After glancing back at Isaiah’s face to decipher what was going on, I saw his laser-like stare locked onto something on the headmaster’s desk. But no sooner than I snapped my head down to the messy contents on top, Isaiah grabbed a hold of my hand, stealing my attention away and completely blinding me.
“Let’s go, Teach.” Isaiah pulled me behind him, his calloused hands—likely from holding that stick in his tight grip during lacrosse—brushed over my soft palm. I let him lead me like a blind fool because his hand in mine muted something that screamed urgent in the back of my head.
I glanced back once at the headmaster and watched in a daze as he picked up a file and shoved it in the top drawer of his desk before slumping down in his chair.
He was definitely upset about something, and I had a very strong feeling that it had to do with me. Great.
As soon as Isaiah and I were out of his uncle’s office, I felt like I could breathe again. The hallway was a little brighter, and the long, narrowed corridor leading to the dining hall was bathed in a warm glow from the overhead chandeliers. The air was fresher, and soon, my senses were filled with the scent of delicious warm food that made my stomach roll from hunger. My weekly phone call was done. I survived.
Isaiah’s hand was still in mine, but I didn’t pull away or comment on it. I was silent as we walked, too captivated by everything else around me that seemed to mute the dark voice lingering in the background. “Is that why you don’t like when I call you Good Girl?”
I paused, my feet stuck to the black-and-white floor beneath my shoes like cement. My eyelashes fluttered with shock as I tore my hand from his. My head flung up, and all I saw were two icy eyes peering down at me. “Wh—what?” My heart drummed against my chest.
Panic set in when his lips set into a firm line. “Just answer the question.”
“Were you listening to my phone call?” Embarrassment flooded my cheeks, and a small amount of horror seeped in. How dare he listen.
There was a small twitch of Isaiah’s mouth that I zeroed in on, which sent a new batch of fire to my blood. “Just like you listened to me and my uncle the first day we met?”
My eyes shifted to the floor, suddenly feeling stupid, because he was right. I had eavesdropped on him first, so I guessed I kind of deserved that. But I was still annoyed, and just as I was trying to rationalize why it was okay for me to eavesdrop and not him, he interrupted me.
“I was listening in, yes, but regardless, your uncle wasn’t exactly quiet on the other end of the phone. And surprisingly enough, you can hear very well through that thick door.” I stayed silent, mulling over what I should say next. I was upset with myself that I didn’t even think about the fact that the headmaster could hear the conversation on the other side of the door after he’d very abruptly stepped out. And I had no idea that Isaiah was even out there. I grasped at the conversation that I was trying my hardest to push away, replaying it in my head to figure out what I had said.
“Answer me,” Isaiah pleaded. His voice had a sternness to it, and there was a tiny divot in between his brows.
“I thought we said no questions asked.” I shifted in my shoes, crossing my arms over my chest. A few students staggered out of the dining hall, holding cans of soda, passing us by as slowly as possible. They looked at Isaiah and then to me, and I wasn’t sure what we looked like to everyone else, but I assumed it looked as if we were sparring. Isaiah was staring down at me sternly, and I was peering up at him with one eyebrow raised, waiting for his response.
I heard a loud sigh escape him and maybe even the light sound of a growl as he spun around on his heel and stormed through the dining hall doors. Another group of students had quickly shot out of his way as he stalked into the large room with as much authority as Richard had in the courtroom, and then their attention went to me, likely wondering what I’d done to make the top Rebel of the school so angry.
I was wondering the same thing. Shouldn’t I have been the angry one in this situation?
And why was there a small part of me that was feeling out of sorts, knowing that Isaiah was angry at the moment? Was he angry at me? Why was I even concerned that he was angry in the first place?
Stepping farther into the nearly empty dining hall, I watched as Isaiah moved like some sort of predator as he casually swiped food from the line, even as the workers were putting it away. He didn’t even bother paying as he turned back around with his eyes dead set on me standing in the same position that he left me—arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
His dark hair fell onto his forehead as he came closer, then he thrust a bag of chips into my hand and stormed past me, knowing I’d follow. Even if I didn’t follow him, I’d see him in a few minutes anyway as we both headed to the library for tutoring, and not to mention, I was through being intimidated by people or letting their behavior affect mine. That wasn’t the new Gemma. That was the old one that Richard had formed between his slimy fingers.
The halls were empty and dark as we walked down them, side by side, eating our separate bags of chips. The only sounds were the bags crinkling and our very subtle chewing. My tongue was burning to yell at him or spew something angry, mainly because he had stormed off, acting as if I was the one who had just eavesdropped on his conversation and not the other way around, but as soon as we were in the desolate library and the door slammed shut behind us, something else entirely came out of my mouth, stunning me right there in the entryway.
“Yes.” Wait. What are you doing, Gemma?!
Isaiah was a few steps ahead of me, his tall stance nothing
but a dark shadow in the enormous room with tattered books lining the shelves. His back went still.
I belittled myself silently, irritated that I had answered his question that we both should have forgotten about, but it was like an invisible power had coaxed me into it. There was something heavy weighing on me from the very second he brought it up. Like he pushed away one of my many masks and saw beneath my stony glare that I was certain didn’t intimidate him at all.
My voice broke in all the wrong spots before I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yes, that’s why I didn’t like it when you called me Good Girl. That’s why it made me angry.”
I saw a tremor rip up Isaiah’s spine, and I swore he grew another three inches as I stared at his back. It only took him seconds to recover, but I knew that what I’d said had jolted him. He turned around quickly, the bag of chips still in his hand. “Then I won’t call you that anymore.”
“No!” I blurted, pushing myself farther into the library with desperation hot on my heels.
It wasn’t hard to see his muscles tighten with the moonlight filtering through the far windows. “No?”
I swallowed, keeping a hold on him. Why couldn’t I just stop talking? Why was I spilling the dirty truth all over the library floor as if I hadn’t spent years hiding from it? “Don’t stop calling me that.”
The faintest of smiles touched his lips as the bag crinkled in his hand. “Okay…” He dragged the word out before rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip and then licking the salt off. “But why? It’s apparent you don’t like your uncle.”