It was bad enough that everyone in Advanced English class turned to stare at me when Mr. Nicholson dramatically announced the title of his poem of the day, “Caged Bird,” by Maya Angelou.
To have him recite the thing while standing in front of my desk was an unjustified punishment. Hadn’t I made it to class—on time—every day for the last month? Thankfully, the poem was on the shorter side of eternal torment.
As the last word of the poem echoed in the pin-drop silence, I had to admit, Nicholson could work a crowd. He bowed at the burst of applause. “Why, thank you, students.” He started for the front of the class, shooting me a grin over his shoulder. “Forgive me, dear Raven, I couldn’t resist.”
Well, at least he hadn’t recited Poe.
Again.
I hunched over my desk, letting my hair slip over my shoulders and shield my face from view. Blocking out the world and everyone in it.
Except for the guy up one row to my left.
He’d shifted to sit sideways in his seat as soon as Nicholson started in with the poem, resting a muscular arm along the back of his chair. Black hoodie molded to his shoulders like form-fitting armor. Dark eyes steady on mine until the shrill bell rang and the girl in front of me stood to leave, severing our contact sharply, like a knife between the ribs.
I bolted from the room. Once in the hallway, I sucked in a deep breath. Give me a dangerous late-night solo climb in the rain, and I’d be solid as a rock. But one long look from Emmett Daniels and I lost my nerve.
Stupid high-school-girl fantasies. Where was my head? I had more important things to stress about than getting the attention of some guy. With a bit of a rebel vibe. And strong hands.
“Raven, hold up.”
And a voice that could have melted the iceberg that sank the Titanic. Low and gravelly and warm all at once. I felt myself slipping under the waves.
This was tragic, all right.
Kids flooded the hallway, and I took advantage of the crush of bodies to weave through the crowd, leaving Emmett looking this way and that, trying to find me in the commotion.
Our paths didn’t cross again until History in last block. By then I had a plan. A surefire way to nix Emmett’s interest and save us both some heartache. Hanging out with guys, flirting and keeping it light, was one thing. But with Emmett things felt different. Heavy. Intense.
I had no business getting involved with a guy like that.
One who mattered.
Emmett Daniels was everything I’d ever wanted.
But his father was a cop.
A freaking cop.
When Emmett strode into class, his gaze quickly finding me, eyes narrowing with frustration and maybe a bit of hurt, I thought I was prepared for the fallout.
Instead, my stomach twisted with regret.
Ian Hudson, golden boy of the lacrosse team, seemed to sense my unease as I perched on his knees. The arm he’d thrown across my narrow waist tightened, and he nuzzled my ear. “Where have you been all my life?” His stage whisper drew laughs from the other students who filed into class, watching our antics with either amused or envious stares.
Except for Emmett. Jaw clenched, he turned away from us and made for the back of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mrs. Sennway cleared her throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She noticed my unusual seating arrangement and raised a brow. “If everyone could take their seats, we’ll begin with some current events.”
The class groaned as Sennway held up a newspaper clipping.
As she read the article aloud, I tried to leave Ian’s lap gracefully, but he made a show of holding me in place. In case Emmett was watching, I struggled to keep a sultry smile on my lips, all the while mentally slapping Ian upside the head.
“Let me go, Ian.” I singsonged the words just loud enough for him to hear.
“Make me.” He chuckled under his breath.
Well, he’d asked for it.
I grabbed his middle finger and reefed it backward. His knuckle popped, and with a pained yelp he set me free.
I slipped into an empty desk, unable to resist a quick glance at Emmett. He seemed to find Sennway’s article fascinating. Wow. Maybe that had really done it. Emmett had finally gotten the hint I wasn’t interested. I focused on Sennway and ignored the weird tripping of my heart. What was she saying? Something about rituals. A sense of belonging. Perpetuating mystery. Ah…I got it. The article compared the origins of secret societies with youth gangs.
Both play on an individual’s desire to belong, to have a sense of power, and to benefit from the group’s protection.
I swallowed back a curse. They made it sound so romantic. I thought of Diesel and the constant threats he faced, the demands for more product, more money, more kids to work the ring. The ones before me who’d aged out. Where had they really ended up? In college, like I hoped I would in a few months? Or in jail?
Or dead?
The rest of the class passed in a haze. When the bell rang, I gathered up my things. Emmett dropped a torn piece of paper on my desk, then stalked down the aisle and out the door.
I stared down at the note he’d written.
My heart triple-timed.
What’s YOUR secret?