Page 91 of Burning Embers

But the coach has already turned away to address the other girls.

Desiree cackles like a hyena, and when I give her the middle finger, she only laughs harder.

“Isabella!” a familiar voice calls, and I quickly drop my finger as if the air is made of fire and it’s burning me.

Mr. Remington leans against the railing above me, grinning widely. An impassive Mr. Montgomery stands beside him, though his attention is fixed on his phone instead of me.

Shame.

“Mr. Remington,” I squeak, my cheeks flaming at getting caught flipping someone the bird at school.

Mr. Remington chuckles and gives me a conspiratorial look. “I didn’t see anything,” he assures me.

I really like Mr. Remington as a teacher. Yes, some of the girls thirst after him like he’s the only glass of water in the desert—cough, KD, cough—but I don’t think of him like that. Admittedly, he’s attractive, at least for an older man, but I don’t want to see him naked or anything like that. Ew. No thanks. Hard pass.

But Mr. Montgomery, on the other hand…

I flick my gaze in the vice principal’s direction before immediately lowering it to my feet. I know my crush is insanely inappropriate—and I’ll never act on it—but I can’t help thebutterflies that go to war in my stomach whenever I lay eyes on him.

“Do you have everything you need to take…um…photographs?” Mr. Remington absently scratches at the back of his neck.

“You mean a camera?” I ask sardonically, waggling it in the air.

I swear he mutters something about smartass kids under his breath, but I could be mistaken.

“Well, if you have any questions or need anything, I’ll be right over here with Christian—I mean, Mr. Montgomery.” He flinches at his mistake. “I may not be the official Yearbook teacher, but while I’m filling in, I’m going to do the best I can.”

“We should take our seats before it gets too crowded,” Mr. Montgomery murmurs to Mr. Remington, finally glancing up from his phone.

His gaze slides to me for a fraction of a second before immediately turning away. Dismissing me.

It doesn’t hurt necessarily—he’s my vice principal, for fuck’s sake, and I’m only his student—but I can’t help but feel a pang of something in my chest. What that something is evades me.

“Were you able to get a hold of AJ?” Mr. Remington turns to face Mr. Montgomery completely, and I know the conversation is over.

I begin to walk away, but still, their conversation trickles back to me.

“Of course not.” Mr. Montgomery scoffs. “He’s ignoring all my texts, as usual. He doesn’t even know I work at the school now, too lost in his head to care or notice.”

Mr. Remington says something else, but they must’ve moved farther away because I can no longer hear them.

Who’s AJ?

It doesn’t matter, Izzy. It doesn’t concern you.

I shove all thoughts of sexy vice principals aside and focus instead on the field. Any second now, the football players are going to race out of the locker room, and I’ll need to be there capturing each and every moment. If I fail, I risk Ansel’s wrath.

Yay me.

The only good thing that comes out of all of this is maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to catch the impenetrable and unflappable Ashton with his hand up his ass, rearranging the stick there.

The thought makes me smile.

Game on.

Thirty

IZZY

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