“Well, hello, Cinderella.” Christian pretends to bow down for me when I meet him in the hallway, stuffing my textbooks into my locker and throwing it shut. I huff, rolling my eyes. This day can’t get any worse.
“You heard,” I deadpan.
“I don’t think there’s a soul on campus who hasn’t heard yet.” Christian is matching my steps, and he looks extra bouncy today. His smile extra wide. “So, who is the secret admirer?”
“Maybe it’s not an admirer. Maybe it’s a joke at my expense because I’m not fucking loaded like everyone else.” I shrug, stretching my toes inside my beat-up Chucks. Whether it was a way to taunt me or not, I don’t care. I refuse to wear them. When I got into school this morning, an arsenal of new shoes waited inside my locker. I’m not going to lie. I was tempted to try them on, but my pride—and general mistrust of basically everyone here besides Christian—wouldn’t let me. Unfortunately, a few students roaming the hallway caught a glimpse of it, and word got out that someone bought me shoes. I became a charity case. The one thing I refuse to ever be.
“Whatever. Look at you. You’re a head turner.” Christian smiles, stopping by his locker and twisting the lock until it pops open. He checks his phone discreetly, and like the nosy bitch I am, I peek over his shoulder.
“What the hell is that?” I screech, reaching for it with my hand, but Christian is faster.
“Remi!” he barks.
“What?” I laugh, because he is blushing, and I didn’t think it was even possible for him to get flustered by anything. “Please tell me that was a dick pic.”
“It’s nothing.” He looks down to his shoes.
“Why are you acting so embarrassed? Christian Chambers, you are blushing!” He rolls his eyes. “Is this, like, a random Tinder guy, or are you seeing someone?”
“I’m talking to someone.”
“A secret someone?” I hedge, leaning closer, my ears perking up. He nods, looking somewhat defeated. My smile disappears, melting into a frown.
“Someone who is still in the closet,” I guess.
No response. Oh, that is juicy, but also not any of my business. The only part I really hate about this whole conversation is the fact that Christian doesn’t confide in me. I gave him all the information about Ryan, so I thought maybe he’d open up for me, too. But then, to be completely honest, I didn’t tell him the whole truth about Mr. James or my little Alicia Silverstone a la The Crush act either, so I can’t be too mad.
“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it.” I pat his arm awkwardly. “Just let me know when you do. I’d be happy to be a shoulder for you to cry on, or, you know, listen to some steamy gossip about you and your boy toy.”
“Thanks.”
We go our separate ways, and I make a quick stop into Headmaster Charles’ office. An office aide delivered a slip informing me to stop by his office on my lunch break. His secretary gives me the green light, and I’m about to enter when a familiar voice has me pausing. The door is cracked, and my heart stops when I see Mr. James. I start to turn around to leave, but against my better judgment, I stay. I can only see a sliver of him, sitting in the chair in front of the desk, and I can’t see Headmaster Charles at all.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re holding up, considering—” Headmaster Charles’ voice is low and concerned.
“I’m fine,” Mr. James cuts him off sharply.
“Well, that may be true. And if it is, I’m glad to hear it. I just don’t want to have another repeat of last year.”
What happened last year?
“That won’t happen,” Mr. James assures him. I hear movement, and then Headmaster Charles stands next to him, clapping him on the back.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Mr. James nods, then stands, and I take that as my cue to bail. I tiptoe to the chairs waiting outside his office and sit down just before they open the door. I plaster on a fake smile that fades once I see the expression on Mr. James’ face. He looks angry and uncomfortable, and even though I’m not sure what that conversation was about, I have the urge to hug him. I’m not even sure why I’m so affected by him, but my red face betrays me. I shouldn’t have pulled that shit on him yesterday.
“Miss Stringer.” Mr. James nods curtly, his mask slipping back into place.
“Yes?” Headmaster Charles peeks at me over Mr. James’ broad shoulder. I imagine what those shoulders would look like as he holds himself up on his forearms and thrusts inside me. My thoughts can’t be healthy, but at the same time, it’s natural. I’m willing to bet that I’m not the first student with a schoolgirl crush.
“Headmaster Charles.” I ignore Mr. James completely, choking the door handle and flashing a flaccid smile. “I was told you wanted to speak with me.”
“Actually, Miss Stringer, I was just checking in to see if you’ve managed to correct your shoe situation,” he says, glancing down at my feet. “But I can see that’s a no—and to see how you are otherwise adjusting.”
“I’m still working on it,” I explain, avoiding Mr. James’ penetrating stare. “And I can’t complain. Everything else is going well.”
“Very good.” He nods.
“Is that all?” I ask hopefully. I can feel him looking at me accusingly, as if he knows I was eavesdropping.
“You’re excused,” he says, walking back into his office.