Eight Months
1098 Words
The next few hours are very dramatic. Cooper, Julia, and Max all sprint over to me from the far side of the classroom, cursing and yelling at Dean and demanding to know whether I’m okay. I smile awkwardly, nod mechanically, and assure them that I’m totally and completely fine, despite the fact that the skin on my forearm is burning down to the bone as we speak and the entire room is starting to smell like burning flesh. The teacher finally comes over, grabs me by the arm, and runs it under cold water, muttering about how he’s really in for it this time. The students are excused from class early, but most of them stay.
Not Dean, though. Dean leaves.
I spared him a few glances throughout the uproar, and it was hard to tell what he was thinking. He was shocked, certainly. Confused, I think. Rethinking his prior judgments of me, I can only hope.
But whatever rethinking he did, it wasn’t enough to make him stay and, God forbid, apologize.
“They’ll expel him if they know what’s good for them,” Cooper mutters once Dean exits the classroom. “This could be seriously bad press for a school that’s already rough in the papers.”
I wonder what he means by that. I didn’t bother doing much research on Pewter High before coming here; I didn’t see a point, considering I had no other options. “I’m not going to say anything,” I tell him. “It’s just a… scratch.”
Julia glances at my arm, wrinkling her nose. “I’d be curious to know what you think it a ghastly wound.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out about as off as I feel.
And that’s when Aidan Roswell comes in.
I have no idea how he got here so fast. It can’t have been more than thirty minutes since the incident, and the Estate is easily an hour drive from the school. Did he just so happen to be in town when this happened? Did Cooper really already tell him?
Everyone in the room seems to go silent when Aidan enters. My teacher stiffens, tightening his grip on my wrist so hard, I cringe.
“Release her arm,” Aidan hisses at the teacher as he glides over to us. “Now.”
Was he always this scary? His voice literally sends shivers down my spine.
The teacher obeys immediately. Before I can make sense of anything, I feel Aidan’s hands on me—one on each cheek. He brings his face close to mine, scanning it with wide, concerned, piercing blue eyes.
Finally, he steps back and releases my face, seeming satisfied with whatever he’s just determined.
“Come along,” he tells me. “My physician will meet us at the estate.”
His physician?
“It’s nothing,” I mumble. “Really—”
One, sharp, piercing glare is enough to shut me right up.
Cooper moves to follow us out the door when we leave, but to my surprise, Aidan stops him.
“Take the limo. Quinn and I need to have a little chat.”
- - - - -
I knew that Aidan had several cars; aside from the Town Car that picked me up from the airport, I saw at least two Italian cars in the driveway, and I haven’t even ventured into the garage yet.
But this car…
It’s an Aston Martin convertible, matte black and sleek as a raven. It purrs like a kitten and runs like butter.
But it’s not quite impressive enough to put me at ease in this current situation; I’m not sure anything would be.
“Tell me about your day.” It’s the first thing he’s said to me since we left the school, and it’s very clearly constructed as a command, rather than a request.
“Uh… okay. It was… good.”
He taps a finger against the steering wheel, looking mildly annoyed. “Did you make friends?”
I shrug. “I guess. Julia and Max were nice.”
To my surprise, he still looks annoyed. “Julia and Max are very nice. But I’m told you made some other friends today.”
Is he talking about Dean? The guy is the farthest thing from my friend. And who the hell would have told him… any of this?
When he seems to deduce that I’m not quite capable of answering, he continues. “I’m told it was your lab partner, not you, who concocted the acid that hurt your arm. Is that true?”
Seriously? How was he “told” all this information in such a short time frame? Cooper was with me the whole time, and he was barely on his phone for any of it. “Sort of. He put the final chemical in, but I think I messed up a few times, too.”
He grips the steering wheel tighter—so tight, his knuckles turn white. “And when you realized what was happening, you tried to save him.”
“I…” I swallow. “Save is a strong word. I just instinctively jumped—”
“Don’t backpedal, Quinn. You did a good thing. Bravery is important. Just not for people like him.”
I gape at him, sure I must have heard him incorrectly. “You’re talking about Dean?”
The sound of Dean’s name seems to make his entire body tense up. “I don’t want you talking to him. Is that understood?”
What the f**k is wrong with this guy? “He… he’s my chemistry partner.”
He laughs out loud. “That boy will never be allowed in a chemistry class again.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. I told you, I—”
Out of nowhere, he cuts the wheel hard, swerving the hundred-thousand-dollar car off the road and into the thick, muddy dredges of countryside. Only after I’ve gotten severe whiplash from all the jostling and off-roading does he slam on the brakes.
When the car finally screeches to a halt and he turns to look at me, his expression is, to my astonishment, calm and collected.
“I don’t want you talking to him,” he repeats evenly. “Is that understood?”
Eight months, I remind myself as I swallow through a dry, scratchy throat. Eight months until my eighteenth birthday and I can get the f**k out of here.
“Of course,” I tell him, plastering on a smile. “Crystal clear.”
- Writer
