Page 23 of Fire Fight

Not with Arnold funding the expensive tuition.

“You all right?”

Drake arches an eyebrow at me, taking no notice of the road although we’re about to strike the intersection at the base of the hill. My hand creeps to the handle above the door. “Good, thanks.”

“Because I thought you might’ve had a restless night.”

I scowl at his smug grin. “You know you—”

He pushes a button and music blasts from the speakers, drowning out what I wanted to say. Which, on second thought, is probably for the best. It wasn’t very complimentary.

The volume stays high until we turn into the student carpark.

Gretchen waves to me from beside the main entrance, and before the car comes to a full stop, I’ve got my belt off, bag in hand. I pull at the door handle, then turn to Drake with a grimace when I find it locked, meeting his cold grey eyes.

“What? You were planning on leaving without wishing me a nice day?”

I don’t know what to make of his deadpan delivery, but mutter, “Have a great day,” relieved to hear him release the central lock.

A relief that’s short-lived as his long-legged stride easily keeps pace with mine. His imposing height casts a shadow as I walk towards my new friend, making my skin crawl with his menacing presence.

Gretchen’s eyes light up at his approach, but he cuts off to the side just before I reach her, and she pouts.

“He’s not my biggest fan,” I admit, pulling a face. “You might have more luck if you ditch me.”

“Never,” she declares, eyes still glued to his departing frame. It’s only when he’s out of sight that she leads me inside. “Your locker’s right next to mine.” She helps me set the combination as Felicity and Rox arrive, their morning greetings muted compared to their weekend selves. “And we’ll save a seat for you at lunch.”

“Thank you.”

Gretchen is so kind, I’m glad I ignored Drake’s advice. When I’m sitting in my morning classes, English and Calculus—ugh—it seems obvious the warning was nothing but him baiting me. I have no intention of letting a friendship go based solely on his highly suspect warning.

She gets me to every class on time. Where I’d be lost in the angled buildings, built from brickwork so old that half the structures have iron bands for earthquake strengthening wrapped around them, she guides me through their similar corridors with ease.

The physical classrooms are small—a sign of their age—but they make up for it with a reduction in the number of pupils. Where Alabaster routinely had classes with twenty-five or more, the most voluminous at Ashford Crest has thirteen students.

I’m sure if you’re there from year nine, it works miracles on your education. With mine nearing its end, the added attention feels daunting.

At lunchtime, Gretchen is true to her word, waving me to her regular table in the cafeteria. She spends so much time drooling over Drake, I don’t need to keep my eye on him. She’ll give ample warning if he heads our way.

Under the guise of becoming familiar with my surroundings, I also peek at him. At home, our encounters have been tootangled with emotion and Saturday through binoculars doesn’t count.

Here, now, it’s easy to see what has my friend drooling. I said goodbye to my last growth spurt back in year ten, but Drake is two or three inches taller than when I last saw him.

The added height has been joined with a plenitude of muscles. His shoulders are so broad I’m amazed the uniform blazer fits him. When he hangs it over the back of his chair, the seams of his shirt strain, the part-elastin blend finding every highlight of his defined torso.

Our table aren’t the only ones keeping tabs. When he sweeps his dark fringe back, slate-grey eyes scanning his immediate surrounds, I watch a girl on the far side of the cafeteria practically melt into the floorboards.

“He keeps looking at you,” Gretchen says, elbowing me in the side. “Every time you duck your head, he checks you out.”

“Arnold told him to keep an eye on me,” I correct her, rolling my eyes at her summary. “He isnotchecking me out.”

“Hm.” She presses her lips together in a perfect parody of a school matron, then loses focus. “You think we should invite him over?”

“You might have better luck if I’m not sitting at your table. I don’t think he appreciates me moving into his home.” I give a soft laugh at her disappointment. “And if you ever refer to me as his step anything, I’m coming for you.”

She arches her eyebrows. “Bitch, you don’t frighten me. Bring it on.”

The afternoon drags. Between the sleepless night, jumping at every noise that sounded like a boy creeping across the hallway, only my anxiety kept me alert this morning. Now I’m acclimating, my energy fades. I spend most of the time fighting yawns.

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