Page 67 of Drifting

A wide smile spread across her face. “I would like that.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A smile is plastered to my face on the way to school the next day.

As soon as Nick parks, the guys swarm his truck.

I give them all a hug but smack Mav.

“Why the hell did I get smacked now?” he questions, rubbing his head.

“For calling my arm an alien.” I laugh then pull him in for a hug.

We walk into school together, and I say goodbye to Nick, Luke, and Cam while Dom and Mav head with me to our first class.

Paige is already there talking to a guy with messy brown hair. When she notices me walking in, she points to her arm, then gives me a thumbs up.

Waving, I take my seat.

I lean closer to Dom. “Who’s the guy she’s talking to?”

Dom glances over then leans back. “Sam. He’s our center. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy.”

I nod, glad to see her talking to someone other than me. Even though Dom says he’s okay, I still watch them. I don’t want something to happen and have Page go back into her shell. Her cheeks flush. Sam must have said something because she laughs.

She likes him. Go, Paige.

The interoffice speaker buzzes. “Ms. Winters, please come down to the office.”

Everyone turns to stare at me.

Now what? I roll my eyes and let out a huff.

“What the hell could you have done? You weren’t even here yesterday,” Dom states.

“Who knows.” Grabbing my stuff, I stand. “I’ll text you guys later.”

When I get to the office, the secretary tells me to have a seat.

I sit there, wondering what the hell is going on, when the principal’s office door opens, and Mr. Davis, my English teacher, walks toward the exit, sneering at me.

A terrible feeling rushes through me.

Miss Web sticks her head out her door. “Ms. Winters.”

I head in to find Peter and Mom already in the office, sitting off on the left. Peter stares straight ahead, showing no emotion on his face at all. Mom has her lips pressed tightly together.

Oh, this is not good.

“Please have a seat, Ms. Winters.” The principal walks around and sits down behind her desk.

There aren’t many things on her desk, just two picture frames that face her. Behind her, another desk runs the length of the wall. Papers spread all over it, and a computer sits in the center. Awards the cheerleaders won hang on the wall behind her.

There’s only one other chair in the room. As I take a seat, I question, “What’s going on?”

She flips through some paper. “You had an English assignment that was due on Monday, correct?”

“Yes, we had to write a four-page report on our favorite poet. I spent most of Sunday on it. Why?”

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