White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I still couldn't believe that I was in detention.

I'd been in plenty of trouble during the years, as it were. Zoe Darren's face was proof of that. But I had found myself in a position where I would be sitting in an empty classroom well after school hours, writing an essay on how badly I'd behaved, with Ms. O'Connor grading papers at the front desk.

It felt somehow more excruciating than a suspension. Excruciatingly stupid. Maybe I'd gotten my morals mixed up – getting suspended for an entire week? That was not a problem. Lunchtime detention? Absolute crisis.

I was stuck between Nathan and Noah, and both declined to bother even pretending that they were doing the work. I was half sure Nate's plan was to copy off of my sheet five minutes before it was meant to be handed in.

Both were leaning their chairs against the wall, balancing using the tips of their toes. I felt tempted to just reach over and push their chairs over.

Surprisingly, Noah had been the one to crack – throwing the first punch for everyone in second period English, and God himself, to see. He squared Nathan right in the eye. The retaliation that followed had resulted in chaos, with Nathan hopping across an entire table in order to topple him over, punching the living daylights out of him.

Stupid me had to jump in and try to pry them apart, which earned me a bruise from Noah in the process. I should have learned – judging by Lucy's broken shoulder from that terrible lacrosse brawl – that standing between Noah and literally anything was a terrible idea.

Now here we were. And my brow bone still hurt.

Nathan looked over at me, seeming to notice the developing bruise above my eye for the first time. "Jesus, Jess!" he exclaimed, reaching over to touch my left eyebrow. "Does that hurt?"

"Ow," I lied. His touch was so soft, so gentle – the hurt was feigned. From a quick scan of his face, I judged that he was managing way worse. His under eye was already beginning to swell – the corner of his lip had also been cut, and some blood had dribbled down to his shirt.

"Quiet." Ms. O'Connor barked, absently flipping over to another page.

His eyes turned to Noah. I tensed up in response, preparing for round two. "Do you have to hit a girl every time? I know you're an asshole, but I hadn't realized you were a complete fucking asshole."

"Not my fault," was Noah's disinterested reply, leaning further against his chair. "Don't get in the way next time."

"Quiet, please!" O'Connor snapped, louder.

"I'm okay, Nate," I reassured him, eyeing his face again. Wanting to touch it just as gently as he'd touched mine. "You're the one who's really hurt."

Noah scoffed. "You won't find what you're looking for in detention, that's for sure."

"And what exactly do you think we're looking for?" was my retort.

Noah's eyes danced.

"Shut. It," Ms. O'Connor snapped. "Or would you like to stay back another week?"

*

"Mother?" I called out to the corridors, setting my bag on top of the counter. Nathan tagged along behind me, curiously appraising my home. It should have been weird to have Nathan Ericson standing in the middle of my tiny house, but it didn't bother me.

Okay, it bothered me just a little.

"Nice place," he commented. He was studying my seventh-grade artwork, which had been framed and mounted to the wall, with a curious expression.