Page 18 of Keep Me Never
One page.
Two pages.
Five pages, and my head is about to explode.
I have to know.
One peek at the clock and I see we’re thirty-five minutes in.
Focus, Chase.
Chewing my lip, I reread the question, managing to get through all of the multiple choice. I set my Scantron aside and flip to the final page, reading over the instructions for the written portion.
Two options.
I scan option one, and sit up a little straighter. I fucking know this.
This is straight from the passage I focused on this morning, just hoping I managed to choose right.
I smile at the page, excited by how clear the information is in my head.
I put pen to paper, determined to get a near perfect score on this section at least.
My thoughts and explanation pour out of me. I’m halfway through all the beats of the breakdown he asked for when a few people stand, making their way toward the front of the room.
They turn in their papers and head for the door, and I lock onto the exit.
They weave out and no little hand wraps around the frame, attempting to slip in. No one stands just outside, peeking in.
Shit, what if she never did make it?
She could be stranded somewhere, alone.
My eyes snap to Professor Michaels, and I slip my phone from between my thighs.
I hold my breath, my anxiety spiking as I type as quickly as possible, gaze snapping back and forth from the front of the room to my phone. The moment I hit Send, some of the tension leaves me and I lower the phone back between my thighs.
There, now I?—
“Your exam, young man.”
My head yanks up, along with every other, to find Professor Michaels standing at the end of my aisle, his hand outstretched. Everyone has paused to stare, their gazes slicing from him to me.
“I said no books and no phones. I hope you finished your exam because your time is up.” Instantly, my skin starts to heat.
“Sir—”
“Please grab your things and make your exit as quietly as possible.”
Fuck.
Shit.
All I can do is listen, my phone vibrating in my back pocket the moment I slide it in there.
Descending the steps with my head hanging, I make my way to his desk, depositing my things and my half-finished essay—a surefire fucking F.
“You’re on the football team, correct, Mister”—he looks to my Scantron—“Harper?”
