Girl of Fire and Shadow

Chapter Seven

I WASN'T A bad person. Seriously. I was ... simply a person who hated having to secure the top button of my school shirt—the one that clasped around my neck like a Boa Constrictor. Note: comparing the Redwood uniform to a snake did not win points with the faculty.

When Maths finished and everyone rushed to lunch, I trudged to the science lab with an angry, red slip of paper in my hand. Who would give a new kid detention? Granted, I'd been issued several warnings, but hey, I was home-schooled, I didn't know any better.

That was the story I was going with, anyway.

I handed Dr Winslow my detention slip—he gave me that 'really? You?' Kind of look over the top of his glasses. It wasn't often one of the Descending Family kids ended up here. I could already hear the staff labelling me, the students labelling me. Troublemaker. Doesn't fit. Not like the others. Wrong. Unsuited.

The outcast was always prime heroine material, and that made me nervous.

I sat in the back and pulled out my book—at last, a bit of comfort. Holden hadn't fit in at his school, either. He was kind of a dick, though.

It wasn't long before someone plopped down in the seat beside me, and my eyes were immediately drawn to their flaming red hair.

What was he doing here?

Elliot Ray was pulling a notepad and textbook out of his backpack, looking up and flashing me a grin. "Afternoon."

I opted for silence and went back to reading, but couldn't focus on the words. I couldn't focus on anything other than August Murdock's lackey sitting next to me ... willingly. I had grown used to August's presence in Literature, but despite him, Elliot and Isaac always kept their distance, along with the other green and whites.

"Hey," he said, uncapping his pen with unnecessary fervour. "I'm Elliot."

I tilted my book away from him ...

... which didn't deter him in the slightest. "And you are?"

Did he and August read from the same script? "You know who I am. And we're meant to be quiet."

"Yeah, totally, zipping up now." He made a lock and key gesture on his lips before opening his textbook.

For a few, blissful minutes, he didn't talk.

"So ... what are you in for?"

I laid my book on the desk with a long sigh. Caulfield, give me strength. "Incorrect uniform."

"Well, I messed up my chemistry lab—"

"They give you detention for that?"

"—and burned off my teacher's eyebrows."

I huffed, hoping the brief interaction would be enough to satisfy him for the rest of detention.

I flipped the page.

I was never allowed to touch Mum's books when she'd been alive. That was why they were always kept in the basement safe, to prevent Xander and I from ruining them. I had been, however, allowed to sit on her lap while she read them to me. It was never something I could understand. To Kill a Mockingbird wasn't prime reading material for a five-year-old, and she skipped a lot of parts, but I just liked listening to her voice. She had a wonderful way of softening her vowels in that posh, British way that made answer sound more like ahn-swer. It was more effective than any lullaby.