“Are we clear?” he asks once he finally finishes his tirade.
“Yes sir,” I mutter, and the line goes dead.
I close my eyes, rubbing my temples to ease the ache before remembering where I am. My eyes snap openand lock onto Lana’s. She sitting at a table opposite mine—probably too far away for her to have heard the conversation, but close enough to gleam the gist of it.
Her eyes search mine, looking for what, I have no idea.
We stare at each other for a moment, neither of us knowing whether we’re supposed to pretend it never happened or talk about it.
If she did hear, then she’s no doubt pissed that I basically laid the blame for our grade at her feet.
Deciding to make the decision for both of us, I stand and leave the courtyard behind. I have a plan in the works, and I need to meet with a guy from the tech department and see how he’s getting on with my little… project.
TEN
LANA
Hushed whispers fill the hallway as I make my way to the library. I’ve been here for five weeks already, and the gossip surrounding me still hasn’t let up.
The idea that none of these people can seem to handle the fact that they haven’t heard of me or my family is amusing really, and I’ve heard some wild things people have been coming up with.
Yesterday, a girl walked up and asked me if it was true that I was the bastard child of a prince. Like… what?
See? Wild.
But today, the whispers seem louder, the looks they give me more intense, and I can only take so much more before I snap.
They really don’t want to see me snap.
I storm into the library, since this seems to be the only place I can find a minute of silence in this whole damn university. I have my own dorm room, but my asshole neighbor likes to make a ton of noise, and I don’t like noise.
I don’t like much of anything, really.
I take a seat in the corner of the room, where there are fewer people gathered, and take out my laptop. I don’t actually plan to do any schoolwork, since I’ve caught up on everything I fell behind on after spending so much time agonizing on having to do a class project with Cole, of all people, and instead plan to figure out what I’m going to do next. I plan to stay here a little longer, but I still need to figure out where to go from here beforetheyfind me. I need a plan in place for what’s to come.
Usually, I’d have just gone after them, but this situation is more delicate than anything I’ve ever faced before. One wrong move from me, and it could blow up in everyone’s faces. Which is why I’m here, hiding out and playing a waiting game. I’ll make my move, I just can’t make it yet. It’s like a game of chess. My movements need to be precise and controlled, otherwise I’ll lose the entire game.
“I’m telling you, it’s her,” a girl hisses to her friend to my left and I slam my fist down on the table, glaring at them both until they scutter away.
“Seriously, what the hell is with these people?” I find myself muttering under my breath, and the girl on the next table clears her throat.
My attention snaps to her and I raise a brow. I’ve seen her here a few times. She’s a tutor to some of the younger students, and her vibrant red hair always stands out to me for some strange reason.
“You haven’t seen it, have you?” she asks softly. It’s probably the first time someone has spoken to me in this school and it hasn’t irritated me.
Maybe it’s her voice, or maybe it’s the fact that as far as I can tell, she isn’t a dick.
“Seen what?”
She worries her bottom lip and glances around the room as though she’s looking for someone. Seemingly satisfied, she grabs her phone from the table and heads over to me. She messes around on it for a moment before handing it to me, and I tentatively reach out and take it from her.
I look at the screen, and what I see has the blood freezing in my veins.
It’s a picture of me walking across the courtyard, the university newspaper’s logo in the corner of the screen and a huge tagline saying, ‘Who is she? Mystery girl or murderer?’ Beneath it, there’s another picture, only this one is a mugshot that the police usually take when you’re arrested. I suppose if I squinted hard enough, it could resemble me. Though, it definitely isn’t, I’ve never been dumb enough to get caught by the cops.
I hand the phone back to her and give her a grateful yet silent nod.
“I’m sorry there are so many lies being told about you,” she whispers, though I have no idea why. It’s not her fault. She’s not the one who had me put in that damn newspaper.
