Page 37 of Play The Game

I suddenly feel too warm, too full, too loved. I was already struggling with words thinking about singing in the first place, but now there’s no chance of me managing a coherent reply so I duck my head as I nod and squeeze his hand, hoping it’s enough. He squeezes mine in return, then lifts it to kiss my knuckles before he opensup his notebook to show me our song.

After Choir, Blaise tucks me under his arm to walk to our next class with a grin on his face that is so smug I feel like it should be illegal. Mostly because he’s usually only wearing it after we’ve fooled around together, or when he’s teasing me about how quickly he can make me come which, for the record, is embarrassingly fast.

Harley gives him a look when he walks me to my desk but Blaise only chuckles at him before he pulls my seat out for me. It’s all very chivalrous and sweet, right up until he swoops down to kiss the life out of me, right there in the middle of our history classroom that’s already half full of students.

Blushing, I chew on my lip and try not to look like a total sexed-up harlot, but Harley scoffs at me. “You sang for him, didn’t you?”

Ash turns around in his seat, not even pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping, and it takes me three tries to get my words out. “I tried to. We’re working on something together.”

Ash’s eyes flare, only to grimace when Avery very pointedly clears her throat next to him. I’m hit with the insane urge to giggle at the bucket of ice he must feel over his head but I’m too busy trying to ignore the heat of Harley’s hand on my knee. It’s already an impossible ask, but when he smirks and slips it underneath my skirt to get a handful of my thigh instead, I have to smother my scandalized reaction down to a hard look.

He only stares lustfully back, biting his lip like the fucking tease that he is.

Our fun comes to a screeching halt as the door opens and Ms. Vivienne walks in.

With a groan that has nothing to do with his hand, I turn away from Harley and glare at the white board like it’s to blame. From the corner of my eye, I see that bitch of a teacher lock-in on Harley the moment she steps foot inside the classroom. It’s like nothing else exists here but him and for the first time in my life, the idea of killing someone without money being involved, or a favor, or even my life being on the line, becomes appealing.

I want to murder her.

I’m too busy planning it out in my head to hear a word of what she’s saying. My surroundings don’t come into focus, until she’s handing back our work that she marked over the weekend and Harley freezes in his seat, his hand flexing on my thigh. I turn to look at him but he’s glaring at my paper, not his own. My brows pinch in, no clue what his problem is, he’s practically trembling with rage, but when he glances up to meet my eye, he’s suddenly being very careful. I get the feeling he’s kind of tip-toeing around me and I’m completely lost.

Then I look down at the paper in my hands and my brain breaks in half.

B+.

Written in bold red ink, refusing to change no matter how long I stare at it. Before Hannaford, I’d never gotten lower than an A+. But here? I’ve never gotten a lower than an A. Never. Even when Harley beats me in our classes, it’s only by the smallest of margins and yet here I am staring down at a B fucking plus.

My head fills with a high pitch buzzing noise and my mind checks out entirely. Gone. Closed for some serious freaking maintenance. My breathing shallows into these weird little pants—I’m probably hyperventilating—and I vaguely feel a hand on my back, rubbing slow circles, while an argument starts around me. I can’t seem to turn my focus away from the panic that has broken my brain.

A chair scrapes back sharply, the warm caress of breath down my neck, and then the low rumbling of Ash’s voice as he whispers in my ear, “Avery will fix it, Mounty. Just breathe, for fuck’s sake! No one is going to die over one crappy grade.”

That’s some perspective, right there. My chest eases enough for a deep, gulping breath. Just one, but it brings the room back into focus and I can hear the war waging around me.

“Mr. Beaumont, get back to your table! And Miss Beaumont, I will not be spoken to like that in my own classroom. If your little friend is unhappy with her mark, she will just need to work harder,” Ms. Vivienne snaps out and, hoo boy, big mistake. My eyes finally unglue themselves from the mark, and I look up at my best friend as her shoulders roll back and her chin lifts.

The room stops.

Stops talking, stops moving, stops existing.

Ms. Vivienne glances around, frowning and unsure of what the hell is going on, like the clueless fool she is.

Avery stands slowly, smoothing her skirt down with a steady hand. She’s been teetering on the edge of bloodshed all week and this bitch just stepped into the ring. Ash leans back in his chair to survey the class, but there isn’t a single student willing to meet his eye.

Sheep, the lot of them.

“If you think you can come to this school and play games with my family, then you’re a stupid, desperate, old cunt that has a lot to learn. I’ve been lenient on you; observed the social niceties and played by the agreed set of rules, but now you’re going to get the same as every other miserable whore that walks these halls. You have a single chance to give Lips the mark her paper deserves, right now, or you can continue down the path to your own destruction because I assure you, Ms. Turner, that you are not in the position of power here. I will wipe all traces of you from the face of the Earth.”

Ms. Vivienne’s cheeks flush, and she flicks a look at where Harley’s hand is still rubbing circles into my back. Her eyes narrow. The bitch is fucking deranged. If Avery’s icy speech didn’t make her quake in her stupid whore heels then she’s clearly got no survival instincts.

“Go straight to the principal’s office, Miss Beaumont. I will meet you there, after the bell, and we will discuss your actions with Mr. Trevelen. He will find an appropriate punishment for your unacceptable behavior and threats.”

Avery tips her head back and laughs, and even I shiver at the sound.

Harley starts packing his bag and when he sees I’m still struck dumb by the red ink, he packs mine as well. Ms. Vivienne’s eyes flash at him as her focus shifts away from Avery and to the only person she really seems to give a shit about. “Mr. Arbour, I have not dismissed you.”

He snorts at her and stands, tugging me to my feet, and Ash and Blaise both get up as well, bags packed and slung over their shoulders. Harley even grabs Avery’s bag so she’s not weighed down during her rage-filled stomping to wherever-the-hell-it-is we’re going.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! All of you, sit down this instant! I will be calling your parents!” Ms. Vivienne screeches, but her eyes are still fixed on Harley. His hands clench into fists and Avery tucks her arm into his to prevent him from smacking the bitch out.