Page 3 of Trust

“Really? You care now?” My voice cracks. I speed up, rushing to the lab before she can catch up. I’m not interested in her act.

“Well, well, how nice to have the pleasure of having you here this morning, Sara,” Mrs. Johnson greets me when I come in.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” I retort with the sweetest smile I can fake, numb to the sarcasm.

Group work today. Ugh!

Chairs scrape. Eyes flick to the floor. A couple of students huddle and whisper, backs angled away like shields. One guy half-raises his hand, probably to ask the teacher for a swap, then thinks better of it. When I sit down, the girl next to me pulls her notebook closer, guarding it like it holds national secrets. It doesn’t sting anymore. Not the way it used to. I’ve learned to enjoy the unease I bring.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you do all the work,” I mutter as I pull out my phone and scroll the rest of the lesson away.

As always, time crawls toward lunch. Right before I doze off during an impassioned lecture on the American political system, I grab the bathroom pass and slip out. We all know our democracy is built on money and nepotism. I don’t need thirty-seven slides and a laser pointer to understand that.

I’m halfway down the hall when noises rise from the janitor’s closet. I almost keep walking. Someone’s always sneaking off to make out.

The sounds aren’t playful, though. They’re choked, almost panicked.

I stop, push the door open. My least favorite person at this school is blocking a freshman against the shelves. His hands are where they shouldn’t be, hers are clenched at her sides. She’s frozen.

“Hey, Ethan. How’s your tongue these days?” I ask, my tone easy.

He jerks like he’s been tasered and spins around to face me. The swagger he had evaporates fast.

“Fuck off, Sara,” he snaps. “You’re supposed to keep your distance, remember?”

“I suggest you leave then,” I say, stepping closer.

He scoffs. “Crazy bitch.” He shoves the girl aside and storms out.

I turn to her. She’s shaking as she pulls her clothes back into place.

“You okay?” I ask.

She glares at me. “You just ruined my chances with him.”

I blink. “You’re—welcome?”

She shoulders past me with a brutal hit.

I stand there alone in the closet and stare at the door long after it swings shut. Guess the universe doesn’t hand out gold stars for good deeds today.

◆◆◆

Exactly like in every cliché high school movie, I stand in the middle of the canteen and hold my tray with a slice of pizza, a bottle of water and a banana. Unlike those poor kids in the films, I’m not scared or intimidated. I may not be popular, but thanks to Richard, I’m so infamous I have my own table nobody risks sitting at. Even the bullies leave me alone. The last time some guy tried to get cute with me, I stood up, slamming my fists on the table loud enough to turn heads. Then I slowly emptied my bottle over his pants and had him standing there drenched and humiliated. His embarrassment was endearing, especially because he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Perks of being the mayor’s daughter, I guess.

I take my usual seat, reigning over my empty table. Some days the solitude is freedom, other days it’s nothing but a hollow ache of loss. Today, I bite into my pizza and pretend it’s the first kind.

Mrs. Conrad’s on lunch duty. She’s the oldest teacher at school, hair nearly white, thick glasses with a chain connecting the arms. She wears them like a necklace half the time and once joked it added to her cool factor. Honestly, it sort of does give her those stylish grandma vibes.

I check my schedule. PE, then algebra. Nope. The group work was already awful, but having my lack of fitness on display bothers me even more.

If I go now, I’ll be able to take the bus to the outskirts and be back before school ends. Fortunately, the principal has better things to do than report my every absence to Richard.

At home, I get endless speeches about security, responsibility, or my future, but he may as well not waste his precious time. They never have any effect.

Mrs. Conrad’s glasses aren’t perched on her nose right now. She’s nearly blind without them, which means I can sneak out unnoticed. The old lady is too sweet to put through a confrontation with me. The moment she turns toward the vending machine, I’m already out the side exit.

The thrill hits fast. Adrenaline buzzes through my system. Skipping beats PE a thousand times over.