Every nerve in my body stands on end as we hold a frenzied, extended gaze in the empty hallway.
I force my feet to move, because I sure as hell don’t want to add detention to the list of things going wrong in my life. I make it to the door just as the bell rings—eyes pointedly forward—and ignore him.
I pass Heston, who’s got a slimy grin plastered on his face, and slide swiftly into my seat. Reagan looks past me, eyes focused on her boyfriend who I know is merely a few steps behind. I can’t help but notice the purple bruise at the base of her throat—the Devil’s Mark. Seeing it—seeing her—makes my stomach flip. He has a girlfriend for god’s sake. That just makes what happened even worse.
Hamilton’s backpack makes a noise behind me as he drops it to the floor, but I barely hear it over the sound of my heartbeat echoing in my ears. I’d already been dealing with shame, regret, and guilt. Now add the humiliation of being late to class to the top of the list.
I wait for Dr. Ross to drop the hammer, but to my surprise, she jumps right into the lecture. Maybe the rumors are false. Maybe she’s not so strict after all. The urge to turn around and see what Hamilton is thinking is strong—but not strong enough to throw self-preservation out the window, not to mention whatever tattered shreds are left of my dignity.
At that thought, a memory of Hamilton flashes through my mind. His firm abs beneath my fingertips, the darkness of his hooded eyes, the way his brows were knitted tightly together when I opened mine, just for a moment, in the middle of our kiss. But the clearest part of the memory is definitely the heat of him, the anger thrumming beneath the sweaty surface of his skin, the way he surged into me, commanded me with his body and mouth...
I squirm in my seat, feeling both flushed and completely aghast at myself. Who am I even kidding? There’s no tattered shreds of dignity left. If there were a single thread left, I just blew that sucker away.
My stomach churns uncomfortably the whole class, and I don’t hear a word Dr. Ross says until the bell rings, finally allowing for escape—
“Ms. Adams, Mr. Bates? Please see me before you leave.”
I freeze in my path to the door, stomach plummeting. I don’t move until the rest of the class leaves. Only then do I dare a glance at Hamilton. His expression is downright murderous, so overwhelmingly severe that I actually get the feeling his day is going worse than mine. I may have betrayed my sister last night, but he betrayed something that, to him, is a lot bigger and far less forgiving; legacy and his own identity. He dared lower himself to kissing me, a nothing. Well, less than a nothing. A nothing is completely neutral nothingness. It’s not even there. But I’m the freak of Preston Prep. And he made out with me.
That’s gotta cut pretty deep.
Dr. Ross is a tiny African American woman with reddish hair and glasses twice the size of her face. With her size, it’d be easy to dismiss her. But that would be a mistake. She has a Ph.D. from Harvard, is credited in multiple published papers, and is frankly a huge feather in Preston Prep’s cap. She’s a total badass.
She levels us both with a look. “I know you’re both aware of my tardy policy.”
I fidget, answering, “Zero tolerance.”
Hamilton says nothing.
“My time is valuable. If I can get here on time, fighting through the traffic of this god-forsaken city—after getting my two children to school every day—then you two can roll your privileged behinds out of bed and walk the two blocks from the dormitory.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes flick to Hamilton. His jaw twitches but he finally relents, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Two weeks of detention,” she says, looking down to shuffle papers. “After school.”
My jaw drops.
Two weeks?!
Some of the anger on Hamilton’s face transforms into a similar sort of shock. He recovers quickly. “With all due respect, Dr. Ross, I have a standing physical therapy appointment, and swim starts next week.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose and looks at me. “And you?”
“After-school tutoring in the library and yeah,” I shuffle my feet, “also swim.”
“Fine. Weekend detention. Two hours every Saturday morning for five weeks.” She grins the grin of a woman who knows just how much this sucks for us, but also knows that we aren’t in a position to complain.
Clearly, she doesn’t know Hamilton very well.
“Five weeks of Saturday detention?!” He gapes at her. “Doing what?”
“You can meet with Mr. Dewey.” Mr. Dewey is the dean of discipline for the residents in the dorms. He’s here all weekend. “He’ll coordinate your punishment.”
“Like, together?” Hamilton blurts.
She blinks at him. “You walked in together late. You can do your punishment together.”