Page 82 of Burning Embers
KD’s cheeks redden with shame—she truly is too good for this world—while Ashlinn merely cocks an eyebrow.
“You need something?” she asks.
Ansel turns towards me. “May I speak with you for a second, Isabella?”
I wince at the use of my full name before reluctantly agreeing.
Ansel leads me towards the supply closet we keep the cameras and other equipment in. I notice Mr. Remington watching us, and his eyes narrow into slits when Ansel leads me inside the musty room.
“I want to make sure you know how to use the equipment before the game tomorrow night,” Ansel explains absently as he flicks on the light, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.
When I step inside, the door automatically swings shut behind us, but I don’t feel scared. Despite KD and Ashlinn’s jokes, I know Ansel won’t truly hurt me. He’s just a rich boy with a superiority complex who doesn’t know how to have a conversation with another person.
Besides, even if he tried something, I’m confident I can take him down.
Ansel thrusts a camera at my chest and then proceeds to teach me how to use it. It seems simple enough, though I know I’m going to forget all of the settings by the time of the game tomorrow.
Ansel must read something on my face because he blows out a breath and says, “We can practice tomorrow during class.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” I turn the camera over in my hands and offer him an awkward smile.
He doesn’t return my smile, but I swear his eyes soften. Just a bit. “No, thankyoufor volunteering?—”
Before he can finish whatever he’s trying to say, the door to the closet is flung open, and an angry Mr. Remington glaresdown at us. I thought the older man was perpetually happy—one of those guys who never gets bothered by anything.
Apparently, I was wrong.
“From now on, we keep the closet dooropenat all times. You hear me?” Mr. Remington snarls, his narrow-eyed stare never leaving Ansel’s face.
Ansel only now seems to realize what this looked like—the two of us, alone in a closed closet…
His cheeks pinken, and he immediately lowers his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Mr. Remington bares his teeth. “See that it doesn’t.”
Ansel all but rushes around the teacher—the back of his neck bright red—and Mr. Remington finally turns to look at me. The anger fades, replaced by something resembling concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” Suddenly worried for Ansel, I rush out, “He didn’t touch me or anything like that. He was just showing me how to work the camera.” I chuckle before I can stop myself. “I honestly don’t think he noticed the door shut.”
“Oh.” Mr. Remington seems to be embarrassed about jumping to conclusions and forks his fingers through his shaggy hair. He clears his throat and then says, “Well, off with you.”
He steps aside to let me pass.
KD and Ashlinn are laughing raucously when I retake my seat, and I murmur a half-hearted, “Shut up.”
Why do I have a feeling that news of my “closet rendezvous” with Ansel will be spreading through the hallways like wildfire before the school day even ends?
Ugh.
I never should’ve volunteered to work the football game in the first place.
Twenty-Seven
IZZY
Istudy my reflection one last time in the full-length mirror before grabbing my backpack off the bed.