Page 28 of Vicious Little Snakes

Mr. Green’s jaw is tensed as he crosses his arms, making his muscles look bigger than they are, but I stand my ground.

“Stand aside.”

I don’t.

“Mr. Brooks, I said to stand aside.”

“Respectfully, sir, you’ll lose your position here if I do.”

His eyes harden, and I suddenly feel as if this is one of those defining moments. The kind that lets you try on manhood before you’re actually there. My dad tells me about moments like this all the time—the ones that will decide who I’ll become as a man. I guess I thought they’d all happen later.

“Are you threatening me?” he sneers.

I stare back, swallowing, hoping to produce some spit for my dry throat. It is a threat. One I’m not sure I can back up, but one that’s still a possibility. My father, unlike Grey’s, cares about me. He can be strict and bossy, but he’d never tolerate anyone calling his son a disgrace. Not when our last name’s stamped on the bricks the city is built on. I take a deep breath and glance back at Grey, who hasn’t stopped looking at the empty space where Donovan sat.

“No, sir. Just stating the facts. But that doesn’t have to happen. Grey will go to the headmaster. He’ll take his suspension, but you’ll put the desk back. And keep it there. Empty.”

The silence stretches out for an unbearable wait until Mr. Green nods, saying, “Escort him to the office before I change my mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

Instant relief floods my body.

Mr. Green turns his back to us, quieting the students again, and I motion for Grey to get his bag as he nods, retucking the bottom of his shirt. I grab my own bag, just in case I’m getting in trouble, too, before my attention turns back to Paul, who’s waving his hand in the air.

“What about my nose? Grey should be expelled. There’s a zero-tolerance policy at this school.”

I’m going to kill that kid myself.

Caroline Whitmore—Van’s archnemesis—and the girl with a mean tongue but beautiful icy blue eyes, jerks his hand back down, hissing her words.

“You deserved it, you whiny baby. Now shut up before I tell everyone you’re on scholarship here because Daddy’s a drunk and lost it all.”

Paul snaps his mouth closed, looking down at his desk as she tosses him some tissues from her bag. Our eyes connect for only a moment but long enough for me to give her a small unreturned smile.

* * *

An hour later, I’m back in my seat. Grey was sent home, and I was given a stern warning, but it all feels like a dream. The rows of desks are arranged neatly, back to the way they were before the classroom turned intoLord of the Flies, and everyone is back to their tasks as if nothing ever happened.

The only difference is Grey’s desk is empty, and Donovan’s is back.

Heads are down, focused on the journal entries we’re supposed to be writing, but I’m finished. I drew a picture instead of writing. Mr. Green never checks them, so nobody will ever know. Propping my elbow on the table, I rest my chin in my hand and think about how weird this day is.

My gaze drifts to my right, grinning as I see the bruise on Paul’s cheek and then over to Caroline. She looks up, and I dart my eyes away.

She’s never seemed nice. I’m surprised that she helped us.Whatever. Donovan made us promise not to be friends with her, so there has to be a good reason. I chance another look, lingering this time, watching her chew on the end of her baby blue pencil.

Donovan never told us why she hated Caroline. It was enough for us that she did, no explanations needed, but right now, I kind of wish I knew. Caroline’s unexpected. She’s not like the other girls.

I lean sideways, reaching into my pocket, and pull out a small puffy sticker. I took it from the nurse’s office without asking.

Grey and I sat there, him holding an ice pack on his knuckles, saying nothing, but feeling everything. Some friends know each other well enough to know when to be quiet, or maybe I didn’t have anything to offer. I wasn’t going to tell him everything would be okay. That felt like a lie. So I said nothing, but thought about Caroline.

I’m flipping the sticker between my fingers over and over as my head shifts to Caroline’s again. Hers is down as she writes. I watch her pencil move as if it can’t keep up with her thoughts.What kind of things make her write so fast?What does she think about? Is she writing about me?

My arm stretches out over my desk, providing a pillow for my head as I place the sticker on my desk, brushing my finger over the picture. It’s a bear with two hearts on its belly—one of those Care Bears from that movie. I had a nanny who played it for me once. I remember acting like it was dumb, but I secretly liked it.

That’s not why I swiped it, though. Actually, I don’t really know why I did it, only that I didn’t want to risk being told no. I just couldn’t stop staring at it.