Page 35 of Hate Me Like You Do

First period is almost ready to start. The first ring of the bell sends students shuffling into their seats. I slide into my chair, getting my materials ready. Landon walks in. Neither of us making a move to acknowledge the other.

I made him laugh. That doesn’t make us friends.

We live together, yes, however each passing day makes us feel more and more like strangers. Even if he did try and snuggle up to me when he was drunk this weekend. Drunk people do stupid things and that was very stupid.

With the second ring, Mrs. Owens is instructing us to open up our books to blah, blah, blah. Math is my worst nightmare. Why do I even bother?

Oh yeah, that B average I need to get a scholarship. Should I start daydreaming about becoming a stripper already?

Maybe not yet.

I barely hear Mrs. Owens say my name at first.

“Violet. Violet Demure.” The teacher points to the back of the room directing my attention to a small brunette girl who has poked her head into the classroom.

“I was asked to bring you to the office,” the small girl says quietly.

“Okay... should I take my things with me?” My brows lower slightly as a jitter of nerves crawl in.

The office. That’s not good.

Irrational guilt floods me even though I haven’t done anything.

Hell, I haven’t even been here long enough to do anything.

Mrs. Owens looks back over at the student in the doorway who nods a quick yes that I should bring my things. Guess that means, I’ll be there awhile– also not encouraging for the nerves that are knotting within me.

I pack everything back up, shrugging into my bookbag. I pass Landon whose face is conveniently buried in the work that we haven’t even begun yet.

That’s Landon though, all good guy on the outside, asshole on the inside.

I ignore my petty thoughts as I follow after the girl. The normally crowded halls are empty now with everyone working in their classrooms. I follow the brunette through the wide, white halls to the office. She’s a young girl, likely a freshman.

“Do you know why I’m going to the office?” I ask her.

Her dark brown ponytail flicks behind her as she walks. “If I had to guess, you’re in trouble. They always send me during this period to get the troublemakers out of class.” She looks back at me. “What did you do?”

There’s that sick churning of guilt in my stomach again.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Look,” she says, her tone very frank. “I know they call you Venereal Violet. I doubt you’re as nice as you look.”

Wow.

Well, she thinks I look nice at least. See, something positive.

“No one here is as nice as they look,” I whisper back to her.

Together we step into the office and she points me to a row of stiff leather chairs outside the opaque door with the word HEADMASTER printed against the glass. I get cozy in the seat thinking over everything I’ve done at school.

Unless flunking Algebra or calling someone fat is a crime, I’ve got nothing to worry about. The kids who go here have done much worse than me and the teachers always look the other way.

Everything’s fine.

It’s fine.

Shit, what if it’s about my mother...what if something happened to her in jail...what if she did something...or someone did something to her…

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