7
Sunday came and went and so did my fun for the week. I jogged from class to class that day and suffered through two lectures from my teachers. I was given a week from my photography teacher to photograph pictures of a wild animal-preferably harmless- and create a story for it. A week!
Yes, I liked English and I also liked reading stories but that didn't mean I could actually write a story.
I sat in Biology class, chin propped on my fist, staring out at the window as the rain poured down like a blanket of misery and depression. It matched my sour mood perfectly.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Daren sitting in his seat, eyes narrowed, watching me from the crook of the arm he was leaned against.
I glared back at him. "What?" I whispered, but he just looked away, glaring at the board ahead. I followed suit. Douche bag.
I hadn't talked to him or even bothered to look at him since our last encounter in the courtyard. He had no reason to look at me and he knew it. But he still did. And every time he glanced my way I could feel it.
Every time I felt him looking my way I wanted to punch him.
____________
Eighth period passed full of lectures and speeches about writers and poets from the early eighteen hundreds. It was actually slightly interesting and was doing great to lighten my mood. Maybe today wouldn't be so crappy after all.
Then, on the far side of the room, the door swung open and a man with tanned skin and fierce, deep blue eyes walked in. He was tall and lean and wore a blue button down shirt and black slacks. He couldn't be older than twenty-five.
It was the man from before! my mind screamed, recognition hitting me at full force. The man on the motorcycle! But what was he doing here? Curious to learn more I sat quietly in my seat, watching to see what would happen next.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Steele." Mr. Lance's tone was edged with hard annoyance. Obviously somebody was late. Really late.
The man's lips twitched ever so slightly as though trying to repress a smile. "Sorry," he apologized. "I've been...preoccupied. Family business." He spoke in a slight Irish accent. It was a pleasant sound. I was sure this was the type of teacher high school girls swooned over all the time.
"I thought you said you'd be a day or two late, Gabriel. It's been longer than that," Mr. Lance practically hissed, forgetting for a moment this was a classroom. I briefly cast a glance around the room, searching for the same confusion I felt and strangely enough there was none. Was this an often occurrence?
"I sent you a letter didn't I? Long hand, at that. Took quite a while." The man named Gabriel grinned as he walked to a desk much like Mr. Lance's that sat at the back of the room and plopped down. "Oh, how I simply love family reunions," he said with a blissful sigh. It sounded like there was an alternate meaning in his words and when I glanced at Mr. Lance he looked like understood what it was. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood.
When most female students turned in their seats to gawk at Gabriel he gestured toward the board with his pencil before continuing to rummage through the desk drawers. Huh, I thought. So I was right about the swooning thing.
"I didn't get any such letter." Mr. Lance crossed his arms over his chest frowning. At that moment he really reminded me of a teacher. All serious, with a no-nonsense look on his face.
"Oh, you didn't?" Gabriel asked not all too interested. He pulled out files of paper, sorted them out on his desk, and began jotting down notes. "That sucks. And I tried so hard on that letter, too." His tone was complete boredom and bullshit.
I watched him, dumbfounded. Just by looking at him I could tell he was trouble. Not that I knew enough about him to judge, because I didn't, but he didn't seem like the type to work at a school, teaching teenagers the proper way to type out an essay. He just didn't seem like the type to care enough.
Mr. Lance must have seen me staring at him and spotted the confusion at once. "Miss Thompson, this is my teaching assistant, Mr. Gabriel Steele. Mr. Steele, this is Christine Thompson. The new transfer I spoke to you about."
Gabriel looked at me, spotting my horribly bruised face and cut lip all at once. "Looks like you got your ass kicked." He looked back down at his papers.
"You should see the other girl," I replied in a quiet yet firm voice and he looked back up to meet my eyes. Something like curiosity and amusement settled on his handsome face.
Mr. Lance chuckled softly. "She's a fighter," he told his co-worker. Something in his tone told me he was hinting at something but I had no idea what.
"Is that right?" Gabriel seemed to look me over, as if I were some type of game, a puzzle set before him. He watched me as if he was trying to figure out why I would cause such a disturbance in the high school food chain. I found the question very easy to answer. I was the new kid, fresh meat, so of course the head bitch would try to screw me over into going belly up. Not me, I told myself forcefully. I'm not gonna be pushed around by some snooty slut when I did nothing wrong.
"I can handle myself," I agreed.
"That split lip and bruised jaw bone of yours say something completely different." He continued glancing at the white board and jotting down notes.
Now I glared. "You know what? Keep out of it. You don't know anything about me."
"And I don't plan to learn anything either, Christine," he countered. His blue eyes were challenging me to say something else, I knew it. He rested his chin on his fist trying to conceal a ghost of a smirk.
That made me even more upset.
