Page 38 of Belong With Me

“He’s lonely,” Tyler says. “Either that or that mansion is haunted and he doesn’t want to be alone in it.

I swear, last time I used his bathroom I could hear a woman singing in this haunted, mournful tone. I hauled ass out of there, but no one else heard anything. It wassupercreepy.”

Nyah waves him away with a laugh. “You were drunk.

It was probably the music from the party.”

“I can be drunkandhear a creepy ghost!”

The conversation switches to all the paranormal encounters Tylerswearshe’s had, and we laugh through the rest of lunch until the bell. But the whole time, I can still feel Brandon’s burning gaze directed my way, and if the way Jason’s arm stays draped over my shoulders is any indication, his hand rubbing my arm every once in a while for comfort, I know he feels it too.

I’m walking from history to math when it happens. A strong hand clamps over my arm and yanks me through a door hard enough to practically dislocate my shoulder.

“Ow! What the fu—” My words die on my lips when the door is slammed shut, and I realize I’m alone with Brandon in an empty classroom, his large body blocking the exit.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he starts, folding his arms across his chest.

I force myself not to let the panic show on my face. I need to be in control of this situation, so I straighten my spine and look down my nose at him even though he’s much taller than me.

“I’m notavoidingyou. I just have absolutely no reason to ever be in your vicinity. So, on that note . . .”

Mustering all my confidence, I attempt to shoulder past him to leave, but he sidesteps.

“Not so fast.”

I back away before he touches me again, and his eyes track my movement. Shit.

“I want to talk to you, so we’re going to talk,” he states, stomping toward me, and my retreat is involuntary. My tailbone hits the edge of a desk, and he invades my space, caging me in and making my breathing feel shallow. He does this a lot, and part of me thinks he knows my claustrophobia is my crippling weakness and he’s using it to his advantage, while the other part thinks he just does it to feel powerful and in control.

I remember the last time we were alone in my room together, the way he knocked me aside so easily, like I was nothing but a toy doll to him. We’re in a huge, empty classroom and there’s noairin here, and even though the tightness in my chest is suffocating and his face is contorted with barely constrained rage, I force myself to hide my fear.

“We can talk without you practically being on top of me,” I state, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Where’s my phone?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. He’s less calm and restrained than he has been the other times he’s asked me about it. In fact, now he seems almost desperate. “Iknowyou have it. Give it to me right now, or you’ll regret it.”

Why is he asking me for his phone?Hehas it! He stole it from my room.

I don’t think he’ll hurt me, not here, not in school—at least I hope he won’t. There are cameras in the halls, and they’d confirm that I was in this room alone with Brandon.

But still, I can’t stop myself from scoping out what I can use as a weapon against him if I need to. My backpack dropped by the door, but there’s a reusable metal water bottle sitting on one of the desks behind him, and a heavy textbook on the desk next to the one I’m pressed against.

“I told you I don’t have i—”

“Stop lying to me!” he demands, and a vein in his neck bulges. He takes a breath to regain himself, and in a slightly more composed tone, he says, “I told you if you didn’t give it back to me, there would be consequences, and this is your last chance.”

My last chance?I don’t think so.

With all the strength I have, I stomp on Brandon’s foot, taking him by surprise, and when he’s distracted by the pain, I shove him away from me. The second there’s space between us and I can breathe a bit easier, I sprint to the door, but his words stop me in my tracks.

“You killed Stan Roven in LA. That’s why you moved here. You’re a murderous bitch, and everyone’s going to know the truth.”

I don’t turn to look at him, and he doesn’t close the space between us again. We’re both breathing hard in the otherwise silent space, then the bell rings, signaling the start of last period. We’re late for math, but neither of us makes a move to leave.

“What?” I ask, schooling my expression to neutral before turning to face him.

“You heard me,” he sneers, likehe’sdisgusted byme.

“I know everything that happened in LA. You killed a man, you were arrested, you faced trial, you were in custody for a month before you were acquitted, but that doesn’t change the fact that you took someone’s life, just like you tried to take mine. And soon everyone else will know what happened too.”

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