Page 23 of Made in Malice
By the time I reach the gate after the long driveway, my face hurts from smiling so much. If I weren’t worried I would be caught on camera, I’d probably be jumping around in my seat, doing a happy dance.
It only takes me a second to find the button for the gate and barely any time for it to open. I ease out slowly onto the road, a little worried Morningstar might try to play chicken with me. My track record isn’t so good, considering I was in the grass yesterday, but thankfully, he’s not around.
I’m still grinning from ear to ear when I park the car in the back lot, far away from any other vehicles, and approach the school from the backdoor. It’s closer to the offices anyway, plus I get to avoid walking past the Union.
When I enter the main lobby of the administration office, the same girl is sitting behind the desk, but this time when she sees me, her lips curl up in a smile, and she drops her gaze from mine really fast, which makes me realize she’s not smiling out of recognition, she’s laughing at me.
“I have an appointment with Mrs. Quade.” It almost sounds like a question because my voice goes high on the end with suspicion. Is she laughing because she knows what my class schedule is like, or is there something else I’m missing?
“I’ll let her know you’re here.” She turns fully away from me and uses the desk phone. “Your ten o’clock is here… I’ll send her back.” She hangs up the phone and announces, “She’s ready for you.”
“Thanks,” I respond out of habit more than any real appreciation.
“Careful, wouldn’t want you to trip.” She sniggers, and I pause mid-step with my back to her for just a moment. At least I’m in on the joke now. Morningstar must have told everyone I biffed it. Great.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction or a response, instead I head to the same door she led me to last time and politely knock, even though I’d much rather pound my fist on the door, or maybe on a certain pretty boy’s face.
“It’s open,” she calls out, and I twist the knob to let myself in. “Have a seat,” she offers easily.
I lower myself to the edge of the chair, nervous about how the testing went, but it feels weird to ask how I did when I’m sure she’s going to explain everything.
“You got through testing pretty quickly.” She types on her computer, just barely glancing in my direction. “It’s usually something we administer before acceptance, and we give a week to complete all the modules.”
I’m not sure if that’s something I should be proud of or not, or how she expects me to respond, so I just wait for her to divulge more info.
“I’ll go over a few things with you about class requirements, then you can sign into your school account and select the classes available to you from the dashboard. I would suggest doing it today, as many of these classes have already started.” She twists her computer monitor so I can see the screen and starts pointing and explaining about credit hours and the importance of a balanced schedule.
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking out of her office, feeling only slightly overwhelmed and pretty excited. Instead of going home, I head to the library and request a study room. It’s probably not necessary since there aren’t that many people around, but I want to be able to focus, and I’m not sure I would be able to in the main area with people coming and going.
My soft footsteps seem loud on the stairs since this place is so quiet. I find myself looking down the rows of shelves on my way to the study room, but the floor appears to be empty, which makes it feel eerie.
The feeling of being watched, even though I’m alone, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I glance over my shoulder and see the same empty space I just walked through, but the feeling doesn’t go away. By the time I reach the hall with the sectioned off rooms, I’m about ready to break out into a full run. The only thing stopping me is the fear of looking like a chicken if someone were around to see it.
With one last glance back, I reach forward and pull the door to Room 106 open.
As I slide my hand along the wall for the light switch, someone grabs my arm and jerks me into the dark room. A scream tries to tear itself from my throat, but a hand clamps over my mouth before much sound escapes. Panic freezes me for a single second before I kick, shove, and squirm.
I must surprise whoever it is, because the hand on my mouth gets yanked back before I hear a hiss of a sound and wrench my arm free. It all happens so fast, the door isn’t even fully closed yet. I shove myself through the gap and run back toward the stairs so fast that even when I see someone coming out from one of the rows of bookshelves, I know I’m not going to be able to stop myself from slamming into them.
I try to issue a warning to get out of the way, but it comes out as a weak puff of air instead of the words I intended. His light eyes widen right before I crash into his chest and bounce off, flying backward and landing on my butt.
“What the fuck?” Morningstar barks above me, but I’m too busy looking over my shoulder because I would have bet he was the person waiting for me in the room, but if he wasn’t, then who was?
The hall behind me is empty. I blink a few times before turning over and almost crawling as I get up, then I hobble my bruised body right back down the hall and rip the door to the study room open again, but this time I don’t walk blindly inside.
My bag is on the ground where I must have dropped it, but the room is empty.
“Are you fucking deaf?” His voice finally breaks through the ringing in my ears, and I look over my shoulder to see him looming over me, scowling down at my bloody arm.
The moment I see the long scratches, the burning pain registers. He grabs my wrist before I think to jerk back and twists my arm from side to side, examining the marks.
“What is this?” he hisses as his free hand moves the sleeve of my shirt, lifting the fabric to see how far the marks go up, but he ends up revealing the purplish bruises Alden left on me yesterday when he marched me out of the cafeteria.
Finally, I jerk my arm away from him, but he doesn’t back off.
“What happened to you?” His icy blue eyes search mine, and if I didn’t know any better, I could almost confuse his curiosity for concern.
“Nothing,” I say as I reach down for my bag. The movement reminds me of the other aches in my body, namely my butt, but I don’t wince like I want to because I’m not letting him see that I’m in pain.