Page 26 of Lesson Learned

“And your friends.”

“I haven’t told them anything.” She nibbles on her thumbnail and my stomach sinks. It’s the first sign I’ve seen of her lying. “All they know is what they saw when we were queueing.”

It could be true. I want it to be true.

If I try hard enough, I can believe the chewed thumbnail is just nerves.

“Are you sure?” When she nods, I stress, “It’s my life. If you’re wrong and someone tells, it’s mylife.”But that’s far too close to the truth to stand. “This is the only job I’ve ever wanted.” Better.

I lean forward. My fingers curve over the edge of the desk.

Her eyes move to them, and she frowns, finally uncrossing her arms as she stands to take a closer look.

“What is it?” I snatch my hands back, but she still moves nearer, this time focusing on the bruises on my face.

“You look like you got in a fight.”

My chest hollows out like it did on Sunday morning when Patrick barged his way into my home, and I discovered she’d disappeared. “Somebody spiked my girl’s drink. Nobody gets to do that and walk away clean.”

She chews on her bottom lip, a trace of blush lighting her cheekbones with warmth, doubt warring with belief behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke.” And oh, dear god, my mouth doesn’t know when to stay shut. “I should’ve stayed and made sure you were all right.”

A flood of longing fills her face, mirrored on mine. Unbelievably dangerous.

I tear my gaze away, regret swallowing my voice. My fingers grip the edge of the desk like if I let go, I’ll fly into the abyss.

Paisley is unaware of my inner turmoil. Her expression clears, and she stands taller. Her eyes meet mine and stay locked for a few seconds, then she nods.

“I told Marnie, but I’ll make sure she understands. She won’t tell anyone if I ask her to keep it secret.”

My throat tightens. “You’re sure?”

“If you tell the board about my fake ID, they’ll withdraw my scholarship.” I frown, not understanding, and she gives me a shy smile. “Especially if you tell them I also make them for my friends.”

“Is this a quid pro quo? My entire career banked against the last eight months of your senior year?”

A complicated array of emotion plays out across her features. “If you’d seen where I came from, you wouldn’t dismiss that so quickly. It’s more like your job against my one chance to alter the trajectory of my life.”

I think of her expensive dress. The assumptions I made on Saturday, all of them baseless. Most of them wrong.

And she’s right. I’ve seen some nasty shit, but it takes place under the watch of people who have far too much money. Poverty is a foreign country to me. Even if none of my childhood opportunities were what I wanted, they were still opportunities. Still things other kids would jump through hoops to gain.

“Or we could tell the head right now.”

She rubs her abdomen, face creasing like her stomach hurts, and I feel cruel. But better that, than spending every night until I finish in this job, awake, wondering if the axe is about to fall.

“Please don’t.” Her voice is a cracked whisper, the strain showing in the lines of her jaw. “I don’t want the school board knowing the worst things about me.”

I take a second to understand. She’s talking about the sex.That’sher version of the worst thing. Not the cards or the drinking, though they’re the pieces that would land her in far more trouble.

I experience the protective rush again, the possessiveness that makes me want to scoop her into my arms, take her home, and never let anything or anyone in the world hurt her.

Then I use it against her, securing my position. “You know, they’ll be discreet about it. You’ll probably only have to tell your story once, and I can’t imagine anyone would let it leak. Not in a school with these resources.”

She opens her mouth to plead again, then can’t get the words out, her face twisting with anguish.

“Okay,” I say, and the relief makes her posture sag. “Okay, we’ll try it your way.”

---