The Demon's Virgin

Entry 2)What Goes Around Comes Around

"Come as you are" by Evan Peters
(OK, people might be able to tell I'm a fan of Hemlock Grove from gifs in this book. **Cough** )


***

"DETENTION, mister Blackwell," snapped Ms. Goode, her voice slicing through the crowded hallway like a whip.

"I didn't do anything!" I retorted, incredulous at how she always seemed to single me out. My day had been going smoothly until this moment. I hadn't even been assigned any homework in my first two classes, a rare stroke of luck on a Friday.

Despite being only fifty-two, Ms. Goode's weathered face appeared two decades older, marked by deep lines and a perpetual scowl. She walked with a limp and wielded a mighty foul stink eye. I was convinced the old hag had it out for me ever since I transferred to Salem Prep in the middle of freshman year. My refusal to tuck in my polos or fuss over my hair had set the tone for our tumultuous relationship. From that point on, Goode seemed to relish scolding me and sending me to detention at every opportunity. Last fall, in a futile attempt to defy her, I had even worn jet-black eyeliner to school—after all, it was one thing she couldn't reprimand me for. But that rebellious phase was short-lived once Adam Jones started spreading rumors that I was trying to become a girl. I quickly abandoned the eyeliner after that debacle.
"Are you talking back to me!?" Ms. Goode's voice rose sharply, her annoyance palpable.

My best bud Jake Johnson couldn't help but snicker, his amusement evident as he grabbed his books from his locker a couple of spaces down.

"Don't be a prick," I muttered to him, trying to contain my irritation as Ms. Goode approached. Her beady blue eyes scanned me before she pointed a crooked finger at my backpack.

"What. Is. That?" she demanded, enunciating each word with exaggerated emphasis.

I had no clue what she was referring to. My backpack? "An object that is used to carry my books so I can take home all the crappy homework you give?" I shot back, not bothering to sugarcoat my response, especially since detention was already on my schedule.

Ms. Goode's smile widened as she spoke. "I was referring to the cigarettes in your back pocket of the pack, Mr. Blackwell. But do try and dig yourself into a bigger hole," she taunted, her tone dripping with amusement.

Amused or frightened classmates hurried past, avoiding Ms. Goode's intense gaze like the plague. My face paled as I realized something was terribly wrong. I never brought cigarettes onto school grounds. I was smarter than that. But that didn't mean my best friend was as savvy. I shot a look at Jake, who had been holding a pack of cigarettes just moments earlier.

Jake watched me sheepishly, his expression betraying his guilt. He looked apologetic as he shrugged his shoulders. The idiot had obviously panicked and stashed them in the only place he could see—my bag.

"I wasn't smoking them on school grounds," I replied to Goode, trying to sound nonchalant. There was no point denying I had them. They were on me. I attempted to remain calm, but deep down, I knew I was in serious trouble.
"And you think that makes a difference??" Ms. Goode retorted, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Well, duh. Otherwise, I wouldn't have said it," I shot back coolly, unable to resist a hint of sarcasm.

"Detention for Friday night AND Monday night," Ms. Goode countered coldly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Provide me with more attitude, Mr. Blackwell, and I would love to keep you here Tuesday as well."

I said nothing as I grinned, knowing she despised when I appeared amused. However, she couldn't do a damn thing solely because of the look on my face. If Principal Peterson caught wind that she had extended my detention over a simple expression, the school could face repercussions from my father, and we both knew it. Though little did anyone on the faculty know, Edmund Blackwell wouldn't lift a finger to defend me from the leather-faced woman who served as my English teacher. With a casual yawn, I turned around to walk away.