Chapter Nine 

 

 

With my mouth hanging open, I watch Sloane stride away, her long blond hair swinging like a thick curtain behind her as her heels click against the marble.  Once she vanishes around a corner, I blink out of my stupor.  The corridor which had been filled earlier, is now eerily silent. 

I should have known. 

Same girl.  Same bitchy behavior.

Welcome to Hawthorne Prep! 

Releasing a breath, I squat down and snatch the balled-up schedule from the floor before rising to my feet and flattening the half slip of paper in my palm. 

Now what am I supposed to do? 

I take a moment to contemplate my next move.  Maybe I should find my locker and drop off my backpack.  After that, I’ll head to first hour.  If I’m lucky, I won’t run into Sloane again. 

Ever.

Although that seems unlikely. 

What the hell is her problem? 

For the time being, I push that question to the back of my mind.  It takes over five minutes to find my locker and then another handful to figure out how to open the stupid metal contraption.  I grab a notebook and pen from the bag before stuffing it inside the barren locker and slamming the door closed. 

Now off to first hour. 

I spend the next five minutes walking in circles through intersecting corridors before finally getting my bearings and winding up at the door to my English lit classroom.  This has to be the most confusing building I have ever been in.  Whoever numbered the rooms is an idiot.  Some aren’t even in order.  What’s the point of using a numeric system if you aren’t going to use it properly? 

Naturally, the classroom door is closed. 

My shoulders slump with the realization that there will be no quiet sneaking in for me. 

Unsure what to do, I fidget for a couple of seconds, nervously smoothing down a few wisps of hair that have escaped from my bun before forcing myself to wrap my hand around the brass doorknob and turn it.  Other than a slight rattling noise, the wood doesn’t budge. 

Seriously? 

I’m having the worst luck ever. 

The only way I’m getting inside is to disrupt the teacher who is already lecturing at the podium in front of the class. 

It takes a full sixty seconds to work up the courage and rap my knuckles against the door.  Through the thin rectangle of glass, I see a few heads swivel in my direction with curiosity.  When a smug blue gaze locks on mine, I gasp. 

Sloane’s glossy pink lips lift into a cunning smile before she leans forward in her desk and whispers something to the brunette parked in front of her.  That girl quickly flicks her bored gaze toward me before flashing a grin at Sloane. 

Heat scalds my cheeks as I recognize the other girl as the sidekick from last night.  Thirty excruciating seconds crawl by and no one bothers to answer the door. 

I’m going to have to knock again. 

Sloane continues to watch me with barely suppressed giddiness as I lift my arm and tighten my fingers into a fist.  If these bitches think I’ll slink away like a coward, they have another thing coming. 

This time, I make sure the knock is loud enough for the whole damn class to hear.  The teacher’s monotone voice falls off abruptly as her gaze slices to mine through the glass before she purses her thin lips and walks from the front of the room toward me. 

After she unlocks and opens the door, she stands at the threshold, barring my entrance.  “Ms. Hawthorne, I presume?” 

I clear my throat, realizing the entire class is eavesdropping on the exchange.  “Yes.” 

“You’re late.”  Her lips thin even more than they already are. 

I bob my head.  “Yes, I—” 

“No excuses.  From now on, you will arrive to my class in a timely manner.  I do not tolerate disruptions.”  She huffs out a breath as if my lateness has been an ongoing issue that she’s had to contend with.  “Today, I will excuse your tardiness, but I will not do so in the future.  Have I made myself clear?” 

“Yes,” I whisper meekly, embarrassment blistering my cheeks. 

“Excellent.”  Only then does she step aside before extending her arm magnanimously toward the room.  “Please take a seat so we may continue.” 

Silently I scurry to the first open desk I find before sinking onto the wooden seat.  Already my mind is conjuring up a list of reasons I can give my parents as to why it would be better to transfer to the local public school.  There is no way it can be worse than this.  Although, considering this school is named after our family and its Dad’s alma mater, it’s highly doubtful my parents will go for that. 

I flick my gaze toward the overly thin woman at the front of the room as she drones on about her expectations.  English has always been one of my favorite subjects.  I love to read a wide variety of books and to write.  Somehow, I don’t think that will be the case this semester. 

