Page 49 of Ramsay

During first period, I’m met with stares and hushed whispers, which I ignore, glaring at the teacher with laser intensity, but it doesn't let up for second or third, and by lunch, I’m sure I’m about to be met with another prank.

Stalking down the hall, with a militant expression, I grit my teeth for whatever’s coming, but I’m waylaid by Mr. Goodlow, who pops out of his classroom, and says, “Willow, a moment, please?”

Stuttering to a stop, I glance his way to find him standing at the door with his arm outstretched in invitation. Hesitantly, I step into his classroom and watch him close the door, Oliver’s suspicions about that closed door from the last time running through my head.

Is Oliver really that protective of his family? How does the painfully shy Maeve fit in?

Eyeing him warily, I step down a row of desks to put them between us. He observes me quietly, and I’m sure my little maneuver doesn't go unnoticed, although he doesn’t comment on it.

“Willow, I wanted to ask how you’re feeling,” he says, clearing his throat.

“I’m...fine?” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

His mouth droops down into a frown and he murmurs, “You know you don't have to be. Right? This is a horrible thing, and it's okay not to be okay.”

My stomach sinks to my toes, ice building in my chest as I beg the universe, please tell me he’s not talking about her, but of course, when have my pleas ever been answered?

“Losing a loved one is a painful thing,” he says, clearing his throat again and the irony isn’t lost on me, he’s uncomfortable, but I’m the one with the dead sister.

“How did you know?” I whisper, tears building behind my eyes.

This was supposed to be the one place I could go and pretend, but now even the stinky fucking halls of Sterling High aren’t safe.

Raising his hands out to me in an appeasing gesture, he says, “It was in the news.”

Fuck me. Turning away, I pace to the window and stare out into the lot, watching students walk to their cars, intent on leaving for lunch. They’re laughing and chatting, happy, oblivious and I can never have that feeling again.

Oblivion. It's been ripped from my soul and shoved down my throat.

“Willow?” Mr. Goodlow says, stepping up behind me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

Ignoring the tears, I step away from him carefully because although the gesture is one of comfort, it still makes me uneasy.

“What’s going on here?” Oliver barks behind us.

I spin around and his brows drop before he turns to his father with such rage behind his eyes that I shiver. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m hoping to defuse the situation before Oliver commits murder.

“I—“ I start to say, but Mr. Goodlow cuts me off.

“Oliver! You can’t barge in here whenever you want. I’m speaking to my student, in confidence,” he says, a warning clear in his tone.

“Is that right?” Oliver sneers. “Willow, do you have my father for any classes this year?”

“Um, no,” I whisper, moving to stand before him and pleading silently for him to back off.

He searches my gaze, his brow twitching before he looks over my head at his father. “Then I guess we’re done here,” he says gruffly, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me from the room.

“Willow?” Mr. Goodlow calls out and I shift uneasily when I spy his bright eyes focused on Oliver’s hand wrapped around me.

“Yes,” I croak, panic clawing at my throat.

“Don't forget what I said,” he says with a gentle smile.

Nodding, I’m turned away before I can respond as Oliver pulls me from the room, down the hall, out the front entrance, and over to Ramsay, who’s waiting by his SUV.

When Ramsay opens the door, I hesitate, but what are my choices? Stay and listen to the whispers? Be confronted by the truth, either by jerks with an ax to grind or well-meaning but clueless teachers?

Sliding into the seat, I stare out the window while Ramsay starts up the car and pulls from the lot. I’m not surprised when a short while later, we arrive at his house, and I stare up at the facade while we both sit quietly.

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