Page 44 of Web of Lies
He sighs, smoothing a hand over his unruly light blonde locks, taking his eyes away from mine again. He stalls for a few more seconds, giving my eyes time to wander around the room.
It’s sparsely decorated, besides the lone family photo hanging on the plain white walls, there’s nothing else. No paintings or accents, only boring white walls. The lone picture is what I assume is of him and his family on Christmas. A bright smile curls one of their lips with three other boys surrounding him in the photo, making it hard to figure out which one he is. Two older boys, maybe seven years old, and nine years old. Beside them sits a tiny three-year-old, and a smaller toddler. All sport the same blonde hair, gleeful smiles, and unwrapped presents. Ah—the joys of Christmas morning.
I tilt my head again, staring at the older woman in the background. She’s a slight blur, not the focus, but she’s there, nonetheless. With white hair and glasses on the tip of her nose, a tiny cigarette rests between her fingers with terse lines lining her face. It’s like she’s displeased, eyeing the four boys who are the focal point of the picture.
“Miss Cole,” I bring my full attention back to the man in front of me.
“Mr. Shaw.” I nod, aiming for respect, and folding my hands over my lap. His brown eyes bore into me, trying to get a read, but he flusters again.
“It has come to my attention through several complaints, you have made an art project out of your apartment door.” My eyebrows raise as he slides an official-looking paper towards me. “It is against school rules and considered vandalism to deface school property in such a manner.” The piece of paper finally makes its way in front of me, spelling out everything I need to know.
Without thinking, per my usual, I spout the first thing that comes to mind. “You realize I didn’t do it, don’t you?” I eye him, inspecting the tick in his jaw, and the hardness in his eyes. “But I’m guessing by the five hundred dollar fine you’ve put in place, you or these complainers don’t really care if it was me. Furthermore, you won’t look into the security tapes displaying that I am in fact innocent. Will you? I’m just someone to blame. Or someone is forcing this upon you.” Oh no. Oh boy. Why does my mouth always get ahead of my brain before it has time to fully comprehend what I should say?
I swallow hard as his eyes harden more, staring daggers into my head. They’ve gone from brown to almost solid black. There’s a demon sitting in front of me now, his horns out, ready to attack for my tongue lashing. I wish I could get my impulses under control for once. Sometimes a cat really needs to hold my tongue—for like forever.
“Miss Cole, I will not be spoken to in that tone of voice. The decision is final. I will expect you to pay the five-hundred-dollar fee for damages, and I have sent your parents an email regarding your vandalism. And I will send another one regarding your attitude. If you have any more to say, I’d be happy to escort you straight to detention for the rest of the day.” I roll my lips together and nod, trying to keep my eyes straight forward instead of rolling into the back of my head.
“I apologize,” I whisper, but by his hardened eyes, he’s not buying it. That’s okay. I don’t care if he buys it. I’d rather bite a rattlesnake than truly apologize for doing nothing but sticking up for myself.
“Then you’re dismissed.” He waves a hand, dismissing me as fast as he accused me two minutes before. So much for innocent until proven guilty, they’ve proven nothing. Nothing but the fact I’m a scapegoat. Hurray! Not.
His eyes drop back down to the paperwork stacked neatly together. I glower at him, trying to burn the hair from his scalp with my mind control powers. Well—if this was a fantasy novel and I could do such a thing, I would. In fact, this entire establishment would have burned to the ground five days ago, reducing it to ashes but I can’t exactly do that either.
I stuff my stupid fine into my backpack and head to my locker. On the way out the door, I make a quick call to my father, explaining the fine, and how ridiculous it is. He agrees to my complaint, but pays it anyway with his usual grumbles, vowing to further discuss it with Shaw. But he believes in my innocence, and that’s the most important part to me. I’ve read books where the parents are assholes and constantly demean their children in these situations, so I’m thankful my parents care about me.
