Her Four Shifter Mates : Betrayed

Chapter 5

Mr. Ren doesn't pay me any attention, so I slowly start to relax. I scan the room and stop short when I see the computers. There are six in total, and they're older looking machines, each affixed with headphones. They make me want to cry. Not because they're probably so slow they barely work, but because of Mom. Again. You'd think that smashing my laptop and phone would have been enough torture, but no. She made me log into all my social media accounts on Dad's tablet and then she deleted them, one by one. Instagram. Snapchat. Wattpad. Friends. Followers. My entire life, gone. Just. Like. That.

You did this to yourself, Holly. Her words ring through my head, and maybe she's right. Maybe I did.

I hold back the tears and rush to the nearest empty table. The carpeted floor masks the sound of my heels as I take my seat in clear sight of Mr. Ren. At least I can hide out here until lunch is over. As long as I don't run into any more boys, I won't be breaking Mom's rules. Plus, I can finally take off her stupid, uncomfortable heels. I don't even care that the carpet is dirty—it's such a relief to be able to flex my toes. I let out a blissful sigh and take out my lunch.

"You can't eat in here." Mr. Ren clicks his tongue at me.

"B-but—"

"What does this say, Holly?" He taps the large laminated sign taped to the front of his desk. It has a picture of a burger and soda, surrounded by a thick red circle with a diagonal line running through it.

No food or drink, I think, but when I open my mouth, no words come out.

Mr. Ren sighs. He brushes back a strand of his blue-green hair and thinks it over. "Look, you can eat here today, but make some friends by tomorrow, okay? You're gonna have to eat in the cafeteria."

I nod, even though I already know that eating in the cafeteria is not an option. Mom would never allow it. Not when she won't even let me browse the shelves upon shelves of books that surround me. If I so much look at a book that wasn't assigned by a teacher, she'll go all psycho. Her email was clear: no reading, no friends, and definitely no fun.

I quickly finish my sandwich—bologna on whole wheat—and take out the school-sanctioned novel I got in English. I've always hated old, boring books where the character just drones on and on, but now I feel a wave of excitement. I haven't read a single word in three long weeks. Well, if you don't count class and the random signs I caught glimpses of on the drive here from Brooklyn. No websites, no magazines, no books—not even textbooks. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Off limits!

In class, Treble read from chapter three, but I start at the beginning. Still, each word in my head is in his voice. I try to read in someone else's—my own, a celebrity's, even the teacher's—but it's no use. My choices, it seems, are Treble or nothing.

For a second, I wonder if Mom's right. I've already developed some crazy obsession with a boy I barely know. Three boys I barely know. What if it's just the first step to all the things Mom accused me of?

I try to focus on the book, but the librarian is typing like a maniac. The clatter of keys echoes through the library, making it hard to focus. I just manage to stumble my way through page one—well, actually page xii, which makes zero sense—when the library door bangs open.

My head snaps up and my heart leaps. I want it to be Treble, or Luke, or Miles, even as panic sets in. Luckily, it's not one of them and I feel a momentary wave of relief. Then, I realize that my life has just gone from bad to worse. Even though the newcomer is a complete stranger, he makes my heart lurch like I'm not already obsessed with three other boys.

Dark eyes hidden behind thick-framed glasses lock on mine, sending my pulse racing. They remind me of chocolate—something I haven't had in three long weeks. Mom found immense pleasure in eating it in front of me, hoping the temptation would break me. Hoping I'd confess. She ate her way through half a dozen candy bars and a tub of ice cream, and when that didn't work she started baking brownies and cookies. The delicious smell permeated the air, but I never got so much as a taste. That has to be why I'm drooling over this boy now: chocolate withdrawal. It is not because I'm the boy-obsessed drug-addicted slut Mom thinks I am.