I'm Not That Girl

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

       “Ms. Paterson!” I heard a muffled voice call on the other side of the door. All the students were still adjusting to the time difference, and taking advantage of not having any obligations, so I assumsed it was a teacher.

      Slowly, I rotated my body in the bed I had been sleeping on, and moved an arm off of me. It wasn’t Kara’s arm. I turned to view the person who had (Hopefully just) slept beside me, it being none other than Nick. The sheets moved up and down as he breathed; his face was calm, and drained of all arrogance. His eyes were closed and his long eyelashes were just barely visible. The expression he presented was stillness. His tanned skin shone in the darkness of the room. I could just make out the outline of his dark, messed up hair. He looked- perfect. Shit. He was right. He did look like an angel when sleeping.

      “Ms. Paterson!” I heard again from the behind the door. I got up, and slowly made my way to the door. I opened the door, and before even glimpsing at the person who stood behind it I came out to the hallway and hastily closed it, so the bright light wouldn’t wake Nick or Kara.

      “Elle,” that infectious voice said. This was absolutely positively not a teacher. So, maybe next time I’d look out the peephole, before opening the door to dashing gingers, who I happened to hate...

      “Mr. Prescott; how did you find me, and why are you here?” I asked, as my eyes quickly surveyed him. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe- this was a new look for him.

      “Lovely to see you too, Elle,” he said, as his eyes lingered on my choice of attire. It was the morning, so I had on a white, cotton V-neck, and a pair of neon orange shorts that I had slept in the night before. It wasn’t my most fashionable look ever, but it was comfy.

      “Answer my questions,” I pressed.

      “I came here to pick you up, and your wonderful uncle is how I found you.”

      “Pick me up?” I gaped.

      “We’re having for tea this morning,” he rolled his glimmering eyes.

      “I’m not,” I scoffed.

      “Well, you kind of are.”

      “Says who?”

      “Well, here, let’s make this an easy decision for you.” He flipped out his phone, his slender fingers lingering above the small device. “It’s for you,” he handed me the phone, and I reluctantly put it to my ear.

      “Hello?” the identifiable voice of my father said.

      “Daddy?” I said, confused.

      “Elle, whose phone are you calling from? Is everything alright?” he questioned, clearly alarmed.

      “No,” I shook my head, though I knew he couldn’t see.

      “What’s the matter?” he inquired in only a way a concerned father would.

      “Cameron Prescott.”

      “Cameron? Brandy’s son?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Oh! James told me about this late last night. I know exactly why you’re calling. Elle, yes, you have to go. If you don’t go I’ll take away your car for a month when you get back,” he threated.

      “That’s not fair!” I whined, looking over to Cam, who was smirking.

      “Elle, they’re like family. It would be extremely impolite to decline Brandy’s sweet offer to have you over. Go,” he said, hanging up without another word.