“Come on,” he said, and turned to lead the way down the long central hallway—one of the corridors connecting the four tall towers, which was apparently where the classrooms were located here at Nocturne Academy.
I nearly stumbled as I hurried to keep up with him. All around me students in uniforms were digging in their lockers, shouting, laughing, flirting…and I could barely see any of them.
All I could see was Griffin.
He weaved through the crowded hall as gracefully as a dancer but it was clear he didn’t need grace to traverse the busy scene. Students stepped out of his way, almost instinctively avoiding him. This cleared a path for him and, by proxy, for me.
We finally got to the English classroom and he led the way in without a second glance. Clearly he had forgotten about me or maybe he just didn’t care enough to say anything else. He went to the back of the classroom and sat in a desk in the corner, farthest from the window.
I tried not to stare at him but it was hard—his lean, muscular frame looked even more seductive somehow when posed in that lazy slouch. He reminded me of a panther, all coiled strength and hidden power. What was it about him?
Well, besides the lock around his neck.
The key on my own necklace seemed to settle down some when the distance between us grew. It no longer beat like a second heartbeat under my new uniform blouse and it had gone from scorching hot to simply warm.
I forced myself to look away from him and go to the front of the room to introduce myself to the teacher, an older lady with a heavily wrinkled face and faded, ancient eyes. Mrs. Wainright.
Haltingly I explained the situation, how I used to be in AP English and how the secretary told me all the seats in honors English were filled here. Mrs. Wainright looked at me vaguely and I had the feeling she wasn’t comprehending any of what I was saying. How old was she anyway? At last she patted my arm and gave me a kindly, if distant smile.
“Just have a seat in the front there, dearie and we can talk about it after class. We’ll be starting in a moment.”
I thanked her, though I would rather have gone to sit in the back by Griffin. Which was stupid, I knew. He was so far out of my league we weren’t even in the same ballpark but something seemed to draw me to him. Could it be the key? Or was I just making excuses to get closer to him?
He barely knows you exist, I reminded myself sternly as I chose a desk near the front and sat down, smoothing my new pleated uniform skirt over my knees self-consciously.
But there was an itching sensation between my shoulder blades and I couldn’t help feeling like he was looking at me. I turned my head and saw that he was facing in my direction at least. His dark glasses, however, made it impossible to tell if he was actually looking my way or just staring blankly at the white board.
I turned around quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed my glance.
Soon enough, other students started filing in. I saw a couple of giggly blond girls but the majority of the class was male.
Four in particular stood out. They were big and brawny with brown eyes and black hair and they looked almost alike enough to be brothers. All of them were wearing lanyards with green tags on them.
Since this was remedial English, I was pretty sure they must be on the football team—if the students at Nocturne Academy stooped to play such a mundane sport, that was. The rule at all schools in Florida, public or private, was no pass, no play. So these guys had probably been put into the easiest classes possible to keep them eligible for whatever sport they were playing.
One of them seemed to notice me looking at them because he stopped right in front of my desk and stared down at me menacingly.
“Hey girlie, you like what you see?” He did a little bump and grind and since his groin was on level with my face, I couldn’t miss the obscene bulge in his black uniform slacks. He wore them low and held them up in the front with one hand.
Thug life at Nocturne Academy.
My lips tightened and I leaned back in my seat, as far from him as I could get. Mrs. Wainright was writing on the white board, her marker screeching slowly across its blank surface, and she didn’t seem to notice what was going on. Probably she couldn’t hear it—I’d thought she seemed a little deaf.
“What’s wrong, pretty girlie, can’t talk?” the asshole taunted me. “You’re new, right? Where did you move from—the North Pole? Is that why you’re all dressed up for winter?”