Page 4 of The Invite (The Massacre Ball #1)

Nessa

“Miss Davenport,” the principal’s assistant calls my name.

I glance up from my perch on the gray couch.

“Mr. Crane will see you now.”

Standing up, I heft my purse higher on my shoulder and walk toward the office right beside the assistant’s desk. Everything I am wearing, from my clothes and short heels to the tote bag in my hand, is cheap and newly purchased.

I am standing out like a sore thumb in the halls of this wealthy elite school.

Especially on a Friday, since the school wanted me to start immediately.

There was a time when I was like these kids. Born into an upstanding family, carefree, hopeful, and with the world at the tip of my fingers. Then it was all torn away in the blink of an eye.

I am living a lie now.

My life is nothing but a house of cards that can be tattered at any moment.

“Thank you,” I say to the stoic assistant, who looks down her nose at me. No problem, I’m not here to make friends either.

Ignoring her, I twist the knob, push the door open, and stride inside. Mr. Crane—the stern principal—glances up from his desk with a backdrop of a luscious garden through the large window. The interior of his office is done in rich cream woods in every shade.

“Miss Davenport,” he greets, standing from his chair. “You’re early.”

Blame it on a restless night of tossing and turning.

I shake his hand firmly. “Please call me Nessa.”

“Have a seat.”

Placing my black purse on the adjacent chair, I sit straight on the other. “I had some last-minute paperwork to sign. So, I came early.”

“Good. Good,” he murmurs, smoothing his tie.

“We’ve already gone over the curriculum and other important details over the phone.

I called you to meet today to personally welcome you to the faculty team.

My assistant, Greta, will give you a tour, your timetable, and anything else you may need.

If you have any questions, please ask her. ”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

We rise to our full heights, shake hands once more, and I leave his office.

Greta—the uppity assistant—is on the phone when I approach her desk. I watch her raise a finger in a gesture to hold on as she finishes her conversation. While I wait, curious eyes burn into my side and back.

It doesn’t escape my notice that I look more like a student than a teacher, which brings anxiety about how I will handle, and more importantly discipline, a bunch of eighteen-year-old seniors.

Hopefully, I don’t have a rowdy crowd.

I jump when Greta abruptly hangs up and stands with her chair loudly scraping across the floor. In my peripheral, I catch a group of girls snicker at my reaction. Even teachers aren’t immune to mean girls, it seems.

If only they knew it wasn’t because I’m easily spooked, but because I’m still skeeved out by last night’s turn of events. An assault that involved me almost having an orgasm. It probably says more about me than my masked captors.

I push it all to the back of my head when Greta quips, “You better have a thicker skin, girl. Those kids are the least scary.”

“What do you mean?”

“The class you’ll be teaching, let’s just say has a variety of kids that’ll make your life hell if you let them.”

Freaking hell.

She continues talking while walking past me, and I follow.

“Since you’re joining mid-year, at the height of The Massacre season, corralling them into studying, much less earning their respect enough to listen to you, is going to be a difficult task. So, better bring your A game and plan how you’ll accomplish it.”

“What happened to the teacher before me?” I curiously ask.

We turn down a hallway just as the bell rings and students shuffle toward their classes. While it was mentioned the school has a strict dress code, I catch both girls and boys either wearing short skirts or forgoing ties.

Greta looks over her shoulder, scowling as she quips curtly, “She quit.”

I don’t bother asking the reason, since her vibe screams she won’t tell me anyway.

While she gives me a tour, only speaking to point out the different rooms, I check my schedule, which she handed to me a minute ago.

I read that I only have one class to teach every day either in the second or first period. Weird but good.

Since it’s my first time being a teacher, I’m glad I’m being eased in rather than being bombarded with tons of classes. Once I get my bearings, I’ll discuss more responsibility. Hopefully, get to teach Math or psychology.

We take another turn and I halt in my tracks. My breathing turning shallow. “Wh-where are we going?”

Greta stops just as abruptly and twists, giving me an annoyed look. “The computer labs and the library. They’re downstairs.”

The basement terrifies me. I glance at the stairs and all they resemble is a dark cave, waiting to trap me inside. My throat goes dry. “I can check them out another time.”

Greta shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

We walk in the opposite direction and the numbness in my feet and arms goes away.

“This is the teachers’ lounge,” Greta informs me before pointing to a desk and chair in the far corner with a window overlooking outside.

“That’s your seat. The books you’ll need will be on your table.

Before the end of the day, I’ll come by and help you set up the computer, along with your credentials. ”

“Thank you,” I whisper, but she’s already turned and out the door.

“Don’t take it personally,” a smooth male voice says from behind me.

I turn around and come face to face with a man not much older than me. He’s handsome underneath the Clark Kent glasses he’s wearing. Dressed in a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, and gray pants, his ensemble shows off his built physique.

“Greta is rude to everyone,” he says with a friendly smile. “You’ll get used to her.”

“Sounds impossible,” I reply.

“I’ve heard imagining her as Greta the witch with a pointy nose helps.”

A bubbly laugh slips past my lips, making him grin.

Rounding his desk, he approaches me. I have to hide a frightful tremor rolling down my back when I stare into his blue eyes. They’re kind and pleasant rather than the evil light I looked into last night.

Could it be him?

I scoff inwardly. I’m just projecting my fears. It’s not that uncommon to have blue eyes. He also doesn’t even sound the same.

“I’m Ace Melrose,” he introduces himself. “I’m the math teacher here.”

“I’m Nessa Davenport,” I reply, pushing down my worry. “I’ll be teaching English lit.”

“Are you new in town?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” he chuckles before explaining, “Fallthorne is a small town. I would’ve run into you in the three years I’ve been living here.”

“That small?”

“Yes.” Tilting his head, he asks, “When is your first class? I hope Greta showed you to the seniors’ wing, which is in the opposite tower.”

My face deadpans, giving me away. I was so off-put by her attitude, secretly wanting the tour to end, that I completely forgot to ask the way to my class.

“Something tells me it slipped from her mind on purpose.”

“You’d be right. Don’t worry, I’ll help and give you a proper tour, if you’d like,” he offers. “The halls here can be confusing to a newbie.”

“I would appreciate that.” I pass him my schedule, noticing his eyes squint the same way mine did. “Is it peculiar I’m only teaching a single class?”

He glances up, masking his expression. “Have you taught before?”

“No. I recently finished my teaching degree.”

“That’s it then. You’re also filling in for Mrs. Perry, who was sixty and only taught one class. Trust me, you’ll still be plenty busy.”

“I hope so,” I mutter under my breath.

He hears it. “Don’t like being alone?”

“Something like that.”

His face softens in understanding. “Our classes are in the same building in the second period. I’ll take you there.”

“Thank you.” After he returns my schedule, I excuse myself. “I’ll, uh… get settled in.”

“Okay, Nessa.”

The way he says my name sends a tingle down my spine. The good kind. One I haven’t felt in ages. Maybe starting over won’t be so bad, after all.