didn’t spot her.
I was on my own.
Blindly closing my locker, I hurried in the opposite direction
of Ryder Yates and his gossipy, staring-problem friend. Fleeing clueless
through the halls, I forgot to look at the room numbers I passed before I
returned to Art. Wondering whether Miss Abernathy would let me hide in her room
the rest of the day if I made some kind of mad plea about how an artistic muse
had suddenly struck, I blew out a breath and silently counted to ten.
After calming myself enough to consult my schedule, I
discovered I had Chemistry next. I figured I could find the room number from
the numbers over the doors. But I soon discovered how wrong I was. It took me a
couple of minutes to realize the different wings of the building numbered their
classes in different ways.
In a desperate search for Room 4-D, my heart dipped into my
knees when the second bell rang. Dear Lord, I had no idea where to go.
Thankfully, I saw a passing adult in the cleared halls and flagged him down.
After introducing himself as the vice principal, he welcomed me to Southeast
and pointed me in the right direction.
I walked as fast as my legs would carry me and found 4-D
half a minute later. When I jerked open the door, about two dozen heads turned
my way, making me stall out in the threshold.
The teacher, who’d already started class, stopped talking in
his droning voice and glanced over his shoulder to scowl at me.
Half the room consisted of currently unused lab tables—four
rows of counters stretched out, holding beakers and vials and discolored
liquids along with Bunsen burners and microscopes. The second half of the
classroom consisted of occupied student desks.
And seated on the end row, about ten feet from me, three
chairs from the front, sat Ryder Yates.
Chapter 6
“Can I help you?”
I tore my eyes from Ryder and found an irritated,
mid-fifties man eyeing me over the top of his bifocals, his hand frozen in
midair, holding a marker poised against the whiteboard.
“Uh…” I said, and had the good fortune to remember to close
my mouth. “Chemistry,” I finally mumbled. “With, uh…” The fumbling started then
as I scurried to find my class schedule. “Uh, with Mr. Dorkman.”
“That’s Dock man,”
he corrected.
“Oh. Sorry.” Oops. I cringed and sank back as half the class
snickered.
He dropped his marker from the board and stepped toward me,
snapping his fingers.
I handed over my schedule immediately. “New student,” I
uttered as I did so.
He scowled at the sheet a moment then
flipped it back to me so quickly I had to fumble yet again to catch the
flapping page.
Ten feet away, Ryder Yates tapped the seat in front of his
with his shoe. His friend—yeah, the staring one—lifted his disinterested gaze
from the notebook he’d been doodling on and glanced over his shoulder.
He and Ryder had some kind of silent conversation that
consisted of the enlarging of Ryder’s eyes and then directing them my way. His
friend turned slowly to study me.
I diverted my attention to Dockman just as he showed me his
back with a very dismissive air. “Class,” he announced. “We have a new student.
This is Grace En… En-dee…”
“Indigo,” I supplied. “Pronounced and spelled just like the
color.”
It felt strange saying my name aloud, knowing Ryder Yates
was finally learning my true identity.
Dockman nodded. “Grace Indigo. She’s new here. So, please…” he
gave a tired sigh and said, “treat her with a little decency today, will you?”
He told me to take a seat and as I scanned the room for a
chair, Ryder sank lower into his desk and ducked his head to study his opened
textbook.
The only place left in the room was next to his friend and
catty-corner from him. Knowing this was going to be one very long hour, I sank
down into the chair, sitting one place over and in front of Ryder Yates.
Class started.
Thank goodness Southeast used the same textbook we
I was on my own.
Blindly closing my locker, I hurried in the opposite direction
of Ryder Yates and his gossipy, staring-problem friend. Fleeing clueless
through the halls, I forgot to look at the room numbers I passed before I
returned to Art. Wondering whether Miss Abernathy would let me hide in her room
the rest of the day if I made some kind of mad plea about how an artistic muse
had suddenly struck, I blew out a breath and silently counted to ten.
After calming myself enough to consult my schedule, I
discovered I had Chemistry next. I figured I could find the room number from
the numbers over the doors. But I soon discovered how wrong I was. It took me a
couple of minutes to realize the different wings of the building numbered their
classes in different ways.
In a desperate search for Room 4-D, my heart dipped into my
knees when the second bell rang. Dear Lord, I had no idea where to go.
Thankfully, I saw a passing adult in the cleared halls and flagged him down.
After introducing himself as the vice principal, he welcomed me to Southeast
and pointed me in the right direction.
I walked as fast as my legs would carry me and found 4-D
half a minute later. When I jerked open the door, about two dozen heads turned
my way, making me stall out in the threshold.
The teacher, who’d already started class, stopped talking in
his droning voice and glanced over his shoulder to scowl at me.
Half the room consisted of currently unused lab tables—four
rows of counters stretched out, holding beakers and vials and discolored
liquids along with Bunsen burners and microscopes. The second half of the
classroom consisted of occupied student desks.
And seated on the end row, about ten feet from me, three
chairs from the front, sat Ryder Yates.
Chapter 6
“Can I help you?”
I tore my eyes from Ryder and found an irritated,
mid-fifties man eyeing me over the top of his bifocals, his hand frozen in
midair, holding a marker poised against the whiteboard.
“Uh…” I said, and had the good fortune to remember to close
my mouth. “Chemistry,” I finally mumbled. “With, uh…” The fumbling started then
as I scurried to find my class schedule. “Uh, with Mr. Dorkman.”
“That’s Dock man,”
he corrected.
“Oh. Sorry.” Oops. I cringed and sank back as half the class
snickered.
He dropped his marker from the board and stepped toward me,
snapping his fingers.
I handed over my schedule immediately. “New student,” I
uttered as I did so.
He scowled at the sheet a moment then
flipped it back to me so quickly I had to fumble yet again to catch the
flapping page.
Ten feet away, Ryder Yates tapped the seat in front of his
with his shoe. His friend—yeah, the staring one—lifted his disinterested gaze
from the notebook he’d been doodling on and glanced over his shoulder.
He and Ryder had some kind of silent conversation that
consisted of the enlarging of Ryder’s eyes and then directing them my way. His
friend turned slowly to study me.
I diverted my attention to Dockman just as he showed me his
back with a very dismissive air. “Class,” he announced. “We have a new student.
This is Grace En… En-dee…”
“Indigo,” I supplied. “Pronounced and spelled just like the
color.”
It felt strange saying my name aloud, knowing Ryder Yates
was finally learning my true identity.
Dockman nodded. “Grace Indigo. She’s new here. So, please…” he
gave a tired sigh and said, “treat her with a little decency today, will you?”
He told me to take a seat and as I scanned the room for a
chair, Ryder sank lower into his desk and ducked his head to study his opened
textbook.
The only place left in the room was next to his friend and
catty-corner from him. Knowing this was going to be one very long hour, I sank
down into the chair, sitting one place over and in front of Ryder Yates.
Class started.
Thank goodness Southeast used the same textbook we
Similar Books
