Page 3 of The Tenth Circle
I check the name on the tag of his blazer, since I can’t remember for shit what he said it was during the tour.
Archer.
Meh. Boring. Just like this school.
Bex is doing the chipper greeting as I begin examining my nails, but then I hear her introducing me, too, leaving me with no choice but to engage.
“Howdy.” I tell the Archer guy after she states my name.
Clearly the effort wasn’t enough for Archie Andrews because he continues conversing with Bex only.
Fine by me, at least until there’s a little white stick hanging from my lips stopping me from backhanding somebody.
I’m listening to them just enough to hear Bex mention having to use the bathroom, and when she stands she asks if I need to go too.
A piss stop would probably be a good idea, but I am due a bad one. “All good. I’ll be finding a place to hide so I can smoke a cigarette.”
Archer does not like this response. “And I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”
AndI’mgonna pretend I didn’t get forced to listen to him go on for over an hour about the history of all the amazing rich white men who founded this school.
They take off and I scan the area for the perfect escape, Mom sensing it immediately because she’s grilling me from four tables down.
“Really, Hendrix?” she hisses as I pass her and Nina, Bex’s mom.
“Really, June?” I retort, still moving. “It’s either this or I’m out.”
I can feel the eye roll like the beads of sweat at my neck.
There’s a door on the other side of the court, so I make my way over to it quickly, needing to enjoy my smoke indoors and out of this damn heat.
To my delight it’s unlocked, so I twist open the knob and squeeze inside, then close the door carefully behind me.
Looking around the dark room, I find sports equipment littering the floor, leaving me to assume it’s the storage area for the gymnasium.
Creepy, but at least it lacks the overcompensating redhead.
Spotting a small open window in a corner, I shuffle through the junk and step up onto a crate so I’m level with the glass to vent the smoke.
It’s a coming up for air moment when I pull the cigarettes from my bag—seconds passing before one is out of the pack,in my mouth, and lit, the smoke invading my lungs like the sweetest form of acid.
Morbid analogy, yes, but also kind of true.
I’m about two pulls in when the sound of scuffling makes me whip my head around, searching the shadows of boxes and gym stuff for signs of life.
The signs come in the form of whispers and moans.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I grumble under my breath. What is this? An actual episode ofRiverdale?
Who would have sex in a place like this?
My question is answered right after I flick my little friend out of the window, climbing down the crate and making my way over quietly to where the moans grow louder.
Sure enough, there they are, huddled on the floor behind a pile of boxes and desks, two horny imbeciles sucking face.
Correction.Threehorny imbeciles—and judging by the head bobbing up and down, faces aren’t the only body parts being sucked on.
I’m trying to get a glimpse of the guy, but since his back is to me and it’s dark in here, it’s impossible. The only decent view I’m given is the silhouette of what may be a blonde kissing him and the bobbing head of hair.
