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."
Genevieve chuckled before patting Zeke's shoulder in pity. "Girls with asses like mine, do not talk to boys with faces like yours." She clapped her hands together, dismissing the boy's crestfallen expression, a wide grin settling on her features. "Well, since we're in the mood of flirting, then I'll make this class extra fun."
"Give me seventy pistol squats."
- - - - - -
Fifty one-leg squats later, the class were already dripping in warm sweat, others were going slower than at first and others were thrown on the floor in exhaustion. Yet, they never even finished the set.
Genevieve walked over the girl who had challenged her earlier—it was barely twenty-minutes into the class and Genevieve already developed an everlasting hatred for half of the students. Noticing the girl's lack of correct exercise position, Genevieve simply pressed her finger against the girl's shoulder causing her to tip over.
"If you can bend those knees for ballers then you can bend them for me!"
Grunts and exhausted groans echoed against the walls of the large gymnasium as Genevieve urged them to move faster—it was a rather amusing job and she had quite liked the fact of blowing a whistle in someone's ear and the fact that she could drink a Piña Colada on school campus.
"Come on, hurry it up, Zach!" Genevieve yelled, pressing her heel-clad foot on Zeke's pack, pressing him into the correct plank position.
"My name is Zeke!"
"I don't give a fuck," Genevieve took a sip of the fresh cocktail—she even considered ordering Postmates. She pressed harder into his back until Zeke toppled to the ground.
He scowled at the brunette, rising from his feet and cracking his knuckles. "You're going to pay for that."
"You think?" Scoffed Genevieve, handing her empty glass to the boy, with a disgusted expression. "Come on! Or I'll make you do a hundred!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she eyed a girl who looked strikingly familiar—dark hair, short stature—Grace. Genevieve's eyebrows furrowed once she noticed that Grace was arguing with a boy, as she stalked closer.
"You don't understand, Cody. My brother will never approve of you—we tried this, but it was too hard."
"What's too hard, Grace? I care about you, but you constantly push me away!"
"It's just that you wouldn't understand—I'd love to introduce you to Elias, to my family. But it's just not the right time, you know about her death and the—"
"Oh, forbidden love," Genevieve gushed, grasping onto Cody's and Grace's shoulders. "So adorable and genuine, it makes my heart swell." Her face fell into a sneer. "Am I interrupting?"
Grace's face was red in alarm, yet, Genevieve could still flash the swing of recognition that passed through the girl's face. But as fast as it came, it left too.
"N-no."
"Yes."
They both answered simultaneously, causing Genevieve to raise a brow. "Is it a yes or a no . . . pardon, but I'm confused."
"It's a yes—" Cody started but Grace quickly cut him off.
"No, you didn't interrupt anything—we just had a small . . . mixup," Grace bit her bottom lip, in regret for her words. But she didn't open her lips once again.
Genevieve grinned and clapped her hands, turning in Cody's direction. "Now, to get back to work I need to talk to your little girlfriend." When he didn't move, Genevieve continued. "Privately. Shoo Colton."
"It's Cody—"
"I don't care Clayton," Genevieve smiled in Grace's direction and led her out the gymnasium room.
When they were safe out of the rest of the class's earshot, Genevieve furrowed her brows in Grace's direction. "It was Gemma, right?"
"Grace."
"Alright, Greta." Genevieve patted Grace's shoulder. "Principal Halloway told me you are new here, and we had quite the chat about you—you seem very bright, intellectual, very rational and analytical. I even took a spare look at your grades, aspiring to go to college?"
"Harvard or Yale, ma'am," Grace prompted, with a small smile.
Genevieve nodded, curtly. "Good choices. Well anyway, your academics are incredible but they are not the interest of this topic. I just have to ask, is there anybody—who, possibly—holds a record or virtue here of any drug or gang type of business at all?"
"Ma'am, I'm afraid I don't understand."
The brunette quickly rephrased. "I mean—if there is anybody who causes trouble or looks unsettling in a way?"
"I'm not sure," Grace contemplated. "I haven't been here for long. "But there is a boy who acts sort of weird; he arrived at this school the same day as me. His name is Apollo, or something."
Apollo.
"Apollo, odd name," Genevieve commented.
Grace nodded. "He's an odd guy. No surprise, though."
"Gotcha." Genevieve shook her wrists in dismissal. "Now, shoo. Scurry off—and while you're at it. Torture the class a little bit. Automatic A, Gane."
"It's Grace!"
- - - - - -
Genevieve rounded the corner of the hall, a brunette boy, who was leaning against a locker, a phone pressed firmly against his ear, caught her eye. She couldn't quite pinpoint who, but the boy looked awfully familiar, even if only seeing him from the back, Genevieve felt somewhat related to him—as if she knew him in another life or something.
She got closer to him, yet still remained hidden behind a wall, an urge surges through her. Genevieve wanted to see his face; maybe even the slightest glimpse of it.
The slightest. The smallest, even.
As she tip-toed closer, Genevieve could hear the small murmur of a voice that he held against his ears as he quickly talked—his voice was gruff, yet soft; like Genevieve's, even his hair resembled her, except his increasingly tall stature.
"No, no, no. I get it, L. Please, I did what you asked. Just give me Eleanor back—I'm done with your stupid orders, L, I don't want to do this anymore. Just give me my damn sister back!"
L, the same letter, the same nickname.
Gosh, Genevieve felt eager to find who "L" was, hell, she was anxious about it, completely.
"Please! Fine, I'll keep going as Apollo, but just remember, L. I'm not Apollo, I'm Matteo, get it clear now."
Matteo, Eleanor, L. They were all so important to Genevieve. The brunette scurried away, pulling her phone from her pocket simultaneously. She furiously tapped the phone as if her life depended on it and quickly pressed it to her ear.
"Hello, this is 911. How may I help you?"
"Hi, yes, I'm Samantha Trucker, a substitute at a local high school in Manhattan, I just caught one of the students with drugs and a weapon," Genevieve lied thoroughly, "I'm scared to confront him, please send somebody." She feigned a cry.
"Authorities are on their way immediately, Miss Trucker. They should arrive shortly, I may ask you to stay calm and please don't panic. Are you alright to hang the phone up?"
"Yes," Genevieve sniffled. "Thank you." The ring erupted from the phone once she ended the call. A smirk tainted on her lips as police sirens could be heard in the distance.
"This is going to be fun."
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