I opened my mouth to take that challenge and say something far more bitter when the bell cut me off. Everyone packed their things and walked out of class, grumbling to themselves about how they wanted to see if we would get into a fists fight, as Gabriel filed his papers back into his desk drawers.
I hadn't moved.
He glanced up at me briefly before going back to filing. "Children should go home," he said.
"Children?" I seethed. I was seventeen years old! Technically an adult!
Someone grabbed my shoulder. "Time to go, Thompson," Daren murmured softly into my ear.
I pulled away from his touch. "Get off of me," I glared back at him.
"Just trust me," he hissed. Then, he grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me out of the classroom.
"Let go of me!" I shouted as he pulled me down the emptying steps. I nearly fell once or twice but managed to hold on until we hit the bottom. "Let go!"
Daren turned around to face me, his eyes glowing in anger. "Listen, I don't like you, you don't like me-"
"Glad we got that little situation covered," I interrupted, rolling my eyes in exasperation. "What ever would I do without you?"
"Stay away from Mr. Steele," he growled. "He's bad news."
"As opposed to who? You?" I scoffed. "Like you're such a boy scout."
"Stay away from him," he glowered. "This is your only warning."
"And I should listen to you why?"
"Because he's a bad guy."
"Who's a bad guy?"
We both turned, startled to find our "teacher" walking out of the building, door swinging shut behind him. I could have sworn he was still upstairs packing away his things a second ago. How did he get down here so fast? I wondered. And just how much had he heard of the conversation.
Gabriel walked toward us casually. I felt Daren's hand rest on my shoulder as he got closer. I tried to pull away but he didn't let go.
"Nothing of your business, Mr. Steele," I replied icily.
I watched as he eyed me, the same way he had in class. "For a small, insignificant punk girl like you, you're very irritating," he said simply. I kept his gaze, glaring hard. "I hope you two aren't talking nonsense about things you know nothing about," he clasped a firm hand on Daren's shoulder. "Right, Mr. Hawthorne?"
Daren watched him carefully but didn't say a word. He didn't speak to him. He didn't let any questions be answered. He glanced down at me. His eyes told me to do the same.
Why should I? I glared up at him but he didn't seem to notice.
"What were you two talking about out here, eh?" He stared down at us, his eyes cold and determined to get the answer he was looking for. I quickly realized he scared me, something about him just felt off. For a brief moment I was reminded of that man in my room the other night. That was just a dream, Christine, I told myself. All the same I had to repress the urge to shiver as I watched Gabriel's predatory eyes skim over us.
"Whatever we were or weren't talking about is none of your business." I carefully detangled myself from Daren's arms to glare up at him. I was not about to allow this asshole to bully me.
"Isn't it?" he glared back.
"No," I hissed. "It isn't."
"Are you sure?" I never noticed until much later on that our bodies were just slivers of air apart, both fighting for dominance in this battle of who can intimidate who better.
"Positive."
"Why don't you tell me anyway?" A pirate's smirk was barely below the surface of his lips, threatening to come out, I could tell. I opened my mouth to speak but was suddenly rendered speechless. I couldn't say anything. All I could do was stare. I stared up into those blue eyes of his and was somewhere else, swimming in the deepest, warmest part of the ocean. Free from all my worries and troubles. The smile finally touched his lips. "What were you two talking about, Christine?"
When he spoke my name I could've sworn I saw those icy blue eyes of his take on a new color, almost like silver. No longer swimming, I narrowed my eyes up at him defiantly. "Fuck off," I hissed.
Daren stepped in and pulled me away from Gabriel's gaze. "Cool it," he growled softly. "Mr. Steele here has a way with people; he can make them say whatever he wants to hear with just one look."
"You give me too much credit, Daren," Gabriel chuckled. "Those people tell me what I want to hear simply because they want to. Nothing else."
"You gave the same look to my friend, Emma, last year and got her deported," he snapped.
"That wasn't my fault. She can come back when that dead-beat father of hers fills out the proper paper work. And I don't have a look. It's not my fault that young women find my eyes... Irresistible," he finished, shoving his hands in his pockets.
I chanced a glance over at Daren. He was fuming. Whoever Emma was they must have been good friends before she was forced to move away. For a moment my heart went out to him.
Memories of fun days spent with Morgan and Greg flooded my mind and I was instantly brought back to my own situation and the loneliness I constantly felt. As I was consumed by the memories, the good and the bad, I could feel as my throat tightened and burned in response to the heartache I felt. Pins pricked behind my eyes warning of the threat of tears but I forced them away. I wouldn't cry in front of these two. No way in hell. But still the pain in my chest raged on.
"I, uh, I need to go," I rushed, placing my fingers on my throat trying to relax the tension. I turned on my heels and began walking briskly away, then soon after the soles of my shoes slapped hard against the pavement as I broke into a run.