That’s my neighbor Jamie, who, for whatever reason, takes every opportunity he can to make my life miserable. I have no idea why he hates me so much, and honestly I don’t really care. I’m over him and the rest of this damn place. I’m already counting down the days until we have to move again.
“All right, enough.” Mr. Anderson takes charge and gets the class back under control, just as the final bell rings. “Jill, can I see you, please?”
“See, I say the word porn and now Mr. A wants some alone time,” Jamie chuckles to his friends.
I cringe, wishing I could crawl into a hole and die. God, I hope Mr. A doesn’t believe Jamie and his bullshit stories—though that would be how things go: the only person in school who I actually like is Mr. A.
“Jamie, detention tomorrow afternoon for you. I’ll see you at four.”
“What the fuck?” Jamie curses, slamming a chair out of his way. He scowls at me as he walks out the door. Of course his detention is my fault. I can’t deny the sense of satisfaction coursing through my veins.
Slowly, I pack up my things and walk up to Mr. A’s desk. My heart is racing because I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about. I’m praying to god he doesn’t ask for my phone, because I don’t want anyone to see what I was looking at.
No, you perve, it isn’t porn. I’d almost rather it was, though.
“Jill,” he says, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you go out of your way to disrupt my class.”
My mouth drops open. Is he serious?
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” I protest. “All I was doing was checking if my mother was picking me up from school. I didn’t realize that was a capital offense.”
“You know I can’t bend the rules for you even though you’re my top student.” He winks at me. “But relax. I didn’t ask you to stay back to punish you. I just need to keep my ‘take no bullshit’ attitude for them.” He nods toward the door, a smirk on his face.
Wow. I’ve never heard the guy swear before. It almost makes him seem normal.
In his defense, Mr. A is a pretty cool teacher for someone old enough to be my grandfather. As well as teaching Senior History, he is also the assistant principle, and has been for years. He is one of the very few teachers here who actually went here as a student. Now that’s dedication.
“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I shouldn’t have sworn.”
“I’m shocked to see that you’re human,” I tease.
He smiles, his kind eyes softening. He makes me wish I had grandparents. I mean, everyone has grandparents—mine just died before I got the chance to meet them. Does he have any grandchildren? A photo of his three daughters sits on his desk. All look to be in their late twenties. He probably does.
“Is your mother picking you up?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I nod, feeling bad about lying to him.
“Then you better get going. And say hi to your mom for me too.”
***
When I’m safely out of the building, I reach for my phone.
Me: Sorry, work. Apparently they actually expect me to do things around here ;)
Eli: How rude of them. Hope you told them where to go. So, can I call you tonight or not?
Me: Not yet. I’m enjoying how mysterious all of this is. It’s pretty exciting.
Eli: We’ve been chatting for nearly six months. Besides, if it’s excitement you’re after, you should see what I can do with my tongue ;)
I clap my hand over my mouth to smother my laugh. He is such a dirty flirt. He’s right—we have been chatting for months now, but I’m still not ready to make whatever it is we have more than what it is.
We met through an online dating site, when after way too much of my dad’s homemade whiskey—of which he has no idea I keep a bottle of stashed under my bed—I had the bright idea to set up a profile on a dating site.
I was sick of being the new girl, which goes hand in hand with being lonely.
With Dad’s job, we travel a lot, which means I’m never in one place long enough to develop friendships, let alone relationships. This school is the worst of them all. Everywhere else I’ve been able to fade into the background and do my thing, but Jamie and his minions have made it their mission to make my life hell.
And I have no fucking idea why.
Thanks to my drunken dating profile skills, Eli thinks I’m twenty-one, fresh out of college, working in an office with a passion for history. In reality, I’m seventeen—a whole eight years younger than he is—and I’m still in high school. At least the history part is true.
I was surprised at how much attention my profile received. I woke the next morning to find my inbox full of emails from guys whose ages ranged from twenty right up to sixty-seven. Most were the same; you sound hot, want to meet for some casual sex but one stood out.