Page 10 of The Tenth Circle
I still have no idea who the stranger was that I almost got down and dirty with two weeks ago in that stupid oversized closet. Right after the question fiasco, the smoke cleared and judgment reared its ugly head, leaving me to hightail it out of there while I still had a sliver of my dignity intact.
I could hear the asshole laughing from behind as I left, once again back to the playful version of his unstable disposition.
Playing it cool when things aren’t is something I’ve always been an expert at. Which is why, when I met up with Bex and Archer, there was no sus on their part when I explained the need for two cigarettes and another granola bar.
Expertise rolled over the days leading up to today, but not now that I’m here, knowing the stranger who seduced me during orientation could be roaming the same halls. I’ve been flirting hard with paranoia since the moment Bex and I stepped into the academic wing of the building.
Luckily, Bex seemed too distracted with her own jitters to notice mine. But my jitters have turned to fear knowing the next class has neither her or Carrot Top to keep me company.
Ignoring the dirty looks, I pass the threshold into the classroom I’ll be spending the year trying not to gag on. Algebra ?.
There’s some old man sitting at the desk as I make my way to the seats, too busy squinting through bifocals to notice the room filled with students.
There’s a couple empty desks left in the back, which comes as a breath of fresh air as I keep my sights ahead, ignoring the locals taking in the shiny new toy.
I park my ass next to some guy with his back half to me in a Letterman and backwards Yankee hat, busy whispering somethingcolorfulin the redhead’s ear next to him.
And judging by the way her fresh manicured nails are dancing the Tango up his arm, we’re talking neon status.
What the hell is in the water these eliter’s drink?
At least the public schoolers try to be discreet.
You know, consequences and all that.
An idea I’m sure is unfamiliar to these pricks.
It isnotunfamiliar to me, especially now.
Still, I mind my business like the good closet freak that I am.
Because this freak isn’t a stupid one. She knows anything more than a judgmental eye roll could ruin her plans to stay hidden inside the figurative closet—the one filled with her secrets, lies, and crazy guys she can’t forget.
I take a quick glance around, hoping all the beauty and privilege exhausting the air in this room isn’t his. It’s been a couple minutes of searching and I’m still breathing, so color me convinced he’s not here.
I’m already outlining Thor’s head on my sketch pad when the old man in front of the room clears his throat.
“Good morning and welcome to a new school year.” His glasses fall down the bridge of his nose so he lifts them with the tip of finger. “You all know who I am, so I’ll be skipping the introductions.”
I bury myself deeper into the desk and continue drawing, since I’d rather stab myself repeatedly in the eye with one of redheads' pointy nails than risk correcting anyone when they believe I don’t exist.
But…good things never last, do they?
Because not long after that the pace sets forme, old man, and Letterman.
Our cycle begins promptly with a lot of “going over’s”.
Old man—the syllabus.
Letterman’s hand—the redhead's thigh.
Me—the details of Thor’s hammer.
Hammer…which is NOT in the shape of Letterman’s fingers sliding under the redhead’s skirt.
I inhale a long breath then release it unsteady, the cycle already deepening into psychological warfare.
Old man starts talking classroom expectations, Letterman starts talking more sweet nothings in redhead’s ear, and I start talking myself out of jumping through a window.
