Page 26 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Zachary says nothing, but the tap-squeak of his chalk speaks volumes as he writes down the answer.

“Thank you, Eric. Abuse andneglectcan affect genetic change during the postnatal stage of an individual’s life.”

I keep my head down for the rest of the lesson, not even daring to look up when I hear silence. Unless he calls on me directly, I’m not fucking risking it.

Thankfully, he ignores me for the rest of the lesson. By the time the bell sounds, I’m such a bundle of nerves I drop my pencil twice before I can shove it into my dress pocket. It sticks out halfway, but at least it’s got a better chance of staying in there than in my hand.

I try to merge with the boys leaving class, ridiculously assuming they’d provide camouflage.

Instead, I cause chaos.

Some of them step back to let me through the door first. Others, as if sensing Armageddon is seconds away, speed up so they can exit first. I end up getting bounced around like a pinball.

Zachary watches impassively, not even bothering to catch me when I stagger. For my own safety, I wait to the side until everyone’s left.

“A moment, Miss Malone,” Zachary says, like I knew he would.

I try to keep the door open—it’s set on a hydraulic hinge like the lunchroom—but Zachary puts his head to the side and that’s somehow a command for me to approach.

The door hisses closed.

I creep closer and try to disappear behind my notebook.

“I’m not like the others,” Zachary says.

A downright hysterical laugh escapes me before I can press my lips closed.

Zachary’s eyes darken to the green of tree shadows as he perches on the edge of his desk. “Which part of this amuses you, Miss Malone?”

I bite the inside of my lip and hope it will be enough to stop me from losing my shit. But he waits me out, so I shake my head and try to look meek.

“Is it the part where you receive penance for continuously showing up late to my class?”

Continuously? Dude, it’s the second day of my miserable stay at Saint Amos. Have a little?—

“Or is it the part where you fail this class because you can’t be bothered to apply yourself?”

My face heats up. I wish I could say something, but I don’t trust myself to speak, especially since I still feel like laughing.

Who does he think he is? He’s treating me like a ten-year-old. I can’t believe I liked this guy. He’s horrible.

“I only got my schedule this morning.” The words are out before I can stop them.

Zachary tilts his head. My guts worm around in my belly at the intensity of his stare. “And your voice? Did that also just arrive?”

I just shake my head.

His eyes flicker away, as if he’s suddenly lost his patience. He stands, steps closer. “I’ll tell you again. I’m not like the others.” He bends and reaches down.

He’s going to touch my bare leg. Is that why he kept me back? He’s so close I can make out the patterns in his irises.

His perfect skin, his expressive mouth, the tendons in his neck that tense as he stretches out his hand.

Oh, Lord, how badly I want him to touch me.

But not on my leg.

I squeeze my thighs together.

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