Page 32 of Riot Rules
Her jaw hits the floor for the second time today. This time, my jaw joins hers. Pres stares down at her food, her neck and chest turning a splotchy red. “What the…?” Mara gasps.
“Have you asked shit aboutme?” he asks. “Do you know one thing aboutmethat you’ve learned through a conversation we’ve had, where you were trying to get to know me?”
Mara flusters.
“Because the texts you’ve sent me are borderline pornographic. Not really polite chit-chat. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. I love a good picture of a cunt as much as the next guy—”
Mara rockets up out of her seat, twin circles of humiliation staining her cheeks. Her bottom lip wobbles in a troubling way that spells tears. “What is it, pick on Mara day? You’re disgusting. I sent that to you in private!”
Wren remains devoid of any and all emotion. He downs another mouthful of coffee. “Not smart, sending intimate photos of your body to guys you hardly know.”
“You sent me a photo of your dick!” Mara’s officially crossed the line into hysteria: population one. “If I’m not smart for sending you a nude, then what does that makeyou?”
He flashes her a wolfish smile. “That was actually Mark Wahlberg’s dick. I found it on the internet.”
“Who the hell is Mark Wah—oh my God!” Mara storms away from the table, leaving her phone, and her bag, and her Waldorf salad behind.
Wren watches her go with a sociopathic level of apathy. He does look disappointed when he tries to take another swig of coffee and he realizes that his takeaway cup is empty, though. He sets it down on the table and turns his attention back to me again. “So. Where are you from again?”
Holy fucking hell. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Why on Earth would you want to know that?”
“Dash has been pretty pally with you recently. I figured it’d be nice if I got to know a little more about you, too. Since one of my best friends has taken an interest in you, y’know?”
This has to be some sort of joke. “Dash hasnotbeen pally with me, believe me. And the way you just spoke to Mara was fucking hideous. You see that, right? Go away!”
He just smiles.
Smiles, and walks away.
Presley clears her throat. “This might not be the best time to bring this up…but I gotta say, I always feelsoinvisible when this kind of shit goes down.”
* * *
‘On edge’ doesn’t come close to describing my mood for the rest of the afternoon. I’m agitated. Antsy. Neurotic. Panicked. And not because Wren Jacobi was kind of rude to me. I have way more important things to be worried about.
I suffer my way through History and Spanish. Dash isn’t in either of those classes, which is great and also really inconvenient at the same time, because I dread seeing him but I also really need to speak to him more and more with every passing second. Luckily, I know where he’s going to be once my final class of the day lets out. While all of my fellow classmates surge for the exits, thrilled that it’s a Friday and they’re allowed off academy grounds, I am the only fool trying to make their way to the library.
Mrs. Lambeth is closing up when I arrive. In the process of trying to finesse the lock on the door, the elderly librarian jumps when I appear on the other side of the glass. “Lord in Heaven above, child. I damn near screamed. What on Earth are you doing, leaping out on a person like that?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lambeth. I wanted to get a head-start on my assignments. If I get them all done now, I’ll be free to enjoy my weekend.” Technically, the library’s supposed to stay open until six p.m. during the week, but it’s rare that any of us use it once the bell goes. We have online access to most of the material we need for our homework, and desks to study at in the privacy of our own rooms. Plus, the library is supposedly super freaking haunted, and I’ll admit to being highly creeped out here once it gets dark.
Mrs. Lambeth is not impressed. “I’m cataloguing new additions, Miss Mendoza. You come in and it’ll be midnight before I get around to it.”
“You can catalogue! I’ll be reading and researching, I swear. It’s just me. I don’t need a babysitter. What trouble could I possibly get myself in?”
She harumphs. “Funny you should ask. Joseph Quentin used academy computers to pay for methamphetamine onthedark weblast month.”
For fuck’s sake. If she doesn’t let me into the library, it won’t be the end of the world, but it will mean that I’ll have to wait an extra hour and a half to get answers. I don’t think I can wait that long. My head will explode, and the custodians will be mopping up brain matter from the floor if I’m forced to tolerate this level of anxiety for much longer.
The librarian grumps, peering at me through the coke-bottle lenses of her readers. “I can’t trust anyone on the computers, child. Not if I can’t keep an eye on you. I need to make sure you’re not ordering the methamphetamines.”
I don’t think she even knows what meth is; she sure as shit doesn’t want me buying any of it. Not on her watch. I give her what I hope is a winning smile. “I don’t need to use a computer. I need a quiet place to work and space to spread my books out. That’s it.”
She thinks on this. Against all the odds, she turns the end of the brass key poking out of the lock to the right, opening the door instead of locking it. “If I hear one peep out of you, child, there’ll be hell to pay. I can’t catalogue if there’s any kind of tomfoolery going on.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won’t even hear me breathe.”
It’s Wolf Hall policy that anyone who gets detention has to present themselves at the library after the last class of the day to atone for their sins. Personally, I’ve never been given a detention slip, so I’ve never had to suffer the indignity of sitting at ‘The Naughty Table,’ as Mrs. Lambeth and the other two decrepit librarians refer to it. I know precisely where it is and who will be sitting at it today, though.
