“It can wait.”
“It’ll be nice and quick.”
I cross my arms, but the weirdo shows no signs of surrendering. “Five seconds, then buzz off.”
“No worries. I’ll take less than that.”
“You are down to four.”
“Fine. Are you burning up?”
I raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Say, what now?”
“Aren’t you hot in that coat?”
That’s random. “Weird question, so I’m going to ignore that.”
“It’s a simple inquiry.”
“Listen, you got something better to do? Like finish today’s assignment?”
“Done already. This stuff is child’s play.”
That earned him an eye roll. I turn around to complete the rest of the math drills, but he leans forward. “Anyway, this room is super hot. Mrs. Johnson likes to put the temp on 80 degrees. Are you boiling underneath that layer?”
What is it with this kid? To answer his question, my ass is freezing. These goosebumps have taken up permanent residence for the past twenty minutes. Alexa’s apparition is missing, but her scent is here. And she’s lowering the heat until my skin turns blue.
“The name’s George. George Fenton-Wall.”
I sigh. So this guy has no plans of leaving me alone. “Josephine.” And don’t call me Jo. This dude is rubbing me the wrong way.
“Enchanted.” He gets up from his desk. The sound of heavy footsteps approaches, and I curse. Now, his body heat forces me to face him. This boy is a beanpole but stands at six feet tall. Dressed in a green plaid shirt tucked inside khaki pants, he looks preppy and nerdy—an acceptable persona. But I find his beady eyes unnerving. He bends at the waist, fiery breath fanning my cheek. “You remind me of someone.”
“You don’t say.” I flip the page of my workbook. “Dude, you’re too close to me.”
The weirdo ignores my warning and continues. “Alexa Ocampo”
Choking on saliva, I cough. Is he serious? My mind conjures an image of the girl in question. The petite cheerleader is shorter than me by four inches, and I am 5’7. That shiny straight hair is so smooth it returns to its unruffled state seconds after running a hand through it. My fingers got stuck when I tried doing that to my curls, and Mama Nilda had to untangle them. A delicate face and perfect teeth. She is everything I’m not. This kid’s on crack.
“A generic version,” he says, agreeing with my thoughts.
“Wow, that’s super rude.” Can this conversation get any worse? “One more time, dude, step away.”
“You’re cute.” He misses the cues. “But Alexa was hot.”
“Was?” I ask, heightened by his use of the past tense.
That thin, wiry body leans into me. “You don’t think the girl’s still alive, do you?”
I scrunch my forehead and stare at him. “You trying to tell me something, wise guy?”
He furrows his brows as if confused by my response. Then he composes himself. “I’m saying, it’s almost a week, and she hasn’t turned up.”
“Is George messing with you?” Another voice joins us, startling me. I turn. Brandon. Again. I didn’t realize he was in this class.
George’s eyes widen. “Hey buddy. I wasn’t bothering her or anything. I was just—”
“Man, get your ass outta here before I knock you out.”
George gets a clue this time and leaves, but he doesn’t return to his seat. Instead, he brisk walks to the calculus teacher. Grateful for the intervention, I turn to him. “Thanks. Again.”
“Josephine, ya?” A delightful light pidgin accent escapes his mouth, which was missing during our first meeting. I enjoyed that back in seventh grade. I guess I still do. “Didn’t catch your name yesterday, but I asked around.”
I blush. “Uh, yup. That’s me.”
He smiles. “I’m Brandon.”
“I know.”
His brows raise. “Have we met before?”
Ouch. “Elementary and Junior High. And I sat next to you in Spanish class three years ago.
He reddens and gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “I would remember you though. You have a distinct look to you, and you would’ve only made the third Filipino student in school—besides me and Lexie. You know how it was…”
I nod. “We were the token browns.”
He chuckles. A pleasant, silvery laugh.
“No worries. You wouldn’t have recognized me. I had big, wild hair, barely spoke and hid behind the textbook.”
His eyes widen. “That was you?”
Oh, so now you remember. “Surprise?”
He tilts his head, studying me, but I point to the front. “What’s that guy’s story, anyway?”
He blinks and refocuses. “George?”
I nod.
“That’s Mr. Cunningham’s nephew. His parents give a lot of money to the school. A big pain in the ass.” Then he frowns. “I heard what he said.”
