Page 18 of Cruel Games

Gideon’s eyes widened. “Watch out, Lilah.”

Something cold filled the back of my neck. I spun in my seat to find the tawny-haired girl from before smirking down at me with a dirty soup bowl in her hand.

“Whoops!” she said.

I could deal with her later. She was just a weak-minded ass-licker who had acted first to curry favor with those higher up in the food chain.

Instead, I reserved the full extent of my wrath for Elizabeth and the two laughing jackals at her table. Maxwell and Orlando threw their heads back, shaking with mirth.

I narrowed my eyes. What the hell was yesterday about? They’d either crowded me to gather information for Elizabeth, or they’d taken one look at my appearance and thought I would be slutty enough to give them the handjobs Elizabeth had accused me of performing.

“Myra, that was beneath you,” Gideon said to the witch-faced girl.

“Quiet, sooty,” she snarled.

Rage surged in my veins. I picked up my soup bowl and flung the contents in her face. She shrieked and staggered back as though she’d been hit with acid. What a racist twat.

Mrs. Campbell stood. “What on earth are you girls doing?”

Gideon pulled himself to his feet and said a few words on my behalf, but I was past caring. Globs of cold soup soaked into my hair and slithered down my back. I wasn’t about to sit around and endure another telling off in this condition.

I walked out of the dining room, ignoring the deputy headmistress’s calls for me to return and explain myself.

Chapter 8

As soon as I reached the tower, I unlocked my door, flung it open, and rushed to the bathroom. By now, gazpacho soup had trailed down my back and into my underwear. I tore off my clothes and flung them to the floor.

“What a stupid cow,” I snarled.

The old me would have smashed the bowl in her face, but this morning’s lesson with Miss Martin had given me the first spark of hope that becoming a dress designer was within my grasp. An idiot like Myra wouldn’t put me off my dream. Besides, it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to go.

I hopped into the shower and stood under the warm spray until all traces of tomato and garlic and basil had swirled down the plughole. After slathering on a healthy amount of shampoo and a conditioner that wouldn’t do a thing to moisturize my bleached hair, I gave myself a final rinse and slipped on my dressing gown.

A knock sounded on the door. I clenched my teeth, ready to tell Mrs. Campbell exactly why I’d thrown soup in Myra’s face. When I flung it open, I found Gideon, clutching a wooden tray laden with silverware and steel-covered plates.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast, and you stormed out of lunch. Mrs. Stornoway in the kitchens kindly prepared a takeaway.”

My gaze lingered on the way he’d stacked the plates high. “That’s a lot of food for one person.”

Gideon shouldered the door and walked around me. He placed the tray on my desk and beamed. “I intend to fulfill my invitation to sit together at lunch.”

Warmth spread through my heart. He was actually really nice looking when he wasn’t acting so stuck-up. I sat on the edge of my chair and arranged the toweling gown over my legs. Gideon removed the lid off one of the plates, revealing a shepherd’s pie with peas and carrots on the side.

The aroma of minced lamb, mashed potato, and melted cheese filled my nostrils, making my mouth water. “Wow!”

“It was toad in the hole, yesterday.” Gideon sat at my desk chair and handed me a plate. “Mrs. Stornoway likes to serve comfort food at lunch.”

“Thanks.” I pictured myself pouring gravy over a row of brown sausages baked in batter.

We ate in silence, exchanging glances. I couldn’t figure Gideon out. One moment, he looked at me like I was something he found on the sole of his shoe, and then the next, he was bringing me lunch in my room. Had we found common ground in our dislike of that tawny-haired witch?

“Are people usually racist here?” I asked.

With a tightening of his lips, he tilted his head to the side. His elegant version of a shrug. “Myra Highmore is a disturbed young woman. One cannot take anything she does or says to heart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”