Page 12 of Twisted Lies

“Then more reason for you not to pass them,” continues Professor Harmon, “I’m lowering your grade on the test.

“But…Professor Harmon.”

Harmon cringes as Felicity draws out her name. “If I see it happen again, and especially during a test, your grade for the year will be lowered. You may leave.” Professor Harmon holds up her hand when Felicity opens her mouth. “Now, please.”

Felicity grabs her designer bag and practically runs out of the room, slamming the door behind her. One of those. That girl better work on that, or she’ll develop a nasty attitude. I’m at the other end of the spectrum—all aggression and never passive.

Professor Harmon sighs, and then her attention is on me. “Astrid, you did the right thing by not opening the notes.”

“Then why am I here?” I ask evenly.

“Because the notes were under your seat,” she replies.

“Why would I pass myself a note?” I ask, matching her careful tone.

“I didn’t say that you did.”

“So, therefore, why would I get in trouble for something I didn’t do?” I ask.

Professor Harmon frowns slightly and straightens her back. “At the moment, you’re not in trouble.”

“But then why was I asked to stay behind?” I ask innocently.

Professor Harmon’s eyes narrow on me, and maybe it’s time to stop. She doesn’t look amused to be the one answering my questions. Harmon grabs one of the notes off the desk and opens it. Her gaze softens as she stares at it and softly scoffs. She opens the other note and then smirks at Justin.

God, I hope it’s not a hand-drawn dick pic.

“I forgot how talented you are, Justin.” Harmon holds up the paper, and I see he drew my profile while I was waiting for class to begin. My mouth shows eagerness as my eyes stare dreamily out the window. My expression has a faraway look, and my hopefulness is on display. I know what I was thinking at that moment. I was thinking about the real possibility of getting out of Weymouth. And all the things I could do if I left my old life behind. My imagination was let loose, and I imagined myself driving down the highway in a convertible, headed for a better place. The open expression of hope is apparent in my eyes, and I look down at my desk, feeling more exposed than if I’d been stripped naked in front of the class.

“And the next note reads, ‘Will you sit for me this afternoon?’” says Professor Harmon. “You could have asked her after class, Justin.”

“How can I when she bolts from the classroom when class is dismissed?” he asks.

Professor Harmon holds up her hands. “Enough, you two. This is the trouble when teaching smart students. They like to outmaneuver you.”

My eyes widen as if I’d been caught doing something terrible. A person with a college degree is referring to me as smart.

“I’m taking two points off your exams. One for each note.” Harmon holds up the sketch. “And I’m keeping this after you sign it, Justin. Astrid, you’re dismissed.”

I mutter a thank you and head for the door. Carefully, I close it behind me and check the hallway, but thankfully, Pierce has already taken off. I hang out by the stairwell, watching the classroom door. There’s no obvious reason why I’d stand there waiting. The lockers are on the lower level, and the few students left are disappearing into their classrooms.

But I remain there, watching the door and rethinking my plan. Justin was gross and what he did wasn’t right, but he did apologize, and I can get something other than revenge off him. I need Justin to teach me how to generate a spreadsheet showing the odds of winning. He said he would teach me how to understand it, but I need more.

Justin steps out of the classroom with Professor Harmon, and I want to sink into the floor when she sees me waiting there. She smiles at Justin and nods toward me as she walks off in the other direction. Justin hesitates a moment until she’s gone and then hurries over as I step into the stairwell.

“I like that picture,” I tell him, moving away from the shut door.

“When are you going to pose for me?” he asks, following close behind.

I pause on a step as Justin comes closer. The intensity of his gaze makes me look away. I press my lips together, stopping what I want to say. I don’t mention the spreadsheets—the timing isn’t right to get what I want. Let me give him a little bit of what he wants first.

“You know honey attracts more bees than vinegar,” he answers as if he’s read my thoughts.

I rise up on my tiptoes and give him a kiss against his parted lips—a soft one—very gentle, barely pressing his skin. Justin sucks in air as his head bends to mine. He cups my head and tugs me into him as our lips collide together.

“They dared you, didn’t they?” I ask.

He glances away. “Pierce was egging me on outside the door. He was telling me I was a…” He breaks off. “I should never listen to him.”

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