We were silent as we walked side by side down the hall. I put enough distance between the two of us that there was no way he hadn’t noticed, but the space didn’t allow the tension in the air to dissipate even in the slightest. We were both a little on edge. I wasn’t really sure why he was, but as soon as we popped back out into the quiet hallway, I noticed the tense way he held himself. Wide shoulders tight, fists clenched, corded jaw muscles moving back and forth.
My hand hit the iron knob of my door, but before I could turn it, he cleared his throat quietly. “We start Monday. I’ll let my uncle know you’ve agreed to tutor me.”
I nodded briefly, unable to look at him. “Will I be lying to him too? If he asks me about our tutoring sessions?”
“No.”
So, his uncle knows. Interesting.
Isaiah took a step toward me, wafting his clean-scented body wash into my personal space again. “The SMC might not even question you. You’re more of a cover for me. They usually catch me in the act of sneaking out or back into the school. If they see me in the hallway, I’ll just say I was tutoring with you. I highly doubt they will even ask you anything.”
I kept my eyes trained to the red carpet on the floor beneath our feet. “And if they catch you in a lie? Or me? Then what?”
“You won’t get into trouble. Trust me.”
My head finally snapped up as I locked onto his eyes. It was too dark in the hall to see the light-blue color surrounded by dark lashes, but I didn’t need to see them to know they were full of conviction. “I don’t trust anyone, Isaiah.”
His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and that familiar pull from earlier made itself known in my lower belly. “Well, you’re gonna need to trust me.” A slight tug on one of my long pieces of hair was as good as him saying goodnight as he turned around swiftly and strode down to the opposite end of the hall and made a turn into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Isaiah
* * *
“You’re failing 90% of your classes.” I brought my eyes up to the laptop screen, seeing that the face on the other side was Mercedes’ father.
The SMC consisted of ten members. Five teachers, my uncle—the headmaster—three parents, and one of the school's biggest benefactors. We all sat at a long, rectangular table in the library before the sun even made daybreak. They were all on one side, sitting across from me, each holding an angry, disapproving glint within their expression that was clear even on the parents’ faces through the computer screen.
Even my uncle appeared disappointed.
He was still pissed about the Bain ordeal on Saturday night. He’d somehow figured out what had happened with Gemma. He knew we threw parties occasionally, but he’d never caught us in the act or even knew where we held them. For all he knew, we crammed into one dorm room. But regardless, I think he trusted me and the Rebels to handle things if they ever got out of hand—which was precisely why Saturday was cut short. I may have been a rebellious menace most of the time, but I wasn’t okay with what Bain had done.
My uncle leaned forward onto the shiny table and angled the laptop that had the three parents on videos, “Isaiah is aware of his grades. We have come up with a solution.”
“You have?” That came from Mercedes’ father again. He didn’t like me. He’d never met me, but I’d seen enough of his face over the last year for disciplinary reasons. “Please do tell, Tate. I would love to know how you are covering for your nephew again.”
A strike of annoyance cut through me. Maybe even a little guilt, too.
“He isn’t covering for me. It was my idea. My uncle threatened to kick me out of St. Mary’s himself, actually.” I leaned back onto my hard-backed chair, briefly smelling the dust that lined the bookshelves behind me, and raised my chin. “I found a tutor, and she has agreed to help me with my school work in the evenings after lacrosse until I get my grades up.”
Mrs. Dunes’ head slanted, her plump rosy cheeks lifting in amusement. “You found a tutor? Who, may I ask?”
I knew what they were thinking. I could read it all over their faces. They weren’t taking me seriously and likely thought I’d seduced someone into tutoring me. Again, it drove a stake of annoyance through me, but also, I couldn’t really blame them. “Gemma Richardson.”
Silence raced through the group of teachers. They shared quick looks with one another, which were hardly noticeable to the naked eye.
“Who is Gemma Richardson?” one of the parents asked through their muffled microphone. I was pretty certain it was Abby Clinton’s mother by the similarity in features, but I couldn’t be certain.
“She’s our new student. Very smart and driven.” My uncle’s voice held a hint of authority, one that he didn’t often use.
Another parent snickered. “What is this? A joke? I’m sure the school’s bad boy has already had her under the bleachers.”
I laughed. “As if I’ve ever taken a girl under the bleachers.” There were far better places to fuck someone than under the bleachers. I may have been an arrogant asshole, but I did have some dignity. I wasn’t a goddamn animal.
My uncle shot me a death stare, his green eyes widening and his mouth set in a deep scowl.
I rolled my eyes and wiped off my smile. “Honestly…” I leaned forward, eyeing the parent who had said such a comment. “The new girl isn’t really my type. Plus, she’s one of the only girls at this school who isn’t trying to get me to fu—” I stopped myself before the word came out. “…date them,” I was quick to add. “Your daughters don’t count. They stay clear away from me, and I stay clear away from them.”