He doesn’t look pleased.
The one who has the most to lose out of all of us getting ratted out by Wren is Malcolm. He’d be sent back to England—the last place he wants to go. He has a volatile relationship with his parents, especially his mother. Everything he does is not good enough for the woman. If he were to get kicked out of school and sent back to the UK?
Forget it. She’d be furious and probably cut him off financially.
Malcolm heads for his desk, which is on the other side of me, closest to where Wren is standing. He bumps right into her, not even bothering to say excuse me or sorry, which is unusual because he’s British and polite as fuck, before he settles into his desk, glaring at her.
“Do you mind?”
Wren rubs her arm where he ran into her, blinking rapidly.
What the hell? The motherfucker hurt her.
If she starts crying, I’m going to lose my shit.
“Watch it, Mal.” When he glances over at me, I give him a look, one that says, lay the fuck off.
He shrugs. “She was blocking my way.”
“She’s a girl. You ran into her like you’re a linebacker or some shit.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Wren adds.
I turn my attention to her. “Say what like it’s a bad thing?”
“That I’m a girl. Like it’s a curse, or I’m subhuman or whatever.”
“Well…” Malcolm drawls. “You’re the one who said it.”
Ezra laughs.
I remain quiet, my anger simmering just below the surface.
“Women are only good for one thing, don’t you think, Crew? That’s what you’ve said before.” Malcolm hesitates for not even a second. “Fucking. That’s it. Oh, and cooking. Guess that makes two things.”
“You’re disgusting,” Wren whispers, her gaze shifting to mine. “And you’re no better, considering you’re sitting there letting him say such awful things.”
My anger rises at Wren being her typical judgmental self. “What do you want me to say? That I think Malcolm is right? That women aren’t good for anything else but a quick lay? He might be on to something.”
“You’re such a dick, Lancaster!” Natalie screams from her seat, laughing her head off.
She’s only getting away with saying it because Skov still hasn’t waltzed into the classroom. It’s like a free-for-all in here right now.
“She’s right,” Wren says, her voice eerily calm. “You are a complete—dick.”
My mouth drops open. Ezra is in near hysterics, he’s laughing so hard. Even Malcolm is chuckling.
Wren turns on her heel and rapidly walks up the aisle, snatching her backpack from the floor before she jogs out of the classroom. Running right past Skov, who watches Wren leave before she pulls the classroom door shut.
“Why does that girl keep running out of my classroom when she’s never ditched before a day in her life?” Skov asks no one in particular as she heads for her desk, shaking her head.
“What the hell was that all about?” I ask my friend. “Did you purposely run into her to hurt her?”
Malcolm glares at me. “I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t either. That little goody-goody will eventually tell on us, and then we’ll be fucked.”
“Calling her out and making her look stupid in front of the entire class is your way of trying to keep her quiet then?”
He has the decency to appear contrite. “If she’s afraid of us, maybe she won’t say anything.”
“Scaring the shit out of her might drive her to confess what she saw, too.” Shit, I don’t know what’s going to keep Wren quiet. Maybe I should be nice to her for once. “Don’t forget she could ruin everything for you—for us—with a single visit to the headmaster’s office. Great plan you’ve put into place, my friend. Really solid.”
Though who am I to talk? I did nothing but threaten her earlier. I’m just as bad as Malcolm.
Probably worse, considering all I want to do is fuck her.
The realization smacks me in the middle of my chest, reminding me that I’m mortal after all. I like to act as if nothing touches me, but currently there is only one thing—one person who has the power to touch me. Fuck with my head.
Completely ruin me.
And that’s Wren.
“Maybe someone needs to threaten her in order to get her to keep her mouth shut, since you’re the one who can only think about de-virginizing her,” he retorts.
My glare burns into Malcolm. I hate how he knew what I was thinking. It’s my own damn fault though. I’ve been lusting after Wren since our senior year started. Hell, even longer than that.
Why should I give a damn about a sheltered little virgin, who would probably slap my face if I tried to hold her hand? She’s probably never seen a dick in her life. Never been kissed. Never been touched.
She’s pure. Pristine.
Not my type at all.
So why am I dying to dirty her up?
I glance over to find Natalie listening to our conversation with interest. Fucking great. “That’s not true.”
“Bullshit. You want her so damn bad. I can see it in your eyes. Which means you won’t really do anything to threaten her pretty ass.” Malcolm shakes his head. “She’s going to take us down, and you’re going to let her.”
“Keep your voice down,” I practically hiss, glaring in Natalie’s direction. She quickly glances away. “I won’t let Wren ruin anything, okay? I’ll make sure she stays quiet.”
“Uh huh,” Ezra says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “The only thing you want to use to keep her quiet is your dick shoved deep in her mouth.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, loud enough that my voice catches Skov’s attention.
A sigh leaves her, and she rests her hands on her hips. “Mr. Lancaster, I really don’t appreciate that kind of language in my classroom.”
“Sorry.” I don’t sound that sorry though, and she knows it.
“Oh, I’m sure you are. Since you can’t seem to settle down just yet, you get to go in search of your psychology partner. Bring her back to the classroom, okay? I’d hate to have to mark her absent.” When I just sit there and gape at her, Skov waves her hands toward the closed door. “Go on. Go. Find Wren, and drag her back in here.”
I grab my bag, so no one rifles through it—I trust not one single jackass in this room—and leave the class, unsure where a scared little virgin might go after getting into a fight with a mean girl and then calling me a dick.
I still can’t believe she said that. Those types of words are not part of her vocabulary. That’s what makes her saying such a thing so shocking.
She’s been doing a lot of things this week that are un-Wren-like.
I meander down the hall, killing time. I check my phone, but nothing’s going on. When I spot a girls’ bathroom, I hesitate, thinking that must be where she is.
Without hesitation, I go to the door and push my way inside, stopping short when I see Wren standing in front of the sink, staring at the mirror. She lifts her gaze to mine in the reflection, her wounded expression trying to tear down the wall encased around my heart.
“What do you want?”
Her voice drips with tears. Any other guy would hate the sound, and I try to convince myself I’m not any other guy. I can look past it. So she’s hurt and she’s been crying.
So what?
But the longer she stares at me with those sad eyes, the guiltier I start to feel.
“Skov sent me to bring you back to class,” I finally say.
She glares. “Tell her I’m not coming.”
“I don’t think you have a choice, Birdy—”
“Don’t call me that!” she screams, whirling around to face me. Her cheeks are damp with fresh tears, and her eyes bloodshot. “Just—go away. You got what you wanted, okay? My self-esteem is in the toilet. I’ve realized I don’t have any real friends. None that actually know me. They don’t ask me how I’m doing, or check in on me to see if I’m okay. No one cares. My life is a complete mess. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
I frown. “Why would I be happy that you’re a mess?”