TWISTED FATE (Twisted Path Book 1)

Chapter 11

Becca

It's not easy, but much to my relief, I manage to avoid running into Shane or any of his friends most of the morning. It's not that I'm a coward—at least that's what I'm telling myself. It's more that I need to stop allowing external distractions—aka Shane Montgomery—from getting in the way of my goals. To escape this town, I need to focus on school and passing my six AP classes, so I can start my first year of college as a sophomore. That I'm struggling to keep my A average in two of those classes doesn't bode well for me, especially since I'm expecting an answer from Columbia on my Early Decision Application in the coming month, and if I get in, they'll be requesting a copy of my mid-year grades shortly after that.

"Ms. Franks, could you stop by my desk for a moment?" Mr. Collins calls for me as I walk into my third-period AP Statistics class.

"Yes?"

"You're needed down at the main office."

"I'm sorry, what?" I stare at him dumbfounded, wracking my brain for a reason I'd be called down to the main office.

"I've got an email here from Mrs. Wilson." He squints at the laptop in front of him. "All it says is you're to report to the main office as soon as possible." I must stand there, mouth agape for a bit too long, for he adds. "Go on, now. Be on your way and you just might make it back in time to catch most of my lecture."

Crap! Mr. Blair. It has to be him, but I don't understand. Since he called us to his office last week, my test scores have improved, and all my assignments were submitted on time. So, if it's not about my grades, what else could it be?

Suddenly not feeling so well, I make my way down to the first floor, and then towards the wing where the administrative offices are located. Just as I'm about to reach my destination, a door to my right opens, and I'm yanked into a small office that's been set up to look like a lounge. And there, standing in the middle of the room with my hand still in his, is Shane Montgomery. The charming smile I used to hate is in full force, making my knees weak and my insides melt.

How does he do this to me?

"You avoiding me, pretty girl?" With two fingers under my chin, he forces my gaze up to his. The heat behind his eyes doesn't help in the least and sends a wave of warmth flushing under my skin.

"Uh... no. I mean, yeah. Well, kind of?" My response is an incoherent jumbled mess, but try as I might, I can't get my brain to engage. It makes him chuckle.

"Okay, let's peel back some of those layers, see if we can make a little more sense of what's going on. But first..." Without releasing my hand, he turns to the door and locks it. "You can leave at any time. I'm only locking it to give us some privacy. Now come, have a seat."

He leads me to the small couch at the end of the space, then he sits on the coffee table directly in front of me. Leaning forward, he takes both of my hands and, with that smile I'm quickly growing addicted to, he stares into my eyes.

"I can tell you're uncomfortable, pretty girl, so to make this easier, I'm going to ask you some questions. You ready to give me some answers?"

No! Not in the least, but there's something so reassuring about the way he's handling my awkwardness. It weirdly makes me want to open up to him. Terrified yet relieved he's concerned enough to make this easier for me, I nod.

"Good. First question. Are you avoiding me, pretty girl? A simple yes or no will do for now." Unable to hold his gaze, I look at our adjoined hands and nod. "Okay. Next question, do you remember the promise you made me? About giving us a chance, and letting me prove to you we're meant to be?"