Page 206 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“If you’re uncomfortable sitting so close to Mr. Briar, I can arrange for a different seat.”

Does he have every teacher in his pocket? How about moving Briar, who’s obviously the one making me uncomfortable? But no, somehow even this is my fault.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I’m good, thanks,” I manage, despite the fact that my heart’s attempting to jackhammer through my chest.

Veroza nods as if this was far from the answer he expected. “No talking in my class, Ms. Virgo. Not unless I ask you a direct question.”

“Hey, little virgin.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I start counting to ten.

But Briar interrupts me with a tap to my shoulder. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Shh!” I whisper furiously, without turning. The last thing I want is to draw Veroza’s attention.

“You shouldn’t have run last night,” Briar murmurs.

I know I shouldn’t turn around, but something about the tone in Briar’s voice makes me so curious to see his face that I don’t have a choice.

Briar’s eyes light up when our gazes lock. His smile grows, and for some reason it makes me squirm in my chair.

“Why?” I mutter, casting a quick look to Veroza. But Teach is caught up in one of the student’s questions on the far side of the class; we’re safe for now, Briar and I.

“When you feed an animal, it isn’t hungry anymore.”

It takes me longer than it should have to process those words. I guess Addy’s blunt has something to do with it. I’m not high anymore, but my brain isn’t exactly sparking neutrons at its usual rate.

“Mr. Briar,” Veroza snaps out with surprising harshness for such an old man.

Briar’s smile fades as he faces the teacher. I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest and allowing myself a smug smile.

Guess you’re notthisteacher’s pet after all, Briar.

Veroza adjusts his spectacles. “Since you’re already an expert in this subject matter, tell me what kind of psychologist would describe depression as the result of an unconscious process where anger is turned inward as a result of repression?”

My eyes go wide. Holy crap. This must have been some of the stuff covered when I was inabsentia. My smile inches up. Yeah, Briar, what kind of?—?

“Psychoanalytic,” Briar replies woodenly.

Mr. Veroza seems at a loss for words, but when he opens his mouth, Briar cuts him off.

“Psychoanalytics consider depression a result of the unconscious activity of the mind.”

“Yes, well, very good.” Veroza shifts on his feet before lifting his chin in defiance of Briar’s intellect. “Now, please pay attention.”

As soon as Veroza turns his attention away, Briar lets out a low chuckle.

I don’t know why, but despite how ominous that sound is, it kinda makes my insides go all gooey. Maybe it’s just because he’s proven he can actually read and regurgitate a textbook, I dunno.

And I don’t care.

Briar isn’t smart, he’s cunning. Like a wolf. Which means he’s set his eyes on me as prey.

For some insane reason I can’t begin to fathom, the thought sends an illicit thrill through me.

I’m still scribbling down a few pithy notes from the blackboard when the bell rings to signal the end of the period.

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