Page 27 of Freckles

I cast an imploring glance at Aidan, and he springs to the rescue. “Nothing personal, but Chess and I always eat lunch together.”

“And now you’re part of the team, so you can sit with us as well.” Kincaid bumps my elbow with his knuckle. “I’ll meet you outside English. Don’t keep me waiting.”

My face goes numb.

We’re only share one lesson. How does he know my entire class schedule?

But he’s already gone, sauntering along the hallway, loudly greeting a bunch of his friends. I have no clue what his game is. The only thing I know is he ran rings around me the entire conversation.

Aidan frowns after him, a calculating edge to his gaze. Then he blinks, and it disappears, reverting to his standard openness. “Oh, you are definitely telling me what that’s about. Is he the reason you bunked off school last week?”

“I was sick and there’s nothing to tell. He was an arsehole to me Wednesday and bought me this in apology.” I turn the phone over to read the back of the box, noticing the seal is broken. “Apparently, my old phone wasn’t up to scratch.” Then I give the truer answer, “I don’t know.”

“King has never given a shit about how his actions impact on others, but okay. Keep your secrets.” He gives me an elbow nudge. “You would tell me if you’re in trouble though, right? You know I’d always help. I could get him where it hurts in an illegal tackle.”

“And get kicked off your dream team before selector season gets started in earnest?” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But when I’m sitting in homeroom, Kincaid’s behaviour seems more ominous. Aidan knows him better and if he thought the gift is unusual, it carries more weight. Add the whole ‘belong to me’ weirdness and I’m playing with fire.

Best to be upfront now—no matter how uncomfortable—than discover a month down the track I’m tied to him, unable to break free.

When the bell goes, I wrap the new phone in his rugby shirt and march to his homeroom class, running to catch him in the corridor.

“Are you lost, Francesca?” he teases. “Your calculus lesson is in the other direction.”

Oh, yes.

This needs to be nipped in the bud.

“Thanks for deleting the video,” I say, thrusting the shirt and phone at him, holding them steady when he doesn’t immediately take them. “And thanks for loaning me your jersey but I don’t need it or the phone.”

He frowns, still not taking them, and my heart beats faster. “You don’t have to—”

“It got me out of a bind, but I’m not even that much of a rugby fan,” I lie. “I only wore it Friday because I was down a top. Now you’ve replaced my blouse, there’s no reason to keep it.”

Kincaid slowly straightens and takes them both from my hands. “A jersey and a phone.Theseare what you’re returning?”

It mimics my earlier question closely enough I assume he’s either mocking me or calling me a hypocrite for keeping the money.

Well, let him think that. I maintain eye contact, backing up a step.

“What did I—” He bites down on the question, expression confused, even hurt, and my shoulders shrink with guilt.

But I know his type.

I remember his reaction to being called psycho, proving it’s exactly what he is.

The rest is a mask he wears to look human.

The same type of mask my stepfather wore at every neighbourhood barbeque, every bring-your-family-to-work function, every day when he dropped me at the gate outside school. Pretending to be a proud stepparent in public, returning to a sadistic monster behind closed doors.

It’s not real.

Before he can say or do anything more, I turn and hurry to my class, already lighter.

CHAPTERTEN

KINCAID

---