Page 63 of Hunted (Desert Island Duet #2)

“No, like I told you yesterday, the car accident took away her ability to speak, read, write, or do much of anything. She occasionally suffers from anger issues and aggressive episodes, but she is not medicated for it. If she acts up, you can just lock her in a room and call me.”

My heart beats rapidly in my chest. Why is my mother lying to him? I’ve never been in a car accident and I haven’t so much as lifted a finger towards my mother, even in self defense. It’s like she’s trying to make the school think I’m a troublemaker before I’ve even started.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Mrs. Davies,” Mr. Hargrove responds.

“Well, it looks like you have everything handled here, then. I’ll see you after school, Mina, don’t be late,” my mother says, giving my shoulder a hard squeeze that makes me internally wince as she passes and exits the office. Her words might sound sweet on the surface, but I know better.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with Mr. Hargrove. I stare at the floor, letting the quiet settle around me. My stomach twists. I don’t want to be here.

“Mina, there is still a little time before class. Do you want to take a seat, and I can tell you about your schedule and what you can expect here?” His voice is calm, not demanding, but it still makes my chest tighten with worry. How could I survive here with being able to communicate?

I shuffle toward the chair slowly, my feet dragging like they’re weighed down with lead. Sitting feels like an effort, but I lower myself anyway, keeping my head down and clasping my hands tightly in my lap.

“Well, now, let’s see here,” he says, his tone a bit brighter. “You have math, science, art, and gym. Your mother says you have coloring books to keep you busy, and I will have another student help you find your classes, sound good?”

I flinch slightly at the mention of coloring books.

It’s humiliating, and I know she told him that to make me sound childish or incapable.

My hand moves cautiously, reaching for the schedule he set on the desk in front of me.

The paper feels rough between my fingers as I look it over, unsure of what I’m supposed to do with it.

I nod my head quickly, a small motion, but enough to answer him.

He exhales, and I sense his relief. “Brilliant. You should also know I’m your guidance counselor, and you’re welcome to come see me anytime about anything. You understand?”

I don’t respond. My chest feels tight, like there’s a rope tied around it, and I can’t make myself nod or lift my head. I know it’s the start of a panic attack, and I try to take some deep breaths to calm myself.

“Mina, can you look at me, honey?”

The word catches me off guard. Honey? It feels strange, out of place, and it distracts me enough to help my breathing start to grow steady.

“Please, look at me, Mina,” he says again, softer this time. Slowly, I lift my head. My eyes meet his, and something flickers in his expression. It’s quick, but I catch it—a flash of surprise.

This man is breathtaking. I’ve never seen someone so attractive before.

He has short wavy brown hair that looks soft to the touch, a strong jaw and beautiful hazel eyes.

He’s wearing a light purple dress shirt with a dark purple tie and looks like the quintessential professor.

His gaze feels heavy, and I drop my eyes to his desk, biting my lip nervously.

His desk is meticulously tidy. Everything is lined up parallel to each other, not an item out of place. I watch as he picks up a tall silver thermos and takes a drink from it before dropping my eyes again.

“Ahem. Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, as I was saying, I’m your guidance counselor, and you can come talk to me about anything, okay, Mina? It could be about your classes, or problems with your peers, or even problems at home. You come to me, and I will help you. Do you understand?”

I nod, just once, a small movement that takes more effort than it should.

“Good girl,” he says, with a strange warmth in his voice.

If the sound of his British accent isn’t already enough to make me swoon, hearing him say that does the job.

I try not to show any outward emotion. It’s all I need for it to get back to my mother that I’m having any sort of reaction to my guidance counselor.

If she knew, she may never let me leave the house again.

He clears his throat before speaking. “Alright, why don’t I show you to your first class?” He stands and passes me to open the door. I stand up and follow him through, shuffling my feet as I go in my giant shoes.

“Mina, I have a couple questions I need to ask you,” he says as he strides down the hall with precise, measured steps, his back straight and shoulders squared, exuding a quiet authority.

“Please forgive me if my questions offend you in any way, but I need to make sure you are safe here. Do you know what a fire alarm sounds like?” I nod my head once.

“Good, good, and you know what to do if you hear one? You get out of the building. Just follow the other students out,” he tells me as I nod.

“This is your math class. Mrs. Pinkins is your teacher.” He gestures in the classroom door. I look in and notice rows of desks, half full of students. A handful of them turn to look at me with curiosity. I shoot my gaze to the ground.

Dammit, dammit, dammit! Don’t make eye contact! I chastise myself as my breathing picks up.

God, there are so many students in there, I would have to walk past them to an empty desk and they would all be staring at me. My breath stutters and I start to gasp for air, placing my hand on my chest as I feel the beginning of a panic attack threatening to overtake me.

Mr. Hargrove leads me a few steps away, so I’m not standing in the classroom doorway anymore.

“Mina, you need to calm down, just take a deep breath for me. Come on now.” He tries to encourage me, but it doesn’t work.

Darkness starts to cloud the corner of my vision.

I suffer from panic attacks on a regular basis, living the way I do will do that to a person, but this one is particularly bad, and it’s been a while since I’ve passed out from one.

“Mina, look at me. Come on, honey…”

“Is she okay… shit!” a voice I don’t recognize says, and it’s the last thing I hear before everything goes black.