Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife
Page 113
The color drains from her cheeks.
“Enough.” Mr. Parton claps his hands once, twice. When I meet his gaze, his too-thin lips press together even as his eyes glow with triumph—as if he’s won some kind of war against me. Silly Mr. Parton. “We’re here to learn.”
If that’s true, we need another teacher.
Mercedes raises her hand a second time. “I have an equation, Mr. Parton. May I share it with the rest of the class?”
“Of course.”
She sneers at me. “You dress like a Goth to set yourself apart from others, to protest conformity, and yet you conform to the image of other Goths. Explain that.”
Hello, stereotype. “Your equation is flawed,” I say. “You assume I am what I am as an act against some type of conformity. The truth is, I simply am what I am.”
Most people are afraid of death. Not me. I’m curious about it. I know the body dies—does the soul die as well? I accept the fact that we are all bound for the grave, and I find beauty in things other people consider doom and gloom. Like a withered tree, or a broken mirror. Even a pile of debris. In books and movies, I tend to sympathize with the villain.
I’m not normal, and I don’t want to pretend otherwise.
“You’re a freak, plain and simple,” Charlee Ann says.
I meet her gaze, unwavering. “Again, there’s a flaw in your reasoning. There’s nothing wrong with being a freak. However, there is something wrong with being a fraud.”
Her jaw drops. “I am not a fraud!”
Linnie gives me an I adore you smile.
Doing my best impression of Charlee Ann, I flip my hair over my shoulder. “I’m so kind and compassionate. I love and support everyone always.” As she glares at me, I add, “What a person looks like isn’t what determines your treatment of them—the blackened state of your heart is.”
Once again Mr. Parton claps his hands. “All right. That’s enough, Miss Leighton.”
Me? I wait for him to call out Charlee Ann or Mercedes.
Still waiting…
Waiting…
Wow. Okay, all right. “Here’s a problem I’d love for you to solve for the class.” I lift my chin, square my shoulders. “There are twenty-one kids in this room, and not one of them has learned anything but the consequences of having a bad teacher. How do you explain that?”
Everyone snickers, even Mercedes and Charlee Ann.
The vein in Mr. Parton’s forehead throbs faster. “One more word out of you, Miss Leighton, and you’ll spend a week in detention.”
Is he kidding? I might have just won the lottery. Detention lasts for an hour after school. The longer I can avoid Fiona and a new lecture from my dad, the better.
“Word,” I say.
His eyes narrow to tiny slits and his face darkens to lobster red, clashing with his white button-down shirt and brown dress slacks. He’s so neat and tidy; he obviously prizes order.
To him, I must look like chaos. My clothes are usually torn. I have a silver hoop in my nose and two eyebrow rings. One of my arms is sleeved in tattoos. My back is also covered.
Part of my armor, my therapist says.
He’s wrong. They are my memorials.
Robb gave me my first tattoo—a broken heart on my wrist. Of course my dad flipped out. What he didn’t understand, then or now? The image reminds me of my mother, forever and always.
I told him I would be getting other tattoos with or without his approval. Rather than “putting my health at risk,” Dad shocked me by hiring a professional to do the rest of the work. We had to travel out of state, and he had to sign paperwork to grant his permission, but each and every time he did it with only a handful of complaints.
“If you want detention so badly, I’ll give it to you—for the rest of the month.” Mr. Parton crosses his arms, clearly expecting me to rush out an apology. “How does that sound?”
When will he learn I’m not like other kids?
“Mr. Parton,” I say, picking a fleck of black nail polish from my index finger. “Have you noticed you’re the one being disruptive, wasting everyone’s time? You offered detention. I accepted. Can we move on, please?”
Rage detonates in his eyes as a chorus of “Oooh” and “Aaah” rings out.
“That’s it! I want you gone.” He closes the distance to slap his hands against the sides of my desk. The metal legs vibrate. If he doesn’t learn to control his stress levels, that vein in his forehead is going to burst. “You are nothing but a nuisance. At this rate, you’re going to fail my class. Probably all your classes.”
If I hadn’t taught myself to shut down emotionally, I might have erupted just then. He’s not supposed to discuss my private business with others. But all I feel is more nothingness. “You’re wrong about my grades,” I inform him. “I’m passing every class…that has a decent teacher.”
He jerks a finger toward the door. “Get out of my classroom. Go straight to Principal Hatcher’s office. Do not talk to anyone along the way. Do not stop in the bathroom.”
Tomb-like silence slithers through the room.
“May I collect two hundred dollars for passing Go?” I say as I bend down to retrieve my books and bag from the floor.
“Out!”
“Happy to go just as soon as you write me a note.”
His nostrils flare before he stomps to his desk, scribbles something and throws a piece of paper at my feet.
I may be indifferent, but I’m not stupid. This is a power play. One of many. Mr. Parton has always enjoyed taking his frustrations out on his students. If he spills coffee on his shirt, we get a quiz. If he locks his keys in his car, we get ten pages of homework.
I remain beside my desk, stiff as a board. I will not pick up that paper.
On my sixteenth birthday, my dad gifted me with two of my mother’s journals. One she’d written before her marriage, the other she’d written after. I’ve read every precious word more times than I can count. One of my favorite passages plays through my mind.
If I don’t stand up for myself, I will fall. I must be strong, and I must be brave. I must be me. If I fall, how will I ever have the strength to carry my little girl when she needs me most?
At one time she was the head cheerleader, a position she lost when she got pregnant with me. My dad, the football star, had knocked her up.
As soon as she hit her second trimester, she was kicked off the cheer squad. Kids called her a slut and a whore, and she lost many friends.
Although I suppose they weren’t really friends. Arguably not even people worth knowing.
I wish I could read Mom’s other journals and discover more pearls of wisdom from her, but my dad said the rest were lost when we moved out of my childhood home and into the one we now share with Fiona.
“Miss Leighton!” Mr. Parton’s voice yanks me from my thoughts. “Pick up the pace. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner the rest of the class can enjoy the lesson.”
I stand and adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone enjoying it.”
I don’t mean the words as a taunt but a simple truth. Still, students laugh.
He closes in on me once again, and he looks ready to snap—my neck, that is. I remain in place, forcing him to peer up at me. At five ten, I’m two inches taller than Mr. Parton.
When he realizes I can’t be intimidated, he balls his fists. “Don’t you dare come back in here. You do, and you’ll be punished. Do you understand me?”
“Of course. Your lectures are always punishment.” I step past him, past the paper he threw, and nod goodbye to Linnie as I stroll into the hall.
Get your copy of OH MY GOTH by Gena Showalter today!
Excerpt from OH MY GOTH copyright © 2018 by Gena Showalter
ISBN-13: 9781488038945
Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection © 2018 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Firstlife
First published as Firstlife by Harlequin Teen in 2016
Th
is edition published in 2018.
Copyright © 2016 by Gena Showalter.
Lifeblood
First published as Lifeblood by Harlequin Teen in 2017
This edition published in 2018.
Copyright © 2017 by Gena Showalter.
Everlife
First published as Everlife by Harlequin Teen in 2018
This edition published in 2018.
Copyright © 2018 by Gena Showalter.
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