Page 182 of Vicious Saint
“Same, Hen.” Bex squeezes my hand. “Felt weird without ya.”
Saint tosses the pen he stole off my desk in the air. “I’m sure the three of you will be up each other’s asses again in no time.”
“Give that back you idiot.” I swipe for the pen, but Saint’s got it outstretched beside him.
Where Annalie is sitting and staring, probably plotting my death.
A lot of unfortunate souls in this classroom today.
Hers included it seems.
“Good morning,” a deep, unfamiliar voice announces from the front.
I look to find a man, who isn’t Mr. Beckett, our English teacher from last year, in a suit holding a briefcase.
“What the heck?” Bex shoots out, turning around to Archer. “Where’s Beckett?”
Out of all the snobby teachers I met in this wretched school last year, Mr. Beckett was the only one I liked.
He was strict, but only because he cared.
Went out of his way to help his students.
“No idea,” Archer responds with a shrug.
A lot of “I don’t know’s” lately from my trusted bestie.
“The schedule has him listed.” I reach into my bag for the paper to make sure I’m not crazy—relieved but bummed when I find his name.
“Here.” Saint hands me a tissue, blank stare ahead. “Cry me a fuckin’ river.”
Crumbling the tissue up, I hit him with it.
“I know this is not the face you’re expecting.” New guy places his briefcase on the desk. “But your assigned teacher had a sudden death in the family, so I’ll be covering for him until he returns.”
I’m relieved—and pretty sure I’ll be going to Hell for it.
“That being said my name’s Costa, not mister, I hate formalities, and I’ll be your English-Lit teacher for the time being.”
“Costa? More likeHot Stuff,” Melanie, one of the Royals’ cheerleaders, interrupts with a giggle.
Seems the entire school needs lessons in joke making.
I mean Melanie’s obnoxious but not wrong. Costa’s got a lot going on. Dark eyes, smooth, slicked brown hair, olive skin, clean shaven angular jaw. Wide shoulders hidden behind a gray suit.
His demeanor, though? Not an ounce of chill like Beckett.
Laughter erupts in the room, and Costa silences it with a whistle and clap of his hands.
“Another thing you guys should know about me. I have no patience, and a finger that loves to make phone calls.” He eyes Melanie, who’s sinking into her seat. “So tell me, Miss Baker, what’s that saying? Fuck around and…”
“Find out,” she mumbles under her breath.
“Right.” Costa nods. “Thank you.”
If I had antennas for senses, they’d be pin straight right now.
Last minute hire. First day, but already putting names to faces?
