Page 52 of Satan's Spawn
Both of our gazes rise to find Lawrence, the monitor who found Craytonliterallyconfining me to a wall, and his bored expression has Headmaster Beaumont clearing his throat.
“Isn’t that right, Lawrence?”
Lawrence’s eyes blink rapidly as his focus shoots from the wall to the gray haired man in front of me. “Uh, sir?”
“You will follow Miss Dawson to her locker and check for damage.”
What he really means is validity, but what’s the use in trying to argue? He’s made his stance clear and it isn’t with me.
It’s with that psycho.
“Of course, sir.” Lawrence offers a quick smile.
“Well, since this is your first offense, Miss Dawson, I will let it slide. But cutting class will not be tolerated in Riverside, nor will private meetings with male students in the stairways.”
The bathrooms must be the exception.
I nod, even though I’m mentally cursing his one sidedness. “Of course, sir. It won’t happen again. I take my studies very seriously, as I do with my enrollment in this school.”
“Very well, because I’d hate to see a very bright student like yourself lose sight of your future for a few moments alone with a boy. Especially since Riverside prides itself on our young ladies’ ability to uphold their respectability.” Headmaster Beaumont stands, gesturing to the door, signaling that the conversation is over.
The young ladies respectability.WOW. Talk about double standards.
How the hell is Archer an extension of this archaic mentality?
Without another word on the subject, I stand and force a tight smile. “Thank you for your leniency, sir.”
He waves me off. “Next time will not be as lenient, Miss Dawson.”
Not to worry, because there will be no next time.
Lawrence is quiet as we make our way to my locker, and I want to scream at him for keeping his mouth shut the way he did when Beaumont was accusing me of being the damn aggressor in this situation.
Anyone with eyes could see that Crayton was antagonizing me. But I guess the truth and safety of the female students pales in comparison to the cavalier assholes swinging dicks between their legs.
I should’ve known I was doomed to fail when Crayton pulled him over to the side and started whispering in his ear.
We’re almost at my locker when Lawrence runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair. “Look—” The guy tries to speak but stops, probably deciding against whatever it was he was going to say.
Good, because nothing can justify ignoring the position he found me in with Crayton. Lawrence is a grown ass man, at least early thirties. He should be ashamed of himself.
“Here,” I snap, pointing to my locker without a glance, then lean my shoulder against the one next to it.
“I don’t see the problem.”
Is he kidding me right now?
My frustration with him has me reaching blindly for the lock. “I told you, someone painted—” My eyebrows knit together as I register the unusual shape of it.
Square instead of round.
What the heck?
My gaze shoots to the metal in my hands, which is not only free of paint, but free of a combination spinner all together. It has a keypad.
My mouth falls open as Lawrence raises an eyebrow.
“There’s nothing wrong with your lock, Rebecca.”
