Page 11 of Almost Rotten

He walked in with her tucked into his side.

My sensibilities forced me to give them the benefit of the doubt.

She’s upset—he’s her friend. I thought perhaps he was trying to comfort her. But then he leaned closer. Sneered my way. Pulled her chair toward his until it scraped and dragged the attention of the entire class to the pair of them.

He wasn’t attempting to comfort her. He was preening in a clear display of possession.

The alarm bells sounded immediately, and they haven’t quieted since.

She looked absolutely distraught when she walked through the doors, and her condition hasn’t improved with time.

Despite the discomfort wafting off her, Tytus Tremblay doesn’t appear to have a care in the world.

If anything, there is more swagger to his step than normal.

Then there’s the look he gave me when I told Sawyer that we would talk after class.

His smug expression was filled with triumph.

As if he’d won.

As if he’d bested me.

That has to be my insecurities talking. Yesterday, I woke up with Sawyer in my arms. I texted with her all day. I spoke to her briefly this morning and nothing seemed out of sorts, other than her apprehension about her unexpected meeting with the dean.

Sawyer bends her knees and reaches for her bag. But before she can scoop it up, Tytus snags it off the floor and slings it over his arm.

Then he angles in close, practically looming over her, and whispers in her ear.

In response, her cheeks heat, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Rather than reply to him, she puts one foot in front of the other and slowly makes her way toward me. As she approaches, I try to look busy gathering up papers and sorting them into a pile on my desk.

When she’s halfway across the open space, the boy begins to follow.

By the time she reaches the podium, where I’m standing like a statue, he’s caught up to her.

Once again, his arm finds a home around her shoulders.

She stiffens the second he touches her, yet when he laces his fingers with hers, she doesn’t resist.

The green monster inside me spirals into a sandstorm of fury.

Tytus, clearly catching on to my inner turmoil, cocks his head to the side and smirks.

Sawyer presses her lips into a hard line but makes no moves to brush him off.

Her voice is small and shaky when she says, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Her formality throws me. Is she putting on a show for this boy?

I search her face, trying to get a read on her.

I’m far more anxious than I’d like to be right now, but I trust her, so I follow her lead.

Casually, I say, “I wanted to touch base about that meeting you mentioned with the dean.”

A spark of awareness flares behind Tytus’s eyes, though he quickly schools his expression.