Chapter Twenty-Four

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My blankets are ripped off from me. The shock from the cold tightens my grip on myself as I attempt to curl up even more into the body heat. It can't be morning already, is it?

"Get up!" Mom snaps, holding the blanket hostage. With a free hand, she holds it out towards me, palm up. "Your phone!"

"Wha?" 

I slowly sit up on the bed. I'm too slow; Mom huffs and yanks the phone from the charger. 

"What the hell?!" I exclaim, yawning in the middle of it.

She throws the blanket back on the mattress and holds the phone up. "Since you couldn't be bothered to excuse yourself from the table, and since you were too important to apologize to our guest for your attitude, you're not getting your phone back."

"I was tired," I defend, "and he barely acknowledged me."

"That doesn't matter!" she growls. "Every guest is supposed to feel welcome in our home." Her home, not ours. "They expect a smile and polite conversation, both of which you didn't do last night."

"Mr. Ashby didn't even care. Pretty sure he was more offended that I was there than--"

She swings a finger towards my face, dangerously close to my nose. "Not another word out of you. I've had enough of your disrespect."

Mom stills, as if increasing the drama of her tantrum. Considering her job well done, she leaves the room. Lucky for her, she got her steam out. That leaves me with the anger. And I just woke up from a fan-fucking-tastic dream, too.

I can't even appreciate the alone time to get ready.

My mood stays shitty on my way to school and as I park the car in the student lot. I storm in the closest building. My shoes stomp through puddles, causing the water to spring up and attack my jeans. People close by are stepping out of my path, pausing their winter break stories as I pass them. 

Not wanting to be around people, I head over to my first period room. Not a lot of people tend to be in there twenty minutes before class starts. And the teacher huddles up in the staff lounge until the last possible second. Privacy's never been better.

__________

The minute Mr. Shadler starts class with a glower, I brace myself for the tide of angry words.

"More than half of you are behind in this project," he announces. "Those people all started their winter break with missing assignments. I doubt you'll be able to finish them and the summaries by the end of the week."

He leans against his desk. Arms are crossed. The glower sears into several of us. 

"I'm frustrated. Really." He stares a student down in the back. Stares down another in the middle rows. "At this rate, I don't think a lot of you will pass this semester. It ends in two weeks, meaning you're short on time to get your grades up."

If I'm not mistaken, a quiet snicker crops up to my left. Bobbing my head back and forth to find the source between students, I see Josh with a fist in his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut. What's so funny?

As Mr. Shadler lays out his disappointment in us, I lean over to my neighbor. She's subtly bouncing her head to whatever song's playing in her hidden earbuds. Upon seeing me getting closer to her than usual, she lifts her beanie away from her ear and takes off one of the buds.

"What?" she whispers to me.

Happy she didn't tell me to fuck off, I explain what I saw. "Does he know something Shadler doesn't?" I ask.

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