Page 28 of Snake

Nim

When my accounting teacher announcesthat we have a pop quiz, I honestly wish I hadn’t gotten out of bed. I’d have missed the pancake buffet, but at least I wouldn’t have been subjected to the horror of a test I didn’t prepare for.

The first question doesn’t seem all that difficult, and I answer it pretty quickly. I can answer at least eighty percent of the test, although heaven only knows how well I’ll be graded on the answers.

Obviously Mr. Dixon isn’t in a mood to teach, because he grades the tests while we study silently from our textbooks, and hands out the results when he’s done.

I try to focus on the work, but my mind keeps going back to the chocolate the Serpents sent me. I don’t know if it was supposed to be some kind of apology, but if it was, then they missed the mark. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure an apology starts with “I’m sorry…” not “We’ll be your kings.”

But what the hell was I expecting? That I’d prank them and they’d transform overnight from bullies to knights? Romi is right—this is a war, and I’ve only won a single battle so far. I’d need fingers and toes to count the ones I’ve lost.

The bell rings at the end of class and he still hasn’t handed back my test. I’d consider him not wanting to embarrass me, but he’s a dick, so that can’t be it.

I almost make it out the door, but Mr. Dixon calls me. And God, he’s smiling. “Dramatic improvement,” he says as he hands back my answer sheet. “It seems Mr. Miller’s tutoring is helping.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” I take the paper, throwing a wide-eyed look at the C scrawled on it.

“Keep it up.”

I walk out of my accounting class with a slightly crazed smile on my face, but it fades pretty quickly when reality sinks in.

Shit.

Silas was good, but there’s no way I’m asking him to keep tutoring me. Because he’d probably want me to apologize, and that feels like a step backward, no matter what.

I turn the corner and fall back to avoid walking into the wall of solid flesh that threatens to bowl me over.

Speak of the devil, and one of his friends is bound to appear.

Mason gives me a double take. Instead of a leery grin like he normally has ready for me, he frowns. There’s no “hey, baby girl”, or anything. He’s silent, and from the looks of it, pissed off.

The skin between my shoulder blades crawls. It can’t be, but does he know I threw away their gifts? I guess it’s plausible that he has spies in my classes…they probably have eyes everywhere, watching my every move. They seem the kind to not let go easily.

I force myself to act calm and airy, nothing like the tense ball of stress I’m feeling at the moment.

“Morning, Mason,” I say cheerily. And then, because I still know how to push at least one Serpent’s button, I add, “Have you seen Silas?”

Oh, God. His gorgeous amber eyes make my knees want to buckle, even when he’s glaring down at me. What is it about these guys?

“What the fuck you want him for?”

I shrug, my heart banging desperately in my chest as I try to play calm and collected. “Need to ask him something.”

“I’ll give him the message,” Mason growls, stepping closer and turning, forcing me to back into the wall behind me. Students flow past us, more than a few glancing in our direction. I can already hear the rumor mills starting up.

“It’s private.” I try to push past him, but he slams his forearms against the wall on either side of my head, leaning in and down, barricading me.

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the memory of how Mason made me crawl on hands and knees on the football field the other day. Or how he keeps messing with my head when I’ve decided something—like the fact that I hate him and his cronies with every fiber of my being.

My knee—weak and buckling before—is suddenly soaring straight into his balls. The sound he makes when I hit my target is horrifically satisfying, despite how blood rushes to my face in inverse proportions to how it drains from Mason’s.

I push at his broad shoulder, clearing the way so I can maneuver around him and back into the crowd moving between classrooms. I haven’t gone two steps before I hear Mason groan my name like a curse.

“Winters!”

The hairs on the back of my neck salute like soldiers, but I force myself not to look back.

Guess they were right all along. I am a bad bitch.

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