I open my notebook and jot down a few notes as Ms. Pettijohn continues to lecture.  As I do, I shift on my seat with the disconcerting sensation of being watched.  Ever since I stepped foot on campus, people have been staring.  Without bothering to glance around, my guess is that half the class is inspecting me as if I’m a strange species they’ve never encountered before.  As much as I try to ignore the unease prickling at the back of my neck, it only grows stronger. 

Unable to stand another moment of the scrutiny, I lean against my chair as my gaze sweeps over the neat rows of students that surround my desk.  A few who had been openly appraising me, jerk their attention away when they realize I’ve caught them.  Interesting.  Maybe they aren’t so bold after all.  As I continue to peer around the room, my gaze collides with a familiar one. 

One I never expected to see again. 

Certainly not here.

I blink as my heartbeat speeds up, jack hammering almost painfully against my breast. 

There’s no way... 

There’s just no way. 

Except it is.  

It’s him. 

Kingsley observes me through narrowed eyes that hold a strange intensity.  It’s like he recognizes me, but doesn’t.  An odd mixture of emotion swirls through his eyes. 

Recognition.  Confusion.  Hatred. 

Wait a minute...hatred? 

That can’t be. 

The time we spent together was amazing.  He has no reason to hate me.  The last time we saw each other, his lips had been stroking over mine.  We’d made plans to spend the next day together on his boat. 

Swimming.

Sunbathing. 

Making out.

The muscles in my belly contract as my lips lift into a tentative smile and I raise my hand in a wave.  Instead of receiving a similar expression, his mouth twists into a scowl.  Animosity burns brightly in his eyes before he pivots away, dismissing me with one icy look.  

My hand, which had been suspended midair, falls to the desk with a heavy thud.  I gulp down my disappointment and stare sightlessly at the notebook on my desk as confusion whips through me. 

Why would Kingsley act like that? 

Is he angry that I had to leave without saying goodbye?  I tried to tell him what was going on.  For goodness’ sake, his mom or whoever that was threatened to call the police on me!  What else could I have done? 

For the rest of the class period, my attention strays to him, but he stares straight ahead.  It’s like I’m not even there.  When the bell rings, marking the end of class, Kingsley rises from his desk and walks out with another boy.  Not once does he glance in my direction. 

His blatant rejection sends an avalanche of hurt and confusion cascading through me.  There hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t, at least once, thought about him and wondered what he was doing.  I’ve fantasized about different scenarios where we would run into each other.  And now that it’s happened, he glares at me like I’m nothing more than sticky, sun-warmed gum on the bottom of his shoe. 

His behavior makes little sense. 

I have two choices.  One, I let Kingsley leave and forget I ever met him.  Or two, I suck it up and confront him.  What makes the situation more complicated is that he’s the only person I know at Hawthorne.  Hell, in this entire godforsaken town.  And having at least one friend by my side would make all the difference in the world. 

When you look at it like that, there’s only one option.  Mind made up, I rise to my feet and take a step toward the door, hoping to catch Kingsley before second hour.  The sooner I get this situation cleared up, the better I’ll feel. 

“Ms. Hawthorne?”  A sharp voice cuts through the low hum of student chatter.  “A word, if you please.” 

Damn.

The air escapes from my lungs in a rush as I swing toward the front of the room where Ms. Pettijohn waits. 

“Ma’am?” 

A few classmates linger, watching the exchange with piqued interest. 

The older woman keeps her thin lips pressed together until the last of the stragglers take their leave.  “I hope you don’t think special exceptions will be made for you because your family founded the school.” 

My eyes widen as I shake my head.  “Of course not.” 

“Good.”  She nods as if satisfied with the answer.  “That’s not the way Hawthorne Prep works.  It would behoove you to be humble about your heritage.” 

My heritage? 

What is that supposed to mean? 

When I stare blankly, she flicks her wrist toward the exit.  “I would encourage you to make a better impression on your remaining teachers than you did on me this morning.” 

Ouch. 

I point to the door.  “I should go.” 

She tips her head.  “Excellent idea.” 

With that dismissal, I scurry from the room and search the hallway for the dark-haired boy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since meeting him this summer.  Whatever changed his opinion of me, I want to clear it up. 

Trying to find Kingsley in an ocean of navy blazers is like playing a game of Where’s Waldo.  A zip of electricity shoots through me when I catch sight of him slamming his locker door shut before heading to second hour.  Uncaring if I’m late for my next class, I take off after him with a determined stride.  With my gaze pinned to his tall figure, I push my way through the crowd, attempting to catch up to him.  When I’m within striking distance, I reach out and lock my fingers around his bicep. 

