Page 51 of Raise Hell

Today is…different.

Drake sits in the center of the room, like usual. But the only other empty seat in the room is the one next to him.

My only choices are to go stand in the back of the room or sit next to him.

I’m not going to embarrass myself by asking Dr. Hewey for permission to go get another desk.

“Did you put a bunch of tacks in this chair? Or maybe some red paint so it would look like I got period blood all over my skirt?” The questions are droll, but I still peer down into the seat. I can’t put even the most juvenile shit past him. “Looks clear. Are you planning to kick it out from under me just as I’m about to sit down or something else that’s annoyingly juvenile?”

Drake smirks, a far cry from the usual glare I get whenever our gazes meet in class.

“Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Dr. Hewey breezes in and slams his briefcase down on the desk. He has strict rules about students being in their seats and ready to go as soon as class starts.

If the bell rings and I’m still standing, he will kick me out of class again.

Alert for any tricks, I keep my gaze locked on Drake as I lower myself into the seat. He isn’t even looking at me, which somehow just makes this stranger.

“Today, we will be splitting into groups of two or three to begin working on the projects that make up forty percent of your grade for this course,” Dr. Hewey says as he snaps open his briefcase. Instead of papers, all he has inside is a breakfast sandwich from the cafeteria. He takes a large bite and keeps talking with his mouth full. “Choose your partners wisely. Grades are shared on this project.”

My stomach drops.

Drake has to have planned this.

Somehow, he knew we would be choosing partners for a project today.

He wants to make sure I’m sitting in the middle of the room where everyone can see when it becomes obvious I don’t have a partner.

I tell myself I don’t care, but I still brace for what I know is coming next. I’ve never considered myself the sort of person who is easily intimidated or bullied, but I’ve already had enough of this shit, and it hasn’t even been a month.

The hardest part isn’t even how much it bothers me, it’s keeping everyone else from seeing that it does.

If my sister felt this alone while she was a student here, I don’t know how she lasted as long as she did.

Chairs shuffle as people get up. The room fills with murmured conversations as they pair off in groups. My fingers drum on the desk as I pretend to be surfing the Internet on my phone, like I don’t have a care in the world.

Instead, I’m acutely aware of each time someone passes by my desk and doesn’t stop.

Drake probably warned them all off already.

Although, let’s be honest, he might not have had to bother. Everybody knows I’m one of the worst students in class, even if I have been putting effort into catching up.

I didn’t think all the way through the fact that pretending to be my sister at St. Bart’s would mean actually attending class.

The inevitable moment comes when Dr. Hewey finishes his sandwich and turns back to the class. “Who does not have a group?”

I don’t bother waiting and just raise my hand. Everyone can have a nice laugh at my expense, then we can move on to the actual work.

Drake shifts forward out of the corner of my eye. I cringe, expecting the worst.

When he raises his hand, my jaw literally does drop.

“Guess that means you’re with me,” he says, tone casual.

I force myself to look at him, instead of the startled faces and open mouths of everyone else in class. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t have a partner, either. We’ll have to work together.”

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