“Go talk to your dad, Chuck,” Ranger whispers in my ear, this big, intimidating presence over my shoulder that I've come to really like. It's comforting, having him standing there, like I know I've truly got someone that's willing and able to watch my back. “And let me deal with the girls, okay? They're nowhere near as cute as you, and you know how much I like cute things.”
My cheeks flush, but I refuse to give into the compliment.
“I thought you said I made an ugly guy,” I whisper back as I turn to look at him, well-aware that the girls are staring right at us. Ranger's sapphire eyes sparkle, and the edge of his mouth quirks a bit. Not into anything as obscene as a full smile, but close enough for him. His sugar, vanilla, and leather scent wraps around me, briefly knocking the common sense straight from my head.
When he captures my chin and leans in close, the girls squeal.
“Oh my god, they're having an affair,” one of them whispers, sounding far too excited about her discovery.
“While she's wearing the Student Council President's ring and everything!” another gushes, grabbing onto Aster's arm. Her green eyes twinkle excitedly as she grabs her friend right back.
“It's like a yaoi come to life,” she breathes, and Ranger rolls his eyes. Yaoi is the name for a genre of Japanese comics and TV shows featuring guy-on-guy action, but intentionally made for women to enjoy.
“Our love isn't for the female gaze,” Ranger snaps, and then he kisses me hard and fast, spins me around and pushes me in the direction of my father's office. It occurs to me as I stumble away that we've just had our first kiss. I feel drunk as I slip into the room and put my back to the door, pushing it closed.
“Did you come all the way up here just to act like a fool in front of my guests?” Dad asks, and it takes me several seconds of blinking to clear my head. Ranger is … such an unexpected treat, isn't he? He always said I was ugly in my glasses and baggy uniform and mussy hair, but he thought I was fucking cute.
“Huh?” I ask, blinking again to clear my vision and staring at Dad, sitting behind his desk like he thinks the big, old wooden antique is some sort of shield against me and my ridiculousness. “No, I … Why wouldn't you tell me you were planning on adding more girls to the school?”
“I've been working on this all summer, which, you might've known if you'd been willing to have a conversation with me. Everly and Adamson are working on an exchange program to test the waters. We're sending three boys to them, and vice versa. But we can't bring the girls over until they have a proper place to stay. We plan on starting them here during the second quarter, after the girls’ dorm is cleaned up and ready.”
“I see.” I can't decide if I should be angry, relieved, whatever. “What about Jason? What about Eugene? What about Jenica? I saw a dead body in those woods, Dad.” I look him straight in the eyes, and for the first time, I realize what all his anger is about. He's afraid for me. “Where is Mr. Dave?” I decide to ask, and Dad blinks back at me a few times, like he's surprised by the question.
“He had the flu, but he'll be back on Monday,” he says, and this time, it's my turn to look surprised.
“You've spoken with him recently?” I ask, because we haven't seen nor heard from Mr. Dave since the, err, stabbing incident. At this point, I've been choosing to trust Church, despite the evidence. I'd love to get Mr. Dave's point of view from that fateful morning. And isn’t it interesting how he never reported the attack to anyone? Not my dad, not the police.
“Just this afternoon, why?” Dad asks, standing up from his desk. He's decidedly calmer today than he has been since I called him a boomer. Heh. I mean, he's technically Gen X—I think—but you can call anyone a boomer that's acting like an asshat. Every Millennial and Gen Zer worth their salt in online slang knows that.
“No reason.” I pause, wondering if I should tell Dad about Mr. Murphy and the notes. But there's just something about the way he's been acting since we got to Adamson that makes me suspicious. I think about Ross’ casual mention of Mr. Dave and Mr. Murphy praising my father for sending me back to California.
A thought forms in my mind, and I shift nervously in place.
“I have to go,” I say, turning toward the door.
“Not until you sign this write-up,” he says, and I groan. Three write-ups is suspension. Seven is expulsion. Not good. I take the stupid thing and head back to the dining room where Ranger's still waiting for me.
