Page 33 of Hateful
“Going so soon?” he asks, maliciousness so thick in his voice that it makes me do a double take.
What is this?Jasper used to be the one with the temper.
Is this all because of the kiss … or is it because of the way I blurted that little bit of news out at the winter dance?
I suppose I haven’t seen anything of his little girl, what was her name … Becky? Or was that just a name I gave her?
None of that matters, however. Not with Beck’s hand still tugging on the back of my jacket like he’s going to strangle me with it.
“I just want to sit down, Beck,” I reply quietly. I tug on my jacket to try and wrench it from his grasp.
“You’re The Brotherhood’s bitch, remember? You do whatwewant, not whatyouwant.”
I look over at Heath and Jasper. Heath, at least, has earbuds blasting music so loudly I can hear the tinny sound of it from here, and he’s so focused on some magazine on his desk that he hasn’t noticed what’s unfolding before him. Jasper is just pretending not to notice.
Beck tugs me closer to his desk. He hasn’t called me The Brotherhood’s bitch in quite a long time. I’d almost forgotten about it.
Almost.
“That’s enough,” the professor says from the doorway, and I look at him in astonishment. He looks very uncomfortable, and he doesn’t relax until Beck releases his grip on me and I scurry off to my desk. Even then he still seems tense. Beck stares daggers at him. All three of them are used to getting their way, doing whatever they want with no consequences.
It’s extremely rare for them to be reprimanded.
So rare, in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen it.
Maybe Headmistress Robin isn’t the only one who’s grown tired of this. Maybe some of the professors—or this one, at least—are starting to question the whole tradition.
History class goes well for me after that. The professor even asks for me to stay after class, which means Beck is long gone by the time I exit.
“I just wanted to give you some extra copies of the worksheet,” he says sheepishly as I stand in front of his desk. “Since you keep … losing … them.”
“Right. Thank you.” Neither of us mention Beck.
I pause in the hallway to tuck the extra worksheet copies into my history folder, then turn toward the door that leads me to my little smoking spot. I don’t want to smoke anymore. It tears up my lungs and makes it hard to run, but my voice needs to remain believable as a boy.
I also can’t pretend that I don’t feel a sense of relief when I take that first drag and the nicotine floods into my system.
I set my backpack down at my feet and lean back against the wall. It’s cold. It’s February in Switzerland, after all—the dead of winter. The snow probably won’t start to melt until late March. But I’ve gotten a little acclimated to it, and I even enjoy it now. I love the way the grounds look under a blanket of crisp white snow. And, of course, the mountains in the distance sure are a sight to behold.
The door next to me opens and I try to hide my cigarette, but it’s just Jasper. Again. He holds up his hand with a smirk as he sees me scrambling.
“Calm down,” he laughs.
I stare at him in disbelief for a moment before turning my head away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him point at the pack of cigarettes in my hand, and before he can ask again, I toss him the entire pack.
“Brought my own lighter this time,” he says.
“Cool,” is my only response in the flattest tone I can manage.
I just keep my head trained straight ahead. If he thinks I’m just going to forget what he said last time, or how he’s just been letting Beck pick up the slack where he left off in the bullying department, he’s dead wrong.
I hear him slide a cigarette out and the clicking of the lighter as he lights it. The smoke he exhales makes its way around into my field of vision.
And then I feel him sidle up next to me, his arm sliding behind my back to pull me against him. I lean against him without thinking as his lips brush against my ear.
“Some class today, huh?” he asks quietly.
