I approach an empty intersection in the corridor and pause at the sound of a familiar voice around the corner.
“I don’t care what she agreed to do.” Sebastian Roth’s high-pitched whine grates across my skin.
She who? I hover at the bend and remain out of sight.
“Dude, let go of me.”
I’d recognize Prescott Rivard’s nasally voice anywhere. These two pencil dicks are inseparable friends, which piques my curiosity about their argument.
“I’ve had an arrangement with her for-fucking-ever,” Sebastian whispers, angrily. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
Paranoia punches behind my ribcage. There’s only one girl in this school I would fight over, and I know exactly how they look at her in class every day. I hope, for their sakes, they’re arguing about someone else.
Their heavy grunts echo through the hall, followed by the squeak of their shoes. If they fall around the corner, they’ll see me, and I’ll interrogate. But I wait, listening to them struggle while holding my breath. Say the girl’s name. Say her fucking name.
“Stop! You’re wrinkling my shirt,” Prescott says. “We can’t do this here. If my mom hears us—”
“I don’t give a shit!” Sebastian shouts.
Down the hall, a few girls round the corner and freeze mid-stride. I give them a stern point in the opposite direction, and they turn and rush away.
“You’re the one that’ll get in trouble.” Sebastian lowers his voice, his breaths rushed. “Seeing how you’re the only one fucking her anymore. Maybe I’ll pay a visit to dear ol’ Mom and let her know how you’re spending your allowance.”
My hands clench and my vision clouds as I connect the motivations of horny rich boys to that of a beautiful girl with an unknown source of income.
Adrenaline shakes my body and shortens my breaths. I want to hit something. My fingers dig into my palms. I want to fucking kill them.
“You wouldn’t,” Prescott says, his tone venomous.
“Try me,” Sebastian growls.
The sound of knuckles smacking flesh reaches my ears right before Sebastian falls into view. He lands at my feet, his plastic-framed glasses hanging lopsided on his forehead.
Cupping his mouth, the scrawny hipster groans and rolls to his side. “You fucking psycho!”
Prescott pounces from around the corner. Neither of them notices me as Prescott crouches over Sebastian and rears back his fist—
“Stand up!”
They freeze at the whip of my voice and lift their eyes, their faces blanching into colorless hues of Oh shit.
Sebastian recovers first, scrambling out from beneath Prescott and jumping to his feet. He adjusts his glasses and points at the dean’s son. “He hit me. You saw that, right?”
The little pussy isn’t even bleeding.
Prescott smirks, taking his time straightening his tie without standing. Refusing to acknowledge me. I can change that.
I grab his necktie and yank him up. He staggers as I whirl him around. I slam his back against the wall and wrap my hand around his throat. “Her name.”
Blond hair falls over his eyes, his lips pulling away from his overbite. “What?”
So help me God, if he stuck his dick in my girl…
Don’t go there, Emeric.
I put my face in his and let him feel the fury of my breaths. “The girl you’re fucking. Give me her name.”
His throat bobs against the compress of my hand. We’re the same height, but I have at least thirty adult pounds on him. Because I am the adult, the authority figure who’s supposed to be breaking up hallway fights, not engaging in them.
I loosen my grip, but refuse to let go. I want to crush his gangly throat just for infecting my head with images of him with Ivory. “Sexual misconduct will get you expelled, Mr. Rivard. Who’s the girl?”
“Avery,” he chokes out. “But just to be clear…we’re n-not…having sex.”
Avery, not Ivory. The names are too similar, like he was thinking Ivory and spit out something else.
I glare at Sebastian. “Who’s Avery?”
He stares daggers at Prescott. “Avery Perrault is his girlfriend. She goes to St. Catherine’s.”
Is he lying? I’m wound too tight to pick up on hints. “Tell me about the arrangement you have with her.”
Sebastian’s eyes flash behind his glasses, his tone low and pungent. “She used to hang out with me, but not anymore.”
If hang out isn’t a euphemism for sex, I don’t know what is. And if this is about Ivory, why would they lie? So she can’t contradict their story? Is there more to it? Paying her for sex goes beyond expulsion. If caught, all three would be charged as consenting adults for violating prostitution laws. My chest constricts at the thought of Ivory arrested.
I return my attention to the imbecile wheezing in my grip. “How are you spending your allowance?”
“I-I…b-buy Avery things.” He paws at my hand. “Because she’s my girlfriend.”
Every inch of my body twitches with edginess. I release him and hold out my palm. “Unlock your phones and give them to me. Both of you.”