Branded (Book 1) Read online

  Chapter 4

  Thursday morning brought promise as the sun penetrated through layers of mist and warmed the ground. The birds were working away at the wet grass, searching for their breakfast. I sucked in a deep breath of the cool morning air and told myself it was going to be a good day, even if it hadn’t started the way I had hoped.

  Anna had called, apologetic, and asked if I’d mind if Lexie took her to school again. Of course I pretended like it didn’t matter one way or another, but truthfully, every minute without her bothered me more and more.

  School had already started by the time I drove into the parking lot. I had intentionally missed homeroom to avoid Mr. Meade. I checked my schedule. First class of the day—math. Of course it was. Why would I be given any other luck?

  Wait, maybe luck was on my side. I walked into the classroom and there was no immediate sign of Mr. Meade—maybe we’d have a substitute today. But only minutes later, he entered the room and everyone quickly found their seats, choosing not to become the object of his wrath. Then, a tall, well-dressed woman appeared in the doorway. Her sleek, brown hair rested near her cheekbones and created a frame for her warm smile that instantly brought a feeling of comfort and ease to the room.

  Mr. Meade looked up from his papers and quickly stood, startled. “Cl-class! I’d like to in-introduce you to our new principal, Ms. Pe-Pe-Peters!” he stuttered as he wiped a bead of residue from his brow.

  Oh, this was too good! Mr. Meade was crushing on the new principal! This was my chance. I could finally bring him to his knees. I stood up and cleared my throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Pe-Pe-Peters!” I mimicked.

  Rachel giggled and buried her head as the rest of the class burst into hysterics. Mr. Meade turned about six shades of pink, red and, in certain light, you could even say blue. It was one of my proudest moments, for sure.

  Ms. Peters nodded slightly and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you as well. I’ve heard lots of great things about the students in this school.” She looked at me and winked. “And I am really looking forward to getting to know all of you.”

  What did she mean by that? I mean, it was obvious she threw a wink in my direction. Was my reputation really that bad?

  “Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Peters,” Mr. Meade said as he walked her to the door. When she was gone and the door was closed, he turned and his eyes shot balls of fire in my direction. This wasn’t good.

  “Jacob, you will come back and see me at lunch hour today, tomorrow and every day next week.”

  “What?” I protested, feeling my hands gripping the sides of my desk.

  “Apparently, you need some time to consider the concept of respecting your elders.” He sat down at his desk and pushed his thick glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. His evil grin spread from ear to ear.

  “No, this isn’t fair!” I declared louder.

  Mr. Meade stood up quickly and pounded his desk. “IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, MR. ROVERT, WE WILL DISCUSS IT AT LUNCH HOUR!” His voice boomed over the silent classroom.

  My teeth clenched together in bitter fury. My desk began to make cracking noises as the wood in my grasp began to splinter. Who does he think he is?

  “Jake?” Rachel’s voice cut through my raging thoughts. “Are you . . . okay?”

  I followed her eyes to my desk—the edges of it were broken and hanging on by threads.

  “Nuts!” I quickly let go and leaned back in my chair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just grounded.” Dad would be home later today and Meade would have surely called by then. There would be no Wentworth weekend for me.

  I had so many emotions running through me and I needed to get out of that classroom. Away from that teacher. Away from the dozens of eyes that were burning holes into my back.

  “I have to go to the washroom,” I mumbled quickly as I started for the door.

  “Get back to your seat,” Mr. Meade warned, “or you’ll be here for the rest of the month too.”

  I didn’t bother to argue. I just stormed out of the classroom and threw my fist into the door for good measure.

  That was a mistake. Although the door was metal, my fist left a fairly good sized dent in the middle of it. I heard a few gasps coming from the classroom and Mr. Meade bellowing something about respect . . . or lack thereof.

  I waited out my frustration within the bathroom walls as I nursed my bleeding knuckles. My hand was completely purple. What was I thinking? This was not going to go over well with my parents. I wish they could see how he pushes my buttons. How he only picks on me and no one else. How his glare alone instantly raises my defenses. Like he has an agenda and I’m it.

  The bell finally rang and I had to go back to the classroom to collect my books. Thankfully, I met Rachel in the hallway and she was holding my book bag.

  “Thanks,” I said as I took my stuff. “I did not want to go back in there.”

  “You’re pretty strong,” she said as she reached out and touched my swollen hand.

  “Apparently,” I muttered. “Although I’m pretty sure our new principal won’t be as impressed once she finds out.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Ms. Peters. She seems cool.” Spoken with such confidence.

  “I hope so,” I answered.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you later?” Rachel asked as she gently tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “Yeah. Later. Unless I’m grounded from school too.” I laughed, although the idea didn’t seem too far-fetched at this point.

  The next day I was on my best behaviour at school, which didn’t seem to lessen the intensity of Mr. Meade’s burning hatred toward me. I had been dreading the end of the day when I would have to tell my friends that I couldn’t go to Wentworth with them because I would be grounded once Ms. Peters got a hold of my parents. How embarrassing.