“About Alexa?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. He shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, but everyone’s already thinking it.”
I bite my lip and grip my chair. The truth lies on the edges of my lips, but I don’t share it. I don’t have the strength to break his heart. “But it doesn’t mean it’s true. Fuck ‘em.”
I avoid his gaze afterwards because I’m going to hell for giving him false hopes. Brandon refocuses his attention to me, and I look for something to distract myself from the guilt.
“George is an asshole. But just to be clear. You’re not the generic version of Alexa. And the view from over here?” He pauses and flashes me that Mario Lopez dimple. “Is pretty awesome.”
That did it. Can’t fight it any longer. I turn tomato red. Alexa is a lucky girl. The bell rings. Thank god.
“See you around, Jojo.” With one last smile, he turns and leaves the room.
Jojo. Damn.
***
I gulp my Slim Fast as I sprint to Senior Hall. I stop before the double doors—hands on my knees, huffing and puffing. That few minutes of rest restores my energy, and I stand straighter to smooth my dress and re-tie my ponytail. To be honest, I could use a joint right now.
When I enter the hallway, the dim interior makes me pause. The squeak of running shoes on fresh-scrubbed floors reaches my ears, and I freeze.
“Josephine?”
I pick up the voice. That’s Mr. Cunningham. Relief has me clutching my chest because I’m done with awkward Julian encounters.
“Class doesn’t start until one.”
“Isn’t it already one?” I peek at my watch. “Oh.”
He laughs. “You have a half hour more. Enjoy the rest of your break.”
I look past the double doors and see a group of guys howling with laughter as their friend grabs his crotch at a girl passing them. I turn to my teacher. “Lunch is overrated.”
He chuckles as he unlocks the classroom. Light floods the room at the flick of the switch. As soon as I take a seat, I rummage through my backpack to find the assigned reading.
“So, how’s school?”
I turn in his direction. While he turns away to erase the writing on the board, I note his outfit. A fitted blue plaid shirt, dark straight leg jeans, and sneakers. Mr. Cunningham is a ginger, and he reminds me of an American version of Prince Harry.
“Josephine?”
I blink and find the young teacher staring. “Uh… It’s been all right.”
“Just all right?” He wipes the chalk off his hands.
“Well, I came super late. So, I don’t know anyone.” Then I pause. “Oh, except Dee.” And Julian doesn’t count.
He takes a seat on his desk. I’m not sure if he’s pitying me, but the warmth of his smile calms my nerves.
“I understand.” He said. “You can come here anytime, you know.”
“Thanks, but you have to eat lunch, too. I’d hate to take you away from the teacher’s lounge. I heard it
’s legit.”
He shrugs. “The teacher’s lounge is overrated.”
We chuckle until a creaky noise turns our heads in the doorway’s direction. I groan when I see who entered the room. Julian walks to his chair with a raised brow. I focus on my book, trying to ignore his existence, but our instructor has other plans.
“Josephine, do you know Ian?”
I curse under my breath, and I turn to acknowledge my teacher. But Julian answers for me.
“We’ve met.” He takes a seat. “We hung out yesterday and had a lovely conversation, didn’t we, Joey Jo?”
I snap my attention to him. What the hell?
Mr. Cunningham raises a brow. “Oh?”
“No, you bumped into me in the hallway.” I shoot the Spawn a death glare. “Big difference there, bro.”
He shakes his head and pouts. “I’m hurt. And here I thought we shared something special.”
I roll my eyes. He’s so full of shit.
Mr. Cunningham clears his throat. “So, I hope you guys reviewed the syllabus. We’re starting a great novel about love and betrayal today.”
“Interesting. A book about violating trust and confidences.” Julian pipes in again as he takes out a notebook from his backpack. “Any thoughts on that, Joey Jo?”
I seethe. Fine, you want to play that game? “First, stop calling me that. Second, I do.”
He smirks. “Please, enlighten me.”
I take a deep breath as I prepare for battle. “Betrayal is subjective, especially when the supposed traitor has valid reasons for the alleged disloyalty. What do you think, Mr. Cunningham?”
“Excellent point, Josephine,” said our teacher.
Julian narrows his eyes. “So you’re saying betrayal is just a misperception of the person betrayed?”
“Well—”
He interrupts me. “Maybe someone was too sensitive and misunderstood the other party?”
