Page 19 of The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy 1)
“Apologize?!” I blurt, curling my hands into fists. “They beat my phone with a meat tenderizer! I'm not apologizing for shit.”
Dad's face crinkles with confusion, but he waves me away with his coffee cup, sloshing more steaming liquid on the floor.
“I'm late, I don't have time for this. Make nice with the Student Council, or you can kiss that ticket to California goodbye.” He turns and leaves the house while I fume behind him. After a minute, I pick up a little glass stag statue that came with the house, and I throw it as hard as I can against the wall. The clean-up after sucks, but that was so, so satisfying.
Make nice with the Student Council? Please.
I'd rather die.My favorite class of the day is Mr. Murphy's English class. Even though we're juniors, he still reads aloud to us, and he even does the voices. Most of the guys in class snicker about it, but I don't care. When Mr. Murphy talks, I listen with rapt attention. He's not half-bad looking either, I think, admiring him with a different sort of glint in my eye. Well, actually, I notice a few other guys checking him out, too. Ross is one of them. He notices me looking his way and flips me off while Mr. Murphy's face is buried in a copy of The Grapes of Wrath.
Thankfully, he's the only Student Council asshole who's in that class.
That doesn't mean their annoying presence doesn't ruin some of my other classes. The twins are in math with me; Ranger and Spencer are in government; and Church sits directly in front of me in Mandarin. I wanted to take French, but Dad made me switch classes.
At least I don't have to take PE, so I've got an extra period over the other boys.
None of them seem particularly excited about that though.
“It doesn't seem fair that you should get out of a class that everyone knows is a waste of time,” Church says, pausing before me in his PE uniform: a loose white tank, black shorts, and sneakers. There are other boys behind him, and not just the student council jerks.
“Leave me alone,” I snap, gathering up my sketch stuff and rising to my feet. I'm in an art class for my free period, and I'm supposed to be drawing the skyline, but apparently even out here I'm going to get picked on. “You already wrote Micropenis Chuck on my locker today. Isn't that enough for you?”
Several of the guys laugh, but they can make fun of my non-existent dick all they want.
“I've spoken to the headmaster about it, but he says you've got underlying medical issues that keep you from working out.”
“Yeah, exactly. So if you want to tear me down for having medical problems, we can all see what a class act you really are.” Church smiles at me, so cheerful like. He touches his fingers to the side of his face as the sun catches on his hair, turning it this burnished yellow-gold color. His eyes glimmer a honey-brown, and my throat tightens up. I'm in for trouble here, I can sense it.
“Except … I've seen you jogging along the running paths. Multiple times, actually. You seem to have no trouble at all.”
“Leave me alone,” I grind out, but when I go to leave, Church's friends step in front of me.
“Strip him down, put him in the uniform, and we'll see how fast he can run.” Church nods his head, and the other guys approach me, making me feel sick to my stomach. I hesitate for half a second before I start running. In fact, I don't just run, I haul ass. I sprint.
Pounding footsteps sound behind me, but I spent a lot of time back in California helping Monica train for track and field. Plus all the surfing, and my time on the volleyball team … I outrun all the guys and end up stumbling into the library and collapsing on the carpet just past the theft sensors.
I'm sweating all over the place, and I can hardly catch my breath. A few of the boys come in after me, but the librarian—this big, stern older dude that everyone calls Mr. Dave—steps in between them and me.
“No trouble in my library,” he says, his voice this rumbling bear growl that's impossible to ignore. The other boys scowl at me, but they leave, if a bit reluctantly, and I find myself sighing with intense relief. “That means you, too,” Mr. Dave says after a moment, and I glance up to find him staring at me with hard, dark eyes.
“I … no, I won't cause trouble.” I lift up my sketchbook in explanation, and after a moment, Mr. Dave sighs and disappears back behind the counter, leaving me to stand up and brush myself off. Pretty sure I skinned my knees when I fell, but I don't bother to lift up my pant legs and check. Instead, I find a table in plain view of the librarian's desk and put my stuff down.
