt that’s what it really was.
Jesus, get a grip, Clarke.
Bowing my head, I began scribbling nonsense on my paper to try to avoid suspicion. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. He was still looking at me. I shivered. Five poorly concocted sentences later, and I could still feel his eyes on me.
I swung my head in his direction. “Can I help you or something?”
He arched his brow while shushing me and pointing a finger at Mrs. Hawthorne, who was lost in whatever the hell book she was reading. I squinted, trying to make out the words on the cover.The Doctorby Nikki Sloane.Wasn’t that an erotic novel?
In a hushed voice, he asked, “So, you can stare at me, but I can’t stare at you?”
“Just shut up and do your work.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
God, of all people, why did I have to be stuck here with him? I guess he was being honest when he said that getting detention was an art form to him, because how the hell did he even manage to get in trouble so fast anyway?
“Psst! What are you writing about?”
“My goals, dude.”
“Cheerleading goals?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“None of your business,” I said quietly while shooting a glance at Mrs. Hawthorne.
“Just tell me.”
“Shh. Do your work.”
He leaned his torso toward me, pulling his upper body close to my desk as he lessened the distance between us and squinted down at my essay. I wrapped my arms around my paper in an attempt to form a barrier between him and my work.
“Oh, come on,” he whined, scooting even closer to me.
My annoyance was at an all-time high, and before I was able to bite my tongue, I instinctively shouted, “Knock it off!”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s neck snapped up, her seething glare forcing us into silent submission. “Hey, you two!” she snapped. “Quiet. This is not a gossip session! Do your work. This is your only warning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
I almost choked on my own spit. Did he just call her, ‘sir?’ The space between her eyelids thinned even more as she stared at Elliot.
I bit my inner cheek.
Man, this lady may be old and small, but damn she’s intimidating.
