Whispers in the Dark (Being Rewritten)

Chapter 7

7

Sunday came and went and so did my fun for the week. I jogged from class to class that day and suffered through two lectures from my teachers. I was given a week from my photography teacher to photograph pictures of a wild animal-preferably harmless- and create a story for it. A week!

Yes, I liked English and I also liked reading stories but that didn't mean I could actually write a story.

I sat in Biology class, chin propped on my fist, staring out at the window as the rain poured down like a blanket of misery and depression. It matched my sour mood perfectly.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Daren sitting in his seat, eyes narrowed, watching me from the crook of the arm he was leaned against.

I glared back at him. "What?" I whispered, but he just looked away, glaring at the board ahead. I followed suit. Douche bag.

I hadn't talked to him or even bothered to look at him since our last encounter in the courtyard. He had no reason to look at me and he knew it. But he still did. And every time he glanced my way I could feel it.

Every time I felt him looking my way I wanted to punch him.

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Eighth period passed full of lectures and speeches about writers and poets from the early eighteen hundreds. It was actually slightly interesting and was doing great to lighten my mood. Maybe today wouldn't be so crappy after all.

Then, on the far side of the room, the door swung open and a man with tanned skin and fierce, deep blue eyes walked in. He was tall and lean and wore a blue button down shirt and black slacks. He couldn't be older than twenty-five.

It was the man from before! my mind screamed, recognition hitting me at full force. The man on the motorcycle! But what was he doing here? Curious to learn more I sat quietly in my seat, watching to see what would happen next.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Steele." Mr. Lance's tone was edged with hard annoyance. Obviously somebody was late. Really late.

The man's lips twitched ever so slightly as though trying to repress a smile. "Sorry," he apologized. "I've been...preoccupied. Family business." He spoke in a slight Irish accent. It was a pleasant sound. I was sure this was the type of teacher high school girls swooned over all the time.

"I thought you said you'd be a day or two late, Gabriel. It's been longer than that," Mr. Lance practically hissed, forgetting for a moment this was a classroom. I briefly cast a glance around the room, searching for the same confusion I felt and strangely enough there was none. Was this an often occurrence?

"I sent you a letter didn't I? Long hand, at that. Took quite a while." The man named Gabriel grinned as he walked to a desk much like Mr. Lance's that sat at the back of the room and plopped down. "Oh, how I simply love family reunions," he said with a blissful sigh. It sounded like there was an alternate meaning in his words and when I glanced at Mr. Lance he looked like understood what it was. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood.

When most female students turned in their seats to gawk at Gabriel he gestured toward the board with his pencil before continuing to rummage through the desk drawers. Huh, I thought. So I was right about the swooning thing.

"I didn't get any such letter." Mr. Lance crossed his arms over his chest frowning. At that moment he really reminded me of a teacher. All serious, with a no-nonsense look on his face.

"Oh, you didn't?" Gabriel asked not all too interested. He pulled out files of paper, sorted them out on his desk, and began jotting down notes. "That sucks. And I tried so hard on that letter, too." His tone was complete boredom and bullshit.