Page 61 of The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy 1)
I back away and use the island as leverage while Church watches on in bemusement, and the twins share a pair of matching frowns.
“Leave me alone, Spencer,” I warn, but he must sense something in my demeanor because he hops the island and grabs me around the waist, yanking my back to his front.
Spencer pulls me close, putting his mouth up against my ear. “I never knew I liked boys before—until I met you.”
I shiver in his arms. If he only knew … I imagine if he ever does find out, he'll be pissed. Now that my plan of sinking into the shadows and hiding until my trip to California has gone down in miraculous, angry flames, what am I supposed to do? I could barely hide my secret from the twins for a handful of months. And now I have to survive the rest of this year and all of next?
“Let go of me, Spencer,” I growl, because even if he does believe I'm a guy, he has no more right to touch me without permission than if I were a girl. Somehow, I imagine he'd treat this situation a lot more differently if he knew the truth. Then again, he is a rich, entitled asshole, so I'm not entirely sure about that. But fuck, he smells good, like cedar and hyssop.
“Why? So you can keep running away? Let's talk about this.” I go to elbow him in the stomach, and he catches my arm. “You're really starting to piss me off.” My voice and body are shaking now. I like him touching me. Too much. But I also don't like being grabbed and held against my will.
Spencer thrusts me forward, and I stumble a bit, turning around to find him watching me with a mix of frustration and want. He shoves his fingers through his silver hair, revealing the dark roots as he turns away with a scowl.
An awkward sort of tension settles over us as I swipe my palms down the front of my jacket, and head back to my stool. Nobody says a word until Ranger turns and gives me a dark, evil sort of glare. Ugh, those silent brooding types are so annoying.
“If you leave the souffle in the oven too long, it'll collapse. Don't fuck this up, Carson.” He hands me a whisk and a mixing bowl, and I spend the rest of the afternoon ruining not one, not two, but three souffles, until the Student Council finally kicks me out of the room … but not before pulling back my shirt and cracking a raw egg on my neck.
“If you think that'll get me to like you, you've got another thing coming!” I shout as Spencer takes off down the hall with his hands tucked into his pockets. He turns around and grins, still walking backward.
“I'm not trying to get you to like me, Carson. I'm just trying to get you to suck my dick.” He shrugs again, and spins away while I stand there with my face burning.
“You'd only be so lucky,” Ross simpers, sneering at me as he elbows me aside and disappears down the hallway after his master. I bet if Spencer asked him, he'd drop to his knees in a heartbeat.
“Gross.”
I head back to the dorm with the twins as escorts, and settle into my room with a sigh. For months, I resisted putting any sort of personal touch on this place because I just assumed I'd be moving back to the West Coast. Now though … I've got five and a half months until graduation, and then an entire new year to survive.
Better get used to the place.
As I unpack some of my trinkets, I pull out a crystal suncatcher that my mom gave me, fingering the purple and blue jewels with a smile. Apparently, the amethyst and angelite stones help with anxiety, depression, and sadness. Giving it to me for my sixteenth birthday was a sweet gesture—I got nothing for my seventeenth from her—but it just goes to show how little she knows me. I don't struggle so much with anxiety or depression, those are her issues. Me, I have problems with self-worth, self-love, and fitting in.
Still, I stand up and go to hang the suncatcher in the window (despite the fact that there's definitely no sun, bleh) when the fishing line that holds it all together catches on the button of my blazer. One of the tiny crystals on the bottom snaps off and goes bouncing across the old wood floors before falling into a crack.
“Shit.”
I put the rest of the suncatcher safely aside on my bed, and get down on my hands and knees to see if I can't somehow dig it out. But it's way down there, beneath these huge old wood planks that are warped and distorted with age. Giant square-topped iron nails give away the age of the place, and it's quite clear it's been a while since it was sanded or polished.
