I throw a hand up and wave as I pick up the pace, heading down the hill toward the student center. Sybil was kind enough to let me know where detention was since Mr. Carter failed to inform me. He did arch an eyebrow at me before I left, and I almost asked, but it felt like he was challenging me. I think he has me pegged for another run of the mill rich kid with entitlement issues, but I’m here to prove him wrong. While I was undeniably flustered in his presence at first, his abrasive personality was enough to douse me in cold water. The man might be hot as sin, but he’s also completely detached from human emotion. Briefly, I wonder how he came to be that way, but I try to forget it as I stride through the student center and find room 206.
Stupidly, I had anticipated I wouldn’t be the only one in detention today, but one glance at the empty classroom has dashed that hope. Worse yet, when I see the dark figure lurking at the desk inside, my heart jumps into my throat. Mr. Prince of Darkness, aka Satan, isn’t just my research teacher. He’s also my warden.
“Are you going to stand there all day, Miss LeClaire, or do I need to give you permission to take a seat?”
Crap.
I’m staring at him again. Why do I keep doing that, and how do I make it stop? Moving my leaden feet, I traipse across the room and sit down at one of the tables in the second row. At least now there’s some distance between us, and I can pretend I’m working on something while I doodle in my journal. Even though I have homework, there’s no way I can concentrate in his presence.
He doesn’t say another word, but our eyes clash as I retrieve a few things from my bag and lay them out on the desk. Binder, notepad, pens, a few books to look legit, and my journal. When Mr. Carter settles into his seat and begins going over his own paperwork, I settle in too.
Flipping through the pages of my journal, I smooth my fingers over the edges of some of the photos I took this summer. They are mostly sunsets and candids of people on the beach, but also the occasional bird and plenty of shots of me and Sybil goofing around. While nature is great for practice, people are my favorite subject to photograph, and I have some shots of Sybil I’m especially proud of. She even asked me to print them out so she can use them in her dance portfolio.
More than a few times, I considered showing them to my father. Once upon a time, he had a passion for photography. He loved his job, and he was good at it, but he never made it big, so he gave up his dream when he traded his soul as a corporate slave. The dissatisfaction is written all over his face, and now I can’t help but wonder if that will be me in ten years. He’s told me on more than a few occasions that photography can only ever be a hobby for me. Neither of my parents see it as a viable career choice even though my mother hasn’t had her own career in decades. She hates the very idea of me wasting my time behind the camera so much that she even broke one of my lenses last year in a drunken fit.
Darkness infiltrates my vision as I flip through my journal until I find a blank page. A new chapter. This is the part of my life where I focus on the things I’m supposed to be doing. Acing all my tests, getting good grades, and going to the college my mother wants.But what about my happiness?
I find myself scribbling that last sentence onto the page with a pink gel pen before a tear inadvertently slips from my eye and splashes onto the ink, splattering it like a sign of things to come. And when I quickly wipe my eyes and sneak a glance at Mr. Carter, I’m mortified to find that he witnessed the entire event. Our eyes lock, but he doesn’t say a word, and neither do I. For a moment, I find myself studying the lines of his face again, considering how easy he would be to photograph. There isn’t a bad angle on him. But the permanent scowl on his face hints at something darker under the surface. Something broken and jagged and full of pain or rage. Those of us who know can recognize these qualities in each other.
He’s the first to look away, and it leaves me feeling empty, though I’m not sure why. The loss of that connection is oddly disappointing. I don’t even like him. He’s an asshole with a heart of barbed wire, and that’s what I find myself drawing on the blank page next to my tear-soaked art. A beating heart wrapped in barbed wire. I drew it for him, but when I stop to examine it, I can see myself in there too.
When my forty-five minutes are finally up, Mr. Carter rises from his desk with the authority of someone who should be ruling a boardroom rather than a classroom. His black oxfords clip across the floor with military precision, and he ensnares me with a dark look as he opens the door. I don’t dare move. Not until he tells me to. Another standoff ensues, our eyes battling our respective roles in silence. I could almost swear the edge of his lip twitches in victory. He’s a man who likes to exert his power, and right now, he’s exerting it over me.
“You’re free to go, Miss LeClaire.”
I stuff all my belongings back into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. When I glance back up, I expect him to be gone, but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, caging me in with his eyes. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, and I don’t know if I want to either. There’s something mysterious about him. Something sinister, certainly. But something alluring too. Does he know that I feel that way? Can he recognize my desperation for his approval? Even as I’m calculating all the ways I should hate him, I’m wondering how I can win him over too.
I join him at the door, and he gestures me out first. To my displeasure, I find we aren’t alone. Along the corridor, Ethan and his Lacrosse buddies are waiting for someone, and when their heads swivel in my direction, it becomes apparent that someone is me.
“Hey, Cherrybomb.” Ethan grins as he uses the name he must have heard from Sybil. “You’re finally sprung, huh?”
“Yep.” I rock back on my heels and glance at Mr. Carter, whose gaze is practically glacial as he examines Ethan.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Mr. Dupree?” he clips out.
Ethan’s jaw flexes, and he raises his chin in challenge as he meets Mr. Carter’s gaze. The temperature in the building plummets as they stare at each other. If I didn’t know any better, I would say the scowling beast of a teacher doesn’t want me hanging out with Ethan and his buddies, but the question is why?
“What’s the big deal?” Ethan claps back. “She’s out of detention, right? We’re allowed to socialize in public quarters, and last I checked, this is the student center.”
“Miss LeClaire has a maintenance issue to deal with back at her dorm,” Mr. Carter answers flatly. “So why don’t you boys run along and find something else to do?”
Ethan turns to me, but I’m too busy staring up at Mr. Carter in confusion. Is he referring to my locked room? And if he is, how the hell does he even know about that?
“The door,” I murmur though it comes out sounding more like a question.
“Damn. Someone already pennied your doorjamb?” Ethan asks.
“Yeah, your girlfriend.” I glare at him.
“Louisa?” He scrunches his nose and his buddies laugh. “She isn’t my girlfriend. She wishes she was, but she isn’t.”
“That’s nice.” I wave him away. “But I don’t need any more trouble, and Mr. Carter’s right. I have to go deal with that now.”
“All right.” Ethan hops down off the table he’s perched on and allows his eyes to do one full sweep over my body in slow motion.Pig.“We’ll see you around then.”
They disappear down the hall, and I turn back to Mr. Carter. “How did you know about my door?”
“I know everything that goes on in this school.” He pivots on his heel and locks the door behind us. “And you’d be wise to remember that.”