Over and over, I try to wrap my mind around my meeting with Mr. Shaw. This is bullshit, such utter, unbelievable bullshit. A fine for someone else painting my door. Ugh. I doubt they even investigated the video footage.
As soon as I hit the hallway where my locker is located, I stop dead. What is that? Did something die? I look up, inspecting the drop ceilings. Nothing seems amiss, but here in this school, I have to keep my guard up.
My nose wrinkles at the nauseating stench wafting down the corridor. The farther down the hall I get, the worse the scent is. It fills the air with nothing but it. Thick. Powerful. Stomach-turning. Gag-inducing. Yuck. Bile sits in the back of my throat. Every student has their uniform top covering their noses, eyes darting around, trying to find the culprit responsible.
My stomach drops into my butt when their eyes drift toward a certain locker—my locker. Great. I take a hesitant step, looking behind me, and all around. In the back of my mind, I hear that Run song on repeat. And boy do I wish I had listened to it instead of walking towards it like a lamb to slaughter.
Kids form a ring around my locker, snickering and pointing. My breaths halt inside my lungs, unable to come out again. Precious toilet paper hangs from every crease in my locker, bursting out the sides and in the tiny slits on top. But the worst part is, the closer I get to my locker, the stronger the smell gets.
“Looks like you missed some!” A note says on the outside of my locker, making a sigh rock through my body. How pathetic.
“So clever, ha-ha,” I say aloud to no one in particular.
“Did you shit in your locker too?” A deep, humor-filled voice says from beside me.
I recognized Trent from Hadley’s FlashGram immediately. Don’t think about his tiny wiener, don’t think about it—ah damn it. Too late. He stalks towards me with a menacing smile on his face and his arms crossed. His long brown hair hangs near his shoulders in perfect beach waves, framing his model-like cheekbones. His body is lean, but his uniform clings to his muscles perfectly.
Truly, if he were a cartoon character, his smile would take up his entire evil face. He’d be the villain for sure. “Jesus, after your accident yesterday, you’d think you’d learn!” He wrinkles his nose in disgust, leaning into the locker nearest to mine.
From here, I can make out the blue of his eyes, but I don’t let that fool me. Evil shadows lurk in the deep recesses of his eyes, proving to me, I need to stay away from him. He points a finger towards my locker and rolls his eyes. Everyone around us snickers at his stupid joke like he’s the world’s best comedian. Honestly, the only thing I can think about while staring at him is the photo burned into my brain from yesterday. Gag. I think I need some brain bleach.
I tilt my head and stare at my locker again. I don’t really need anything out of it, because I took all my books for studying the night before. Knowing my luck, I’d get a fine for this too, and probably will. Poor maintenance, their crew has to be working overtime. I could open it in front of all these kids, but I’m certain whoever’s shit is inside will roll out the second the door opens. Ew—someone shit in my locker. Not going to happen today. Never. Locker? What locker? It’s dead to me now.
I purse my lips, moving my eyes to the different numbers on the lockers. “Oh well, that’s not mine,” I say with a shrug, turning on the ball of my feet. I make it about two steps before Trent has more idiotic things to say.
“Yes, it is! We made sure it was.” I smirk, looking over my shoulder at Trent ‘s paling face and tense muscles. He looks around at the other kids and relief spills through his eyes. Almost like—he didn’t want people to hear him. I wonder why?
I walk away again. I have a class to get to and I have zero time to deal with bullies. Whatever their games are, I’ll figure it out. As I walk through the classroom door, I notice the absence of my seat. Again. No desk for me or a replacement. My eyes drift to the teacher, his eyes still refuse to meet mine.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say as politely as I can. “Am I going to get another desk—or?” His body stiffens, beady eyes pouring over the other students present in the room, already sitting in their comfy desks. Visibly swallowing a large lump in his throat, he shakes his head at me.
“No,” he states, looking back down at his paperwork like he can’t talk to me.
