“No, of course not. I just want to talk to you without feeling…” I wave my hands around, trying to convey my emotions. “Like this. I know you’re still mad at me about the pond, and you’re punishing me for it. That’s what today in class was about, wasn’t it?”
“Today in class was about you not being able to stand up for yourself.” He clips the words out, and then instantly looks as if he regrets them.
“You wanted me to out Louisa in front of the entire class?” I ask in disbelief. “Why not just give her a loaded shotgun while I’m at it.”
“Girls like Louisa win as long as you let them.”
“And what would you have done had I outed her?” I challenge. “Humiliate me in front of the entire class?”
“I would have punished her.”
The way he says punished her sends an irrational jolt of jealousy through me, and I don’t like it. I don’t like thinking of Mr. Carter punishing anyone else. Or touching anyone else. In my mind, those things are only for me. He can see it on my face, and he likes it. He likes my jealousy. He likes it so much I bet his cock is hard beneath his desk right now, and all I can think about is crawling to him to worship at his feet and beg for forgiveness.
“Mr. Carter.” My voice breaks as I work up the courage to ask him the most dangerous question I can think of. “Would it make you feel better if you punished me?”
He sucks in a breath, and his eyes pool with darkness as he steeples his palms on the table in front of him. “And how would I do that, Stella?”
“However you want.”
Our eyes lock, and silence fills the space between us. My heart is beating so hard it feels like a gunshot inside my chest cavity. I want him to touch me again. I want him to tell me how bad I am and make me pay for it. I’m pretty sure this isn’t normal, but I don’t care. I want him to do depraved things with me.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” He gets up, but instead of coming for me, he just stands there. “You don’t even know what you want.”
“Yes, I do,” I whisper.
“Tell me, then,” he commands. “Tell me what your place is in this school, Stella. Tell me what your future looks like. Tell me how getting onto the cheer squad is going to solve all of your problems.”
My eyebrows knit together. I didn’t realize we were having Research class all over again, but here we are. And he’s right. I don’t know the answers to those questions.
“I don’t know about any of those things,” I admit. “But I know what I want right now.”
“Right now, you want to discuss how you’re going to make up your grade for the essay you failed to turn in today,” he redirects the conversation, and my frustration compounds.
“How am I going to do that?”
“You are going to turn in a three-page essay on the consequences of choices. Tomorrow morning, in my office at seven thirty.”
“But I have cheer practice tonight,” I protest.
“Choices and consequences,” he repeats without mercy. “Better make it a good one, Stella.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STELLA
WHENISHOWup to cheer practice, Sybil squeals in excitement, but I don’t feel the same. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here. What Mr. Carter said was true. I have no idea what my place in this school is, or what my future looks like, and I’m almost eighteen. Shouldn’t I at least have some of it figured out by now?
I fumble my way through the routine, but in the back of my mind, all I can think about is my essay and what I’m going to write. It only gets worse when I notice Mr. Carter walking across the quad after soccer practice. His eyes lock onto me, and he looks disappointed. Or angry. I can’t be sure which because I can never tell with him. But either way, it’s obvious he’s displeased.
I feel like he’s trying to tell me something about the path I’m on. Like I’m heading for disaster unless I figure it out soon. But that doesn’t make any logical sense. I know from the Google stalking I did that he was raised in an affluent family, and he’s the heir to a luxury resort chain. Sebastian went to the best schools, and I have no doubt he faced the same pressures I did. So why does it always seem like he’s contradicting what Loyola stands for. Excellence in education. Bright futures. As I consider their motto, it also occurs to me how rigid the definition is. What exactly is a bright future? Is any job less important than another?
All of these thoughts make my head hurt, and Sybil notices when I’m not giving it my all. She isn’t thrilled when we finally stop for the night.
“What is going on with you, Cherrybomb?” She studies me with concern. “You were all over the place.”
“I know.” I wipe my forehead with a towel. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “We can go grab some dessert and have a girls’ night.”