Page 10 of The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy 1)
I hightail it out of there and back down to the first floor, stripping the plastic off one of the couches, and settling down on the cushions. It's quiet here, and at least I feel like I have my own space. If I'm going to feel so alone, I'd rather not be surrounded by people.
It hurts too much that way.I wake up freezing cold, curled up on the couch in the girls' dorm. My phone is dead, and I have no clue what time it is, but when I push up to my feet and check out the boarded window, I see it's pitch-black out there.
Climbing back outside, I shake off the fatigue and start off toward the boys' dorm. I have to admit, the running path and the woods on either side of it are a hell of a lot creepier in the middle of the night than they were a few hours ago. I curse myself for falling asleep and trudge along the path, feeling miserable and achy from sleeping in a curled up little ball.
When I do finally get back to the dorm, I find the front doors locked.
“No! You're freaking kidding me!” I curse, yanking on the handles and then noticing the sign taped to the outside of the glass.
“Doors are locked at 10 pm sharp. Students who find themselves outside the dormitory at this time should head to the headmaster's quarters. The dormitory doors are reopened at 6 am.”
Great.
Just great.
I turn around and put my back to the glass, debating the merits of trudging all the way up to Dad's place and then having to explain myself versus trying to wait out the sunrise. But my phone is dead, and I have no clue how many hours I have to wait. It's freezing ass cold out here, and to be frank, it's pretty creepy, too.
The woods sway and dance in a breeze that whistles past me like a ghost. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, watching the darkness for any signs of movement. I tell myself I'm being paranoid, but then I see smoke coming from the trees, and my interest piques even further.
“What the hell …” For a while, I just sit there and watch it, but then curiosity gets the better of me, and I end up pushing off the glass doors and heading toward the trees. I'm no sleuth, but it's easy enough to stay hidden out here. It's so freaking dark, nothing at all like home. Even at night, there are streetlights and cars, restaurants, clubs, bars. Everything is lit and alive. This place is so … dead.
Creeping through the trees, I start to notice the flickering orange of a bonfire, pausing behind a thick trunk to spy on the small group surrounding it. There are three boys there, counting cash out on an overturned wooden crate.
“This is fucking stupid, Spencer,” one of the boys says, standing up from a kneeling position and brushing off the front of his pant legs. It’s that Eugene guy again. “We're over a hundred bucks short. That's not coming out of my cut.”
“Jesus, Eugene, lay off,” the first guy—I guess his name is Spencer—says as he puts a rubber band around some of the money and chucks it at his friend. “Don't be such a pathetic little bitch. I'll absorb the loss. If we go around and start accusing our clients of shortchanging us, then we're not going to have any left.”
“Whatever,” Eugene sneers, tucking the money away. The third dude isn't talking at all, just smoking a cigarette on the edge of the bonfire. They're all wearing third year uniforms, but I don't recognize anyone but Eugene. Not that I would. I haven't spent much time with any of the other students. That is, unless you count the assholes from today.
I move back, and turn to leave, but with my night vision messed up from the light of the fire, I only make it a few feet before I trip over a log and grunt.
The chatter back at the bonfire goes quiet.
“The hell was that?” one of the guys asks as I scramble to my feet, heart racing, and take off as fast as I can through the forest. My breath is panting, face stinging from the slaps of branches. I'm just about to emerge safely onto the running path when a hand grabs me from behind and spins me, slamming my back into a tree trunk.
I groan as pain radiates down my spine, and then grunt as my pursuer puts his forearm against my throat.
“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing creeping around on us?” I reach up and curl my fingers around the guy's arm, but he's got muscles that are as hard as rocks. I can barely see him through the darkness. He's pressing so hard, I can feel myself getting lightheaded. I most definitely can't talk to save my life.
