Drumming my fingers as my hand dangled over the edge of the counter, I noticed no one else was in the office, but I perked my ears at several voices coming from Kincaid’s office to my left. I looked over, seeing bodies rise up, as if from sitting positions, behind the frosted glass.
“Why aren’t you in uniform?” I heard Devasquez challenge behind me.
“Is it 7:45 yet?”
I didn’t turn around to look at her, and she didn’t open her mouth again.
I hated this room. Most of the classrooms in this old school had been updated over time, the fancy gray stone exterior preserved, and everything in a condition which was expected from parents who paid a substantial tuition every year, but this room reminded me of home. Dark wood, shiny with a noxious odor from years of layers of furniture polish, high ceilings with rafters that collected dust, and cobblestone floors that never quite made me feel like my feet were firmly on the ground.
Kincaid’s door opened and voices flooded out.
I turned to see Margot Ashby lead the way out of the office, saying as they all left, “Thank you, Charles. I know you and the teachers have gone above and beyond to help Winter re-assimilate.”
Winter… My eyes narrowed.
And then she appeared. Holding her mother’s arm and trailing slowly behind.
I stopped breathing for a moment. Jesus Christ. What the hell was she doing here?
The little girl in the fountain. She’d grown up. She couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen now, but the baby fat was gone, her white tutu gone, and her eyes on me…gone. She would never look at me again.
Her older sister, who was my age, squeezed out first, while Kincaid and their father, the mayor, trailed behind.
“We’ll keep her up here until Miss Fane arrives,” I heard Kincaid say as they all drifted into the main office. “She has all the instructions to help Winter through her first few weeks, and since they’re in the same grade, it was easy placing them in the same classes.”
Same classes.
Miss Fane. Erika Fane? She and Winter were going to be in the same classes? Then that
meant Winter was a freshman.
And she’d come home to go to high school.
I fought not to smile, practically fucking delighted with the potential of this new distraction.
She came up alongside her mother and dropped her hand when everyone stopped, not needing to hang on any longer than necessary, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her blue eyes still looked so innocent and carefree but probably only because she didn’t know I was less than five feet away from her. I wondered how well she remembered me.
But there was a defiant lift to her chin that intrigued me.
How easily one pain replaced another. How I could barely remember the hurt in my head just a few minutes ago and Miss Jennings seemed like a distant memory. I inhaled a deep, quiet breath, filling my lungs with the welcome fresh air.
“Does she have to wear the blazer?” Mrs. Ashby asked. “We tried to get her to wear it, but—”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” Kincaid answered. “As long as she’s in Thunder Bay colors, we’re good.”
Winter wore the standard blue and green plaid skirt, but while most everyone wore blouses or Oxfords under their blazers, I could see a white Polo hanging out from under the hem of her navy blue hoodie.
Rebel.
“What’s the dress code say about wearing shoes from dumpsters?” Arion, her sister, chimed in as she knelt down to tie Winter’s Doc Martens that were scuffed beyond repair on both toes with laces dragging. “You’d think someone who needs a hand to walk everywhere so she doesn’t trip would know how to double-knot.”
“Bite me.” Winter yanked her foot away and felt for the counter next to me. I wasn’t sure how she knew it was there, but she found it and then knelt down to tie her boot, her long, layered blonde hair hanging around her.
Everyone in the room suddenly fell silent, and I looked up to see her parents staring at me, suddenly realizing I was in the room. Three inches from their daughter.
Winter rose, her hand brushing my jeans.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, finally noticing someone was here.