Page 52 of Burning Embers

“What the hell is your problem?” I hiss, trying my hardest not to raise my voice in case I’ll be overheard.

He scoffs and ignores me, focusing back on his work.

For the longest time, I don’t think he’s going to answer me. I’ve just returned to my own assignments when his cruel voice reverberates through the room, loud enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire class hears him.

“I know exactly what you foster children are like.” Disgust taints each word he says. He may have a beautiful voice…if it wasn’t currently dripping in malice. “You always take things that don’t belong to you.” He sniffs and then adds, “And I’m sure all of that bouncing around doesn’t make you the sharpest tool in the shed, either. Have you ever even passed a grade?”

Shame burns my cheeks, even as indignation ripples through me, settling on my tongue. I want to scream at the jackass, tell him to take his assumptions and shove them up his ass, but the bell rings before I can get a word out.

Ansel gracefully slides from the stool, shoves his journal, homework, and textbook into his bag, and then hurries out the door. I’m left gaping after him, unsure if I imagined the entire interaction.

But then Desiree and Mimi are there, the latter staring at me in sympathy while the former glares holes into the retreating asshole’s back.

“We should've warned you about Ansel.” Mimi sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears. “But he hasn’t had a lab partner in all the years I’ve known him, so I just assumed you wouldn’t get paired up with him.”

“What the fuck is his problem?” I murmur, aggressively shoving my own textbook into my bag.

Desiree cants her head to the side and studies the door Ansel exited out of with a curious expression. “Do you want me to kill him?”

“What?” I gape at her.

She blinks at me innocently. “What?” Then she flashes a bright smile, links her arm with mine, and drags me out the door. “Come on. I’m fucking starving. We can discuss Ansel’s painful demise at a different time, okay?”

Eighteen

IZZY

My stomach is growling by the time I enter the cafeteria.

It’s crowded—much more so than it was this morning—and the line to the buffet twines around the perimeter of the room before exiting out one of the far doors.

As soon as we enter, Desiree and Mimi are pulled into a conversation with a group of burly football players. Mimi attempts to drag me along with them, but I stealthily move out of her reach and jerk my chin towards the long cafeteria line.

Food or hot guys? There’s no contest.

Food for the win.

Unlike my previous schools, which had a thirty-minute lunch break, this school gives students forty-five minutes to get their food and eat. Which is fucking amazing, considering the fact that it takes me over twenty minutes just to get to the front of the line.

Note to future self—pack a lunch.

Once my tray is piled high with a salad, a piece of greasy pizza, sliced pears, and a cookie, I maneuver the sporadically placed tables and mingling students until I see a familiar blond head.

Jake.

He sits with a few of his football friends. One of the guys I recognize as Dec from this morning, but the other is a stranger.

Jake looks up when I slam my tray down beside him and offers me a smile. It causes the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

“Hey, new girl,” he greets, scooting across the bench to make more room for me.

I notice that, unlike me, he packed a lunch today—a sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chips.

“You should’ve told me to pack a lunch,” I say accusingly, wagging my fingers at his half-eaten food. “That line was ridiculous.”

He snorts and takes another bite of his sandwich. “It’s better to learn from experience. What’s the saying? Better to learn and let live than to never live at all?”

To emphasize his point, he grabs a chip and tosses it at my face. It hits my forehead before dropping to the tray.

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