Atlas Grove, once a dancer with dreams of dancing under the stars, now lives petrified in the shadows of abuse. To escape her living nightmare she must keep her head down and work hard, being her senior year this is her last chance to get out. Altho...
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The fluffy end of my pen tickles under my nose and I resist the urge to slap the hand holding it. It retreats and then appears again, this time blocking my view of my French book.
"Blaze," I whisper in warning, snapping my scrunchie that he stole against the skin on his wrist. He chuckles and slouches in his chair. I refocus my attention back on French pro-nouns as the teacher rapidly fires off information about our finals, fast approaching by starting at the end of the week.
The pen appears again and the fluff ends up in my nostrils, this time I grab the pen and throw it right at his big shit forehead. He catches it with ease and laughs even louder.
"You're insufferable," I whisper shout.
"You wound me Blondie. Stabbed me right in my heart." He grabs my hand and places it over his chest... then flexes his muscle with a wink. I pull my hand back and slap him on the arm.
"You're so vain, I don't know how I can even stand near you without being blinded by the light of your fricking ego!"
"Wow... you're killing me here babe. Just stab me right in the back why don't you." This time he takes the fluffy end of my pen and drags it down my neck to the valley of my breasts, appropriately displayed in the dip of my V-neck cardigan.
"Will... you stop! I need to concentrate." He tries to drag the pen down further, my cheeks blush a deep red, I reach for his wrist and push him back. Over dramatically he falls into the boy sitting beside him who under Blaze's weight topples off the chair. "Blaze!" I yelp as everyone turns to look.
"What in la terre des dieu is going on. Mr Beckett, Miss Grove... soin d'explique?" She rests her hand on her hip, the whiteboard pen resting below her lip, overdrawn eyebrow quirked up.
"What the fuck did she just say." Blaze murmurs, I bite my cheeks to contain my laugh, heat pulsing through them.
"Miss-"
"Look, Je suis et... uh... la... asshole... fell," Blaze says leaning over to point at the boy still on the floor. Poor kid looks at Blazes shoes to hide something that looks like a smirk. This time a laugh falls from my lips and the teacher's glare turns on me.
"Is this amusant Miss Grove? Do you find this funny? Well-"
"Sorry to interrupt." I lazy drawl sounds as the door bangs open, all attention going to the receptionist in the doorway, her floaty skirt swishing around her ankles. "Atlas Grove and Blaze Beckett are needed in the principles office." Everyones gaze swivels to us once again, even the teacher's disapproving frown softens. Blaze clasps my hand under the table, since I'm apparently glued to my chair. Too much staring. Too much attention.
"Of course, off you go." The French linguist waves a hand towards the door with raised eyebrows. I vaguely register Blaze shoving my books into a bag and carrying them out both in the hand he's not using to coax me off the chair.
