Page 10 of Spiteful Lies
I finish the exam in twenty minutes, and my hand is aching from writing so fast, but I’m no fool. I sit there and trace over the letters on the page with my pen filling in lines I missed, crossing t’s and dotting i’s.
Pamela gets up first and hands in her midterm. She lingers at the desk, looking at Mr. Shapley and staring at him like she’s never seen an adult male up close before except for her dad. He looks at her and scowls.
“I…I…I…” she stutters helplessly as her cheeks turn a splotchy red.
“You what?” he glares, “The exams will be graded in a few days.”
She swallows hard. “I want to apologize for last class.”
Shapley looks confused as his badass attitude starts to deflate. His anger is the only protection he has against us. The more he hates us, the better he can keep us in line, but Pamela looks like a helpless maiden batting those big doe eyes. Someone snorts, and it isn’t me. I look behind me at Bryce, who looks amused while Charlotte rolls her eyes.
“The grades will be posted next class,” repeats Shapley.
Pamela nods, looking at the ground as she takes off out the door. Stumbling over her feet, she shuts the door behind her as if she’s being chased by a man. I shake my head. If this were Monarch, that would’ve been pathetic, and her ass would’ve been kicked after class. But, I must’ve changed because I don’t care one way or another.
“Ms. Bowen.” Shapley sees my eyes off my paper and tries to stare me down. The man doesn’t know the pecking order around here.
“It’s Howland.” I get up, grabbing my stuff and tossing my exam on top of Pamela’s. “My name is on the top of my test.”
He’s back to hating us again. I smirk at him, and Shapley knows there is no way I’m going to apologize for bailing out on him. Charlotte appears by my side and places her test neatly face down on the pile. She smiles at Shapley with those big blue eyes and works him like he’s a target. His jaw relaxes as he stares in a trance at Charlotte while she performs her glamour spell. Careful, boy, the siren is luring you toward the rocks.
“Mr. Shapley?” she asks in an innocent voice.
He grins like he has a chance. “Yes, Charlotte.”
“Will you be correcting our exams? Or will Prof. Getz correct them in his prison cell?”
Shapley gawks at Charlotte as if she’s just poked him in the chest with her long nail. She turns on her lavender high heels and saunters out the door. I hurry out behind her while Bryce races to the front, tossing his paper on the desk, and we’re gone. Our laughter echoes in the hallway as we head for the main door.
Chapter 9
Astrid
“Charlotte, you just don’t care, do you?” I gape at her newwhat the fuckattitude.
She frowns hard. “I told you that I didn’t. And I meant it. Why do I think about everyone else first and me dead last?” She stops on the steps leading out of the building. “Do I look like a person who cares what others think, or do I look like the type of person people want to impress?”
“The latter, of course,” replies Bryce, holding his arm out to Charlotte. She links her arm in his, and then he holds his other arm out for me. “This is how I’ve always pictured my life—a hot woman on each arm.” He tilts an eyebrow. “And double score for sisters?”
The smile slides off my face, but Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Is that your fantasy—a matching set?”
Bryce laughs as we walk toward the dining hall to wait there for our next class. He stops by the kitchen door and looks at me. “You think we could get it to go?”
I lean past him and knock, keeping an eye on Charlotte, who seems untouched by the conversation. She laughs and flirts with Bryce as I watch them have fun. They really do complement each other, and she needs him, especially now. The door swings open, and I step back quick as Gary glares at us.
“Hey, Gary, can I get a carb to go?” I ask him.
He scowls for a second, then steps back to let us in. “You know, Astrid, you worked hard, but you weren’t my best employee. Definitely not good enough to ask for free food.”
“Are you kidding me?” I frown. “My fees pay for the food. And I scrubbed those tables until they were clean enough to eat off of.”
“That’s called doing your job, young lady,” he replies, unimpressed.
Charlotte holds her hands behind her back, peering around at the busy kitchen as if she’s admiring animals in a zoo. She walks over to a counter and reaches up toward the pots hanging off a wire rack. Her fingertips gently touch the copper bottom of a frying pan.
“What’s this used for?” Charlotte laughs when my mouth drops open. “I’m only kidding, Astrid. It’s a pan for cooking things in.”
My heart sinks, and I can’t even pretend to laugh at her insane joke. What will happen to her in the real world without someone doing the dirty work for her? Charlotte has shown no interest in work or even a career. If she was interested in doing something she could be paid for, I wouldn’t feel this sense of foreboding. What is she going to do to support herself?