“I wouldn’t say that necessarily—”
He laughs and cuts me off again. “Share that to the guy being tried for treason. Maybe Louis XVI could have used your logic before they beheaded him with the guillotine.”
I huff. “Obviously, I am not referring to threats to national security or violations against a country, Ian. I’m talking about actions that undermine a relationship between two people. Isn’t that what we’re discussing here?”
He shrugs. “I was just speaking in general terms.” Then he leans back and gives me a smug expression. “Unless a personal experience triggered you.”
I scowl as we lock eyes and prepare for the next rebuttal.
“Thank you, Ian.” Mr. Cunningham interrupts our exchange. “Boy, I can’t wait to continue this spirited discussion from the two of you in class.”
The door bursts open, and another classmate walks in, distracting Mr. Cunningham. I turn to Julian and cross my arms. “Are you done?”
He returns my glare with a lopsided grin. “Oh, I’m just getting started, babe.”
I narrow my eyes and glower. But Dee saunters in the room, ending the banter. She greets me and shares the story of the two freshmen girls fighting in the parking lot. She engages me in conversation and distracts me from my irritation—until Mr. Cunningham announces the next assignment.
“Take out last night’s homework and share it with a partner.”
The rustling of papers erupt in the classroom as students remove their essays from their binders. As I turn to Dee, our teacher interrupts the class again.
“Oh, and because I’m feeling generous, I took the liberty to relieve you of finding your own partners. So, I assigned you all one.”
The room erupts in a collective groan.
“You’re welcome.” He grins. “Branch out. Get to know each other. You just might like it.”
He places a piece of folded paper on my desk and smiles. “I paired you two before learning about your friendship.”
I unfold the note and curse.
“Who do you have?” Dee leans closer to peek over my shoulder.
I flip the thin sheet towards her, so she can read the name.
“Oh, shit!” She claps her hands with glee. “This is getting good!”
I slump in my seat and stare across the room. He’s staring right back at me, holding that traitorous piece of paper between his fingers. I give him the middle finger. He smirks, then turns his attention to the redhead who’s been ogling him since yesterday.
“Ok, everybody, exchange papers,” said Mr. Cunningham.
There’s no way I’m walking over there. He’s coming to me. I stand my ground and stay put as everyone else moves to meet their partners. Meanwhile, I check my phone, run fingers through my hair, doodle on the desk and do everything to stall. It’s been five minutes. I look.
The jerk is still flirting with that skinny redhead!
Laughing and leaning towards each other, they have no intention of ending their chitchat. Everyone else is reading and working together, but not us. A growl escapes from my lips. I have no choice but to swallow my pride.
As I journey across the room, I picture putting Julian in a headlock and not releasing until he says “uncle.” If I could do it when we were ten, I can do it now.
Upon reaching his desk, I cast a shadow over him, but he ignores me and continues with his conversation. Redhead chick notices, though, and lifts her head.
“Sorry to interrupt, but…” I trail off and wave my essay.
Julian’s attention snaps to me. He leans back and scowls as if I’m the rude one. Meanwhile, Red scans my outfit and ends on my heels. “Nice Louboutin.”
Now, my knowledge of designer labels is zero to none, but I know this pair costs a grand. I don’t understand the hype, but everyone else in this school does. My shoes have gotten more attention than me today. I was getting jealous of my feet.
“Thanks.” Then I eye her tight jersey outfit that’s so short, I wonder if she’s wearing a T-shirt. But I’m compelled to return the compliment. “Nice shirt.”
She glares at me. “It’s a body con dress. Ever heard of them?”
Nope.
Julian clears his throat, faces Red, and gives her a megawatt smile. She doesn’t miss it and lowers her eyes with a coyness of a nightclub chanteuse.
“Talk to you later, Liz. Bianca and I will be at your party tonight.”
At the mention of his girlfriend, Red’s face turns the color of her hair. She huffs but gets up, takes her essay and stalks over to her partner, who’s been waiting across the room. I stifle a giggle. I’m new here, but it took less than twenty-four hours before I realized the guy had a ball and chain. Did she expect that a tight dress, occasional eyelash batting and incessant giggling will make him leave his cheerleader inamorata who resembles Blake Lively? But Julian was being a jerk, too, making her believe she had a chance. Poor girl.
The Night Orchid Page 9
