Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
He’s shaking with every breath, but his guttural words still taunt. “Everyone knows who all she fucked in the Wolfe Room,” he grits through his teeth. “She’s not some virgin!”
Murder erupts from deep down in my stomach, and I can’t stop myself. Whipping the hammer, I crash it across his face, the end flying off the handle.
He gasps, dropping his head to the table, whimpering. Blood spills from his cheekbone. I toss what’s left of the gavel.
“The only reason I’m stopping is so you can drag your own ass out of here,” I bite out. “The locks will be changed tomorrow. Get out.”
They release him, and he stumbles back, hunching over and keeping his broken hands close to his chest. The door opens of its own accord, Mrs. Calderon on the other side, no doubt having heard everything.
He scurries out, the door closes, and I fix my tie and my cuffs. My breathing slows, and I lift my eyes.
Jerome and Vincent stand still, watching me.
“I hope everything was clear,” I say.
They heard and can infer for themselves. Sophia is dear to me. Make her cry, and I make you bleed.
Jerome nods. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” Vincent adds.
Good. We move back to the blueprints, making a list of potential alumni donors for the reconstruction.
* * *
—
“The definition of morality varies around the world,” Dallas tells his class. “Based on the recurring societal or cultural expectations in that region, in that community, et cetera.”
I linger outside, listening. I found it so hard to believe he’d be capable of the position he holds, I had to lurk and listen one afternoon last year when I’d come home for a long weekend. I’d snuck in and stood back. He didn’t even know I was in town, I don’t think.
“In some places, you share resources. You help each other,” he goes on, his voice traveling around the room as he moves. “In others, you earn it, you keep it.”
I’m not just a former Marymount student anymore, though. I fund his position. I have the right to observe him whenever I want.
Sliding my hands into my pockets, I stroll in, watching him lift his head. Not saying a word, I drift to the back of the room, finding Sophia perched on the window ledge. She smiles at me, I wink at her.
Leaning back against a wooden desk, I face the backs of everyone’s heads as Dallas flexes his jaw.
“What are some moral rules we follow?” he asks loudly.
“Don’t steal?” a student announces.
Followed by others. “Don’t kill.”
“Be punctual.”
“Hold the door open for a lady.”
A round of laughs go off.
“Don’t use people,” another one calls out.
Dallas nods, agreeing with their answers. We don’t usually go to prison for breaking a moral rule, but there still might be consequences. As he’s well learning.
Dallas moves around the back of the desk in front of me, ignoring my eyes. “Has anyone ever stolen anything and gotten away with it?” he prompts.
The students exchange glances, trying to hide their smiles.
When no one offers to out themselves, Dallas’s hand rises into the air.
Slowly, hands start to pop up, hesitant kids admitting they’re not angels.
“Would we steal more if we knew there’d be no consequences?” Dallas asks them. “And if the wrong people wouldn’t find out?”
I tilt my head. What is he getting at?
Again, no one wants to take a chance answering him.
He goes on, “Okay, how many of you have a crush on someone you’re not dating right now?”
“You can’t ask that!” the Martinez girl scolds him.
He shrugs, turning back around and returning to the front of the class. “I have to curate my lessons to interest my audience.” He gestures to her with his hand. “Look how interested you are.”
Giggles go off.
“So come on,” he tells them. “How many of you?”
Slow, Atlas Wade raises his hand, followed by the Patton kid. Whitney, I think?
A couple more hands rise in the air, and I lock eyes with Dallas, seeing the amusement there. Does he think I’m going to raise my hand, too?
“If they liked you but weren’t available,” he continues, pacing. “Their boyfriend or girlfriend had a death in the family and they didn’t feel right adding more stress or something. Would you steal away with them for a few minutes in a bathroom stall or out in your car in the parking lot?”
The kids shift in their seats, stealing glances at one another, because no one wants to admit the dark side of our character. We all have one.
“Maybe,” Dallas answers for them, letting them off the hook. “Maybe not.” He meets my gaze, drifting down the aisle toward me. “Maybe we don’t know ourselves as well as we think until something happens that makes us reexamine how we see ourselves.”
Is he insinuating my behavior is a reaction to his? Took him long enough to figure it out. I wouldn’t just impose a curfew for this long without that motivation. It would seriously hurt businesses and people’s livelihoods. He, on the other hand, famously dumps his fucks once he’s done with him.