There’s a hint of makeup on her eyelids when she blinks, a soft blue. The winged liner that frames those orbs of gray makes her expression seem cat-like. But it’s her plump lips that capture my attention. They shimmer with pinpricks of glitter when she smiles shyly.
“I-I’m s-sorry, I-I couldn’t find the class.” Her soft voice lures me into a net, and I step back as if she’s electrocuted me. What the fuck? “Mr. Donati? This is history, right?”
Finding my voice, I grit out, “Yes, take a seat.” Familiarity hits me right in the chest because I have a feeling the folder in my drawer is all about her. I didn’t think she’d be in my class. Of all the fucking rooms in this school, she’s in mine.
She lowers her head before scurrying into the room. The scent of her perfume lingers. A hint of strawberries catches my nose. I could inhale her fragrance all day and night. The realization catches me off guard, and I slam the door shut. The resounding thud brings instant silence in the room, and all eyes are on me.
It’s what my father always wanted from us. I was taught from a young age that children must not be heard. Turning to face the class, I give them a moment to settle, books out, eyes locked on me at the front of the room.
“I hope you’re all well versed in writing papers, because I have something for you today,” I tell them. “In this classroom, we will be talking about topics you may not be interested in, but you will be graded on your time spent in this room, on your papers you hand in, and the exams you write.” I turn, picking up a piece of chalk and do what I’ve seen teachers and professors do when they’re introducing themselves—I write my name in large, scrawled script on the blackboard.
Glancing at the class, I immediately seek her out. The walking disaster I’m drawn to. She’s tempting, taunting me with her innocent expression. Undeniable energy crackles through me, through the room. It’s as if she were the sun and I were Icarus, and at any moment, I would burst into flames from her heat.
“For your first assignment,” I start, allowing a grin to grace my expression as the groans of annoyance rumble through the classroom. “I want you each to tell me why you think history is so important to the modern world. A short paper, two thousand words. And I want it done by tomorrow when you walk through that door.” I point at the entrance before pinning her with a steely glare. “On time.”
A blush turns her cheeks bright pink, her lips purse into a pout, and her eyes shimmer. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to cry, and the sadistic part of me wants nothing more than to see her sadness. I hunger to see her pain, but she squares her shoulders, holding her head high, refusing to cower under my glare as she regards me with indifference.
I smirk at her bravery. The fire in her stare makes every nerve in my body ignite with the need to break her. Just like I planned. If she only knew who she was challenging.
Focusing on the class, I state, “Now that you all know what your homework is, let’s begin.” Clapping my hands together, I flip open the textbook I studied over the past few weeks. Time to focus and stop myself from staring at the little disaster that is my new student.
3
Arabella
His blue eyes pierce me like daggers straight to the chest. Time ticks by slowly as Mr. Donati teaches his lesson. His deep, gravelly tone sends warm shivers down my spine. He commands the room, and I watch his plump and perfect lips enunciate each word. I have a feeling one of my favorite subjects, history, will now be my most torturous. Not because I don’t think I can pass his class, but because the man is distracting.
I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and he was a boy. Mr. Donati is a man. One far too old and out of my reach for me to even consider. But that doesn’t stop my mind from daydreaming about how his lips would feel against mine.
If I were back home, I wouldn’t think twice about teasing him to the point of no return. But I promised my aunt I’d be good, I’d behave, because she’s giving me a second chance. I’m not in jail or some shit, and that’s something I am thankful for.
By the time I’d turned sixteen, I was partying with friends, drinking, and even smoking the odd joint. I’m far from a good girl, and that’s why my parents wanted to send me away. My mother agreed to this move because she knew I was on a path of self-destruction.
“Hi,” a whisper comes from beside me. “I’m Marleigh,” the girl with long, brown hair says while holding out her hand, and I’m thankful for the distraction from staring at our teacher.
“I’m Arabella,” I tell her. “New here.”
“I know.” She nods, a smile lighting up her face. “I figured. I haven’t seen you around before. Welcome to Black Mountain, the Academy with more hot guys than a reality TV show.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Well, then it seems I’m in the right place.”
“Definitely. Listen, if you need anything, like a BFF or something similar, my applications are currently wide open.” Her laugh is soft, but it’s infectious as she grins at me playfully.
“Let me know where to sign up.” I offer her a smile. She’s the first person I’ve met so far who’s not been stuck up their own ass, and I hope that all the girls are like this. In my last school, the female population didn’t like me.