“Kingsley, wait up!” 

Without glancing at me, he jerks out of my grasp and keeps walking. 

What the hell? 

Is he really this angry? 

What did I do? 

“Stop!”  Unwilling to give up, I reach out again and tighten my fingers around his arm.  “Give me a chance to explain!” 

My heart lurches when he unexpectedly whirls toward me.  Fury fills his eyes and my hand falls away as I stumble back in surprise.  His lips twist into a scowl as he advances, forcing me to scurry away from him. 

The thick crowd of students pressing in on me scatters, forming a circle around the two of us as my back hits a metal locker.  It’s like they can sense that something volatile is about to happen and no one wants to miss it.  The space between us gets eaten up until he’s so close I have to tip my chin to hold his flashing gaze. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a Hawthorne?” he growls by way of greeting. 

He’s so close that his warm breath feathers across my lips.  A couple months ago, I was drunk with the feel of it, now it frightens me more than I care to admit. 

“What?”  I scrunch my face, wondering if I misheard the question. 

Even though there’s barely a whisper between us, he presses closer.  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” 

The hallway goes silent.  It’s like they’re all holding their collective breath. 

“I didn’t realize it would matter,” I murmur, not understanding the direction this conversation has swerved in. 

“Of course, it matters!” he scoffs before stabbing a finger at my chest. “You let me think you were an ordinary girl, and that’s not the truth, is it?” 

Confusion swirls through my brain.  What else would I be if not an ordinary girl?  I shake my head, attempting to deny his words, but that only incenses him further. 

With a snarl, he wraps his hand around my neck and shoves me against the locker.  The back of my head reverberates off the metal, the sound of it echoing throughout the corridor. 

“Kingsley.”  My eyes widen. 

It’s only then that I realize the two boys may be identical in looks, but this is not the same one I spent time with at the beach.  That guy had been kind, sweet, and funny.  There is nothing charming or nice about this one.  The anger wafting off him in heavy waves is almost suffocating in its intensity. 

He lowers his face until the tip of his nose practically touches mine.  “Keep my name out of your mouth, do you understand?  You and I don’t know each other.”  His rage-filled gaze examines mine.  “Don’t talk to me.  Don’t look at me.  Don’t even think about me.” 

With unhurried movements, his grip tightens around the delicate skin of my neck until it becomes difficult to breathe.  My hands rise to claw at his arm, but I’m powerless against his strength.  His jaw ticks as he continues to squeeze. 

“Help!”  My widened gaze flutters to the students crowded around us.  Not a single one does anything to stop Kingsley from choking me. 

What’s wrong with these people?  Why are they all standing there silently watching this unfold? 

“Help,” I whisper again, my voice growing faint.  It’s becoming more difficult to suck in air and yet, no one moves a muscle. 

“Don’t look to them for help.  They won’t lift a finger to assist you.”  He applies enough pressure for wetness to sting my eyes.  “Do you know why?”  He waits a beat.  “Because no one wants you here, Hawthorne.” 

A lone tear leaks from the corner of my eye before trekking down my cheek.  When I begin to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen, Kingsley is shoved away.  As soon as the pressure on my throat vanishes, I gulp a deep lungful of air before doubling over.  With my elbows propped on my knees, I brace myself so I don’t fall to the floor.  Tremors wrack my body as tears fill my eyes. 

He could have killed me. 

“You touch her again and I’ll fucking wipe you off the face of the earth!  Do you hear me, asshole?” a deep voice roars.   

Thank God for Austin. 

I lift my head in time to see my brother pin Kingsley against a locker.  The two boys scowl at each other before Kingsley smirks and shoves Austin away.  Both are tall and muscular, evenly matched. 

Kingsley whips his hair back before straightening the lapels of his blazer.  “Stay the fuck out of my way, Hawthorne.”  His gaze jerks to mine and I shrink away from the hatred pouring off him.  “Both of you.” 

As soon as he saunters away, the crowd disperses.  Hushed whispers echo throughout the corridor.  More heat scalds my cheeks as our name is continuously murmured.  It’s like the incessant chirping of birds. 

Hawthorne. 

Hawthorne. 

Hawthorne.