Page 13 of Hateful
He shrugs. “Not a big deal. I lie about stuff all the time.” He gazes past me toward the main corridor, where the throng of students still pulses. “You’re going to have to talk to her, eventually.”
“I know,” I sigh. I lean against the wall and run my fingers through my short, choppy hair. “But I’d like to avoid her for at least a week.”
“She’s going to be here often. She takes a huge part in the planning of the whole competition.”
I groan, my fingers still twisting through my hair.
Neville watches us in confusion. “What’s wrong with the headmistress lady? Why does she wanna talk to you so badly?”
Rafael sighs. “Just go to class, Neville.”
Frowning, Neville does as he’s told. I watch his back disappear into the crowd. I’m jealous of how freely he can walk around.
Rafael pats my arm. “You need to figure out how you’re going to handle all this.”
“Iamhandling it,” I say, a little snappier than I intended.
He nods. “Okay then. I’m going back to the dorm.”
“Sure.”
He walks away. I’m not handling anything, and he knows it.
So, I guess that means at least one of us does.
Chapter Six
The promised flyersstart showing up only a few days after the assembly, and right alongside them Headmistress Robin becomes an almost permanent presence in the school.
I see her all over the place, her dark hair wound up in a bun at the back of her head, heels clicking as she walks place to place, usually accompanied by some of the school faculty and a small cluster of girls from her school.
I do my best to stay out of her sight, but I know it’s a temporary solution. Rafael might have bought me some time, but she’ll find me … eventually. When she needs to. I still dodge her every time I see her; just the sound of clicks on tile is enough to make me fling myself into the nearest open room in a panic.
I know she’s spotted me a couple times, but I’ve always managed to slither away before she can entangle me in conversation.
“Your ass isn’t going away,” Rafael says conversationally one Saturday morning after a particularly close brush. I actually had to slip into the boy’s locker room and hang out there for long enough to see more flaccid shlongs than I ever wanted to in my life.
I let out an irritated groan as I examine my aforementioned backside in the mirror. Am I just hitting some sort of puberty growth spurt? Am I a late bloomer? I run my hand along my backside, quietly fuming.
“Maybe I should start exercising.”
“With that appetite of yours, it wouldn’t hurt,” Rafael says, earning himself a smack across the back of the head with my pillow. He just rights himself back up and gives me a scrutinizing look. “Lacrosse season is over, right? You need something to make up for all that exercise you were doing before.”
I shoot him a glance, and he grins at me, letting me know he’s being sarcastic.
The Brotherhood forced me to join the lacrosse team last semester, and I spent most of my time doing everything I could to keep myself from playing, including throwing myself down a flight of stairs. I ended up actually helping the team out near the end of the season, but it certainly wasn’t enough exercise to keep me rail-thin. I’ve always been a stick; that’s just how my body is.
Or so I thought. I pat my butt thoughtfully, then head to my dresser and start opening drawers.
“What are you doing?” Rafael asks.
“Looking for workout clothes. I may as well start now.” I pull out one of the sports bras I packed.
“Okay … and what, exactly, are you going to do?”
“Run, I guess. What else is there?” I start changing into the mildly workout-themed clothes I’ve brought.
“Well, wear a jacket. It’s cold as hell outside.”
