“But—” he starts.
“That was just a coincidence,” I say anxiously. “Totally by accident.”
“You’ll survive.” She stacks papers on her desk. “I’m not asking Mr. Dewey to implement two different punishments when I’m already accommodating your schedules.” She jerks her chin toward the door. “Go. Before you’re late to your next class, as well.”
It’s a dismissal and even Hamilton knows not to argue. With my hand clenched around my backpack strap, I follow him out the door. Any thought that I had about him waiting for me before class has vanished. There’s no chance. Not with the way he just reacted to spending time in detention with me.
The feeling is mutual.
Reagan, who’s waiting for him in the hall, immediately clings to his arm. She pulls him into an empty space next to the trophy case, just out of sight.
“Hey, you,” she says, “how bad was it?”
“Five weeks.” The anger in Hamilton’s voice is unmistakable. “Saturday mornings.”
“Ouch. With her?”
I stop, pressing my back against the wall just enough to see them through the trophy case.
His grin is tight and sarcastic. “Yep.”
“Damn, babe. That’s like double punishment.”
He thrusts his hand into his hair, and that ball of muscle tics at the back of his jaw. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I mean, because she’s always causing drama for you—”
“Reagan.” His voice is low and hard. “I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”
Hurt flickers across her face. “Geez, fine. I just thought you may want some commiseration for having to spend that much of your free time with a total bitch.”
“I spend time with you, don’t I?”
Damn.
The hurt vanishes as quickly as it’d come. She touches his chest. “Look, babe, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You’ve been all tense and distant. You even went to bed early on Halloween. I know I could make you feel so much better, if you’d just let me.”
His eyes drop down to hers and a strange feeling twists in my belly. Disgust? Revulsion? I don’t wait to explore it further, or risk finding out exactly what Reagan might do to help him “relax.”
To my surprise, Tyson is already at the lunch table when I arrive, halfway through a massive plate of spaghetti. “Oh my god, Gwen. That lunch lady? She’s the best. Said I needed some meat on my bones and gave me extra. Were I not already happily committed to another, I’d get down on a knee.”
I smile, some of the tension falling from my shoulder. “Yeah, Bev is good people. And FYI, if you’re nice to her, she’ll slip in extra dessert, too.”
He looks back at me, slac
k-mouthed. “Yes. Yes. I’m so completely all over that.”
I hook my backpack on my chair and glance across the room. The shiny blonde of Reagan’s hair catches my eye and I notice she and Hamilton are sitting close together, her hand resting on his thigh. I study his face and notice some of the harsh, tense lines from earlier are gone. Maybe she had helped him relax.
Ew.
“Who’s that?” Tyson asks.
“Who’s who?” I focus on my lunch.
“That girl you’re watching.” He nods in their direction, “Blondie.”
I give a weak scoff. “I wasn’t watching her.”