Guilty | ✓

XXVIII | Guilty

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | ODD NAME

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A LAUGH ESCAPED FROM Genevieve's lips as she flipped her dyed blonde hair over her shoulder.

"No, no. I completely understand," Genevieve said, nodding. "I'll just make them run for the class, nothing too big, Mr. Halloway."

Principal Halloway grinned as he patted Genevieve's shoulder in a friendly manner. "You're the substitute, Samantha. Make them do whatever they'd like as long as they follow gym protocol and the rules—as long as no one ends up with a broken leg, I'll give you the permission to torture them a little bit."

"Oh, it's fine. They're just kids after all," Genevieve laughed, "I'll tell you how it goes after they are finished. It's just an hour class, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'll inform you that one of our students—her name is Grace Parkington. Shesnew around campus, make sure to take it easy on her; there were serious problems with her old school, but I know her mother and her brother. She's a good kid, very intellectual and kind, she runs on the shy side. So take it easy."

"No worries," Genevieve smirked, taking upon Grace's name. "I'll make sure to make her feel right at home. Count me on that."

Principal Halloway smiled as he clapped his hands together. "Well, I wish you good luck with those beasts—" he paused for a second, "I recommend you lose the heels for today, you'll probably end up with a broken ankle."

"It's fine," Genevieve flipped her hand in dismissal. "I'll be fine."

"Great."

Genevieve didn't know what led her to volunteer at Grace's high school. All she knew was that she needed money, an undercover identity, and a serious need to be rude to someone. It was really simple what she asked for. Not a single ounce of possible regret surged through her once she passed the large doors to the immense gymnasium—in fact, confidence pulled through her bones once she felt her heels cluck against the smooth flooring, catching everyone's attention.

"Hi!" Genevieve grinned, over enthusiastically for her own taste. "I'm Samantha Trucker. You can call me Sam or Miss. Trucker, whatever you prefer."

"What about a try-hard skank?" A girl exclaimed, sarcastically widening her eyes in innocence.

Genevieve grinned as she slowly creeped forward to the curly haired girl. "Look who's talking—skank."

"At least my Versace's aren't fake," The girl clicked her tongue, placing her perfectly manicured fingers to her chin.

"It's V-ER-sace. Not Versac-E," Genevieve corrected, arching as the girl's face fell completely.

"Now, as I was saying," Genevieve continued, looking at the rest of the gym class. "Before I was rudely interrupted. I am your temporary substitute teacher for this physical education and anatomy lecture. And I expect the most remarkable behavior from all of you—after all, if you follow my rules and corrections. An 'A' will be granted."

"Any questions?"

A black haired boy immediately perked up, his voluminous curls falling freely against the side of his neck as a sickly-flirty smile carded on his lips. "I'm Zeke, and what's your name, pretty lady." He looked at her up and down. "You're looking at the fire. I'm single y'know, just if you wanna talk or something like that."