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My cell phone vibrates from the outer pocket of my backpack. “Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
Lauren’s thin lips press tight together, but she doesn’t question me.
I know you said we’d talk later. Just wanted you to tell you that I think about you all the time.
Oh Matt.
I start to shoot off a text when the force of someone yanking on my backpack straps interrupts me. “I’m supposed to walk you to class.” Kyson smirks over my shoulder, trying to read my phone. “He thinks about you all the time,” he mocks, lips grazing my ear.
“Leave me alone, Kyson.”
“Nah. Don’t think I will.” He jerks my phone from my grasp. “What should I text back to Dear ol’ Matt?”
“Stop. He’s a good friend.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Please. I don’t want to be late for class.”
“Worried Uncle John will be disappointed?”
“Yesterday certainly didn’t help,” I snap, reaching for my phone. “Give it back.”
“Or what? You’ll go tattle on me again? Prove you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” His unnerving stare pierces me straight to my soul.
Unshed tears burn the backs of my eyes as the warning bell rings. Hating that he’s right, I grip the straps of the backpack, biting my bottom lip, willing myself not to cry in front of him. He’s not worthy of my tears.
The final bell rings and Kyson tucks my phone back in my backpack. “See you at lunch, dolly.” He pats the top of my head as if I’m a dog he expects to come to heel.
“Stop calling me that,” I mutter, but he’s already gone around the corner. Swiping the lone tear that broke free, I make a mad dash for my class. By the time I arrive, the door is shut, and everyone is in their seats. I slip into an empty seat in the back, hoping the teacher doesn’t notice how tardy I am, but I can feel her judgmental glare from the front of the class.
Please don’t call on me.
Please don’t call on me.
“We have a new student this morning. Miss Darlington, stand up and tell us where you’re from and what brings you to our school.”
Lauren looks back at me from the front row, offering me a meek smile.
Sweat slicks my palms and my tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth as I rise from my seat, wishing I could disappear. There are at least thirty sets of eyes on me. The bitter truth of why I’m here would certainly give them something to talk about, but I refuse to use my father’s death for sympathy. “Hi. My name is Dahlia. I’m here at the invitation of my extended family.” Short and vague, but to the point.
“Thank you, Dahlia. Class starts at eight fifteen. You’ll do well to remember that tomorrow.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I drop back to my seat quickly as hushed whispers float around the room. I don’t have to hear what they are gossiping about to realize that I’m the topic of their conversations. It’s going to be hard enough to focus with Kyson torturing me every moment of his spare time. I don’t need to concern myself with what a bunch of strangers think they may or may not know about me.
In a week they will have a new topic, and I’ll be old news.
That’s how it worked at my old school.
My plan is to lay low and fly under the radar as much as possible until graduation.
However, as I look around the room, noting how the others keep looking back at where I sit, that may be easier said than done. Between trying to graduate, my social status, and battling it out with Kyson on top of grieving for my father, I have my work cut out for me.
I already have several targets on my back, and I’ve not been enrolled at this school for a full day. At least I don’t spot Britney in this class. If I’m lucky, I won’t share any with her or Kyson and his crew.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m sick of introducing myself and having everyone stare at me like they either hate me or want to be me.
It’s creepy.
