Page 16 of The Tenth Circle
But it’s not aimed at me anymore so I’ll allow it.
Preston looks around, then whispers, “But if you ask me, Hendrix, he’s way more like a sinner than a saint.”
I’ve been standingin the godforsaken miniature wedding hall for over ten minutes waiting for Bex to show up. She had a nasty encounter in English class earlier, similar to the one I had in Algebra, involving a member of “Annalie’s” bitch squad.
I may or may not have squeezed more info out of Preston about the redhead, whose name is fitting for such a basic bitch.
Both encounters had rumors spreading like wildfire throughout the halls, but it was Bex who received the brunt of the blowback because she’s a fish out of the California ocean. All lies, but I guess truth doesn’t matter to privileged cunts.
Speaking of wildfire and privilege, other than a glimpse in the hallway, I haven’t had to share any other class with Saint…which is good because my nerves couldn’t handle another minute of facing him.
It’s abundantly clear this year will not be pleasant for me or Bex, and I’m more than okay with that because my knuckles could use a little exercise. But I doubt Bex, in all her sweet innocence, has ever gotten her hands dirty on anything. Let alone blood and bone.
I look for Archer and notice he isn’t in the room. My guess is he’s escorting Bex to the dining hall.
Checking the time on my phone, five minutes have passed, so I shoot Bex another text to see where she’s at.
I get nothing.
With a low grumble I shove the phone back in my pocket, ready to make my way to the buffet because I’m hungry as shit. That’s when the door opens and in comes my friend, looking like a lost lamb in the woods.
“There you are!” I stomp over to Bex, squeezing my hands around the straps of my backpack. “What the hell took you so long?”
“I forgot a book in class,” she lies, terribly.
Bumping her shoulder, I say, “I was about to send out a search party, yo.”
“Did somebody say party? Because it’s here, baby!” Archer’s voice bellows out behind us, then arms wrap around our shoulders.
He offers her a squeeze. “You good, Bex? Heard there was an incident in the bathroom.”
Oh, fuck to the no.
I narrow my eyes on them both. “What incident?”
“It was nothing, the door jammed.” She tries to brush it off, and for her ego’s sake I let it go.
We make our way through the tremendous venue of a cafeteria, and all I can think of is how much it must’ve cost to renovate it into Hogwarts’ Great Hall.
Archer is mouthing off about the variety of meals, as if we don’t have eyes to see there’s cuisine available from every fucking country around the world.
We approach the Asian station, where Archer grabs a tray and points to the sesame chicken. “You have to try the Chinese food. It’s the shit.”
Sold.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I pick up a tray, signaling to the server that I want the same.
Bex is next to us in Italy, ordering herself a plate of spaghetti. Once our trays are filled, Archer grabs a few water bottles as we make our way toward the tables.
Which are crowded with a variety of people.
A mix of cultures, social standing, and lifestyle preferences.
Nerds, jocks, even gothic witch types.
All perfect personalities to make up a school for wizards and black magic.
My sights catch the table in the back next toThe Craftcrew, and my stomach immediately dips as if driving too fast down a steep hill.