  Anna greeted me at the classroom door. “I didn’t hear from you last night. Is everything okay?”

  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail with her bangs swept to the side and tucked behind her ear.

  “Yeah, well, I got a detention for disrespecting Mr. Meade yesterday. Pretty sure I'm not going anywhere for a while. Sorry about that.”

  “You should be! I can’t believe you!” she teased.

  I forced a smile. “I won’t be going this weekend.”

  “What?” She stopped and held my arm firmly. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Once Dad finds out, I’m sure he’ll have a list of chores for me to do this weekend.” I kicked at a rock on the classroom floor. “It sucks. I know.” No one knew it better than me. Knowing Eric would have Anna all to himself this weekend sent vibrations up my spine.

  The room went quiet. My eyes flickered to Anna, and I could hear her breathing.

  “Jake?” she said quietly, her voice being the only sound my ears could hear. She played with the cross on her necklace, letting it twirl between her fingers. “I was wondering . . . if . . . you might want . . .”

  Mr. Meade cleared his throat, “Okay, class! Break it up and get back to your seats!”

  Anna’s eyes met mine and I saw her disappointment. The man had impeccable timing. She turned to go back to her seat.

  “Wait, what were you going to say?” I asked quietly as I followed her down the aisle.

  “Nothing, really . . . it’s okay . . . I just . . .”

  For some reason, her turmoil was eating away at me. She looked so uncomfortable and all I wanted to do was fix it . . . somehow. If I knew what she wanted to say, I’d say it for her.

  “Hi Jake,” Rachel interrupted as she approached us. “How are your knuckles feeling today?” She lifted my hand and caressed it with her soft fingers.

  Anna rolled her eyes and sat down. I wanted to push Rachel aside.

  “Is this the hand?” Rachel asked as she lifted my other hand and compared them.

  “Yeah, it was. I’m a fast healer.” I pulled my hands back and walked past her to my desk. I saw Anna smile, which made me smile too.

  “A fast healer, huh?” Rachel sat down beside me and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wish I was. See this scar?” She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a two-inch scar along her forearm. “That’s from when I was five and learning to ride a bike. Typical, right? Do you have any scars?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I usually heal up pretty quickly.” I mentally scanned my body as I tried to recall any scars or bruises of interest. I couldn’t think of any, so I let the conversation die.

  I wasn’t a fan of French class. It was forty-five minutes a day that I would do anything to avoid. It definitely wasn’t my strongest subject. The only reason I was passing the class was because of Noah. We partnered up for everything and he was fluent in French. He was a natural. It was obviously a turn-on for girls too. They flocked to Noah in French class.

  Today Rachel asked if she could join our group as we were working on an assignment where we had to conduct an interview in French. Noah didn’t hesitate to let her join. Apparently, she didn’t pester him with the same hundred and one questions she did me.

  Rachel and Noah bantered back and forth in French as we worked on our assignment. I understood very little of what they were saying.

  “Parlez-vous d’autres langues?” Rachel asked Noah as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. I knew enough to understand that she was asking if he spoke any other languages.

  “Non,” Noah responded.

  “Avez-vous déjà essayé?” she asked again, leaning in further in anticipation of his next response.

  “Have I ever tried? Like tried to learn another language?” Noah clarified.

  “Oui.”

  “Non,” he answered.

  “Qual è il tuo cibo preferito?” Rachel shifted in her seat as she waited for Noah’s response. I definitely didn’t know enough French to understand what she was saying now. It sounded provocative though. I wouldn't put it past her.

  “My favourite food is pizza,” Noah said as he continued to work on the assignment.

  “Hmph! Very interesting.” Rachel sat back in her chair and tapped her pencil on her desk.

  “What?” Noah and I both looked at her with confusion.

  “Well, it’s just that I asked you what your favourite food was.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “I was speaking Italian. Did you forget that you know Italian?”

  “I knew it!” I jumped in. “I knew you weren’t speaking French.”

  They both looked at me as if that wasn’t the real point. I settled back in my chair and listened for Noah’s explanation.

  Noah looked puzzled for a moment and continued, “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t French, was it?”

  Rachel straightened in her seat and leaned in even closer. Still speaking low enough that others couldn’t hear her, she said, “Let me try another language.” She cleared her throat. “Was wir in der klasse sind im moment?”

  And without skipping a beat, Noah responded, “You asked me what class we were in.” Noah looked confused. “In German.”

  They both looked equally surprised. I tried to keep my mouth closed as I looked from one to the other. “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Noah is gifted,” is all she said, and then the bell rang and she got up and bolted out the door.

  Noah and I sat for a few minutes in amazement. He finally looked at me and said, “Is there something wrong with me? Am I a freak?”

  “Apparently,” I teased, although I was beginning to question it myself. “But if it makes you feel any better, so is she.”

  As the next class began filtering in, we gathered our books and moved on in silence.