Caught in Us (Lost 3)

"No, he's not." Something light settles in my stomach.

"I heard a junior tried very hard yesterday to make him ask for her number and failed. He must be very interested in yours if he got it on his own."

"This doesn't mean anything." The lightness grows, the giddy feeling bubbling up inside me.

"Maybe not." She leans in conspiratorially. "Maybe it does."

When Ms. Evans announces she'll question us about Wuthering Heights, I have the feeling Damon might take this opportunity to display the same unpleasantness as yesterday.

Be nice if Ms. Evans asks you something, I type quickly. Please.

He doesn't type back, and as Ms. Evans begins to ask questions, I brace myself. She deliberately avoids asking him anything, though. Then she asks Beckett what his opinion is about the motives behind Heathcliff's behavior. He stares at her with a blank face, clueless.

It's Damon who answers. "Heathcliff felt out of place. He didn't belong to their class, and everyone else never let him forget it."

Ms. Evans' eyes widen, but all she says is "Do you think that justifies him?"

"No. That's no justification for being a dick to everyone," Damon says nonchalantly.

Ms. Evans flinches. "That language doesn't belong in the classroom, Damon." Her tone is firm. I'm proud of her. "I'll let you out of the questioning round because you're new, and I gave this assignment a week ago."

Damon's lip twitches, and I can tell he's about to say something obscene back. I sit up straighter, staring at him intently. He catches my eye and winks at me. I instantly flush, dropping my gaze to my hands.

"I had to read the book in my junior year," Damon replies. Ms. Evans nods, and then continues questioning Anna. I think about something the principal mentioned today... Damon scored mostly A’s at his old school. My assessment was spot-on yesterday. Under the mask of carelessness hides a perfectionist. Someone who is clearly smart. As Ms. Evans instructs us to look up a certain passage in the book, I shift in my chair, holding my copy in my hands and pretending to flip through its pages. In reality, I am sneaking glances at Damon. Who was he before he came here and whom did he lose?

Thank you for not being rude, I text him under the desk. I receive an answer almost immediately.

Ouch. That sounds like something you'd tell a dog. I'm not a poodle; don't try to train me.

I write back quickly. You're definitely not a poodle. More like a pitbull. I hear those are hard to train. Whatever they do, it's because they want to.

There is a pause in which I wait breathlessly, and then my smartphone vibrates. They also tend to attack their owners.

My fingers almost snap as I hurry to reply. I don't believe that. They just have a bad reputation. Don't believe everything you hear. It's all appearances.

Another short vibration. Ms. Evans looks at me, so I just chance a quick glance at my phone. So what should I make of your Linkin Park t-shirt?

Frowning, I text back as best as I can while pretending to pay attention to Ms. Evans. What's the harm in liking Kinky Fuck?

Damon's next message confuses me. Is that an invitation? I read what I wrote before, and shame washes over me.

Abandoning all pretense of paying attention to the teacher, I write It was autocorrect. I meant Linkin Park. OMG, I'm so sorry.

He doesn't write anything back, and when I look at him, he appears on the verge of bursting out laughing.

The bell rings and Damon walks out to his locker, where Anna follows him.

Chapter Four: Damon

Someone corners me during the break. I feel the presence behind me without even looking up from my locker. I've had more than enough occasions to sharpen my instincts.

"Hi," a girl's voice calls behind me. I take my time closing my locker before turning around to face her.

“Hi, Anna," I answer. She's been pestering me since yesterday, and I couldn't give less of a damn. She's as close to the cheerleading type as it

gets. Tall, blonde, huge tits. She has the attitude to go with it, too. She knows she's beautiful and expects everyone to fall at her feet. This time, she chose the wrong guy.

"Black suits you, Damon." She tries to purr out my name, but to me it just sounds like she's swallowed an egg. Still, I'm sure enough idiots have fallen for it. "Let's go out sometime."