“What do you mean?”
“He kept you after class. Again.” He wiggles his perfectly shaped eyebrows.
“Ugh,” I groan as I toss his arm off of me. “He has it out for me. Not sure why.” I like Christian a lot, but the less people I have knowing my business, the better.
“Ah-uh,” he says, unconvinced.
“Miss Stringer.” I recognize Headmaster Charles’ curt voice and look up to see him down the hall, heading toward me. Jesus Christ, I can’t catch a break in this place.
“I expect you’ll have the proper shoe wear by next week?” I glance down at my Chucks that I’ve made exactly zero effort to replace.
“Working on it!” I promise.
“Very good.”
“Looks like Mr. James isn’t the only one who has it out for you,” Christian whispers into my ear after Headmaster Charles passes.
“Shut up.” I laugh and bump his shoulder with mine.
The cafeteria hall isn’t crowded or noisy like Riverdale. God, even social hour is quiet for these people. How boring. Christian heads straight for the food line. I don’t have lunch money today, so I pretend I’m not hungry. Christian doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press me either. Once we’re seated, he tosses a roll in my direction.
“I said I wasn’t hungry,” I say, catching it with one hand.
“Gotta keep that booty ripe, Remi. Ripe Remi. That has a nice ring to it,” he muses.
“You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re stubborn. Are you really not going to tell me why he’s kept you after class for two days in a row?”
“Can you keep it down?” I hiss, my eyes darting around to gauge whether we have any eavesdroppers. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Then I guess you’re not interested in the rumors about him,” Christian teases.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” I bat my eyelashes exaggeratedly.
“I don’t usua
lly play this game with girls,” he drawls. “But for you, I’ll make an exception. Spill it.”
Taking a deep breath, I decide that there’s no harm in telling Christian about Ryan. For one, judging by his reaction to him the other day, I’m sure he already suspects something. And two, I just don’t see Christian as the malicious type.
“My stepbrother is going through some stuff. He got a little rough with me the other day, and Mr. James noticed. He just wanted to make sure I was safe. Sort of part of the job description, you know?”
Christian shakes his head.
“I knew something was off with that guy.”
“Seriously, Christian, I’ve lived with him for most of my life. He’s not a threat. He’s…struggling,” I reiterate.
“Doesn’t matter, babe. Don’t be that girl. Don’t make excuses for him.”
“Listen, I’m not an idiot. I know Ryan, and he’s not dangerous.” Even as I say the words, I wonder if that’s still true.
“Your turn,” I remind him, taking a bite out of the softest roll I’ve ever had in my entire life.
“Okay, here’s what I know. His first name is Pierce.” Pierce. I never knew a name could be sexy, but I stand corrected. He looks like a Pierce. All dapper with a side of darkness. Brosnan has nothing on this guy.
“Twenty-nine years old,” he continues. “Perpetually single, but never lacking female companions. He was teaching in California, but came here a couple years ago. Then, in the middle of the year, he left. He never came back,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Until now,” he adds thoughtfully. “That’s all I know.”