Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I pick up a dry-erase marker and start putting my ideas up. I brainstorm a “teacher of the week” quiz featuring a different teacher without revealing his or her identity. Students can turn in their answers for a chance to win a prize. Coverage of all the sports. Those should be easy, and in fact, could take up most of the newspaper if I can’t come up with other ideas. Features on clubs. News reporting on upcoming or past events like the homecoming royalty, the dance this weekend, all that.
I keep at it for forty-five minutes, filling the board with my ideas. When I run out of steam, Brumgard swivels in his chair and looks it over. “Come on over here and tell me about each of those,” he says, beckoning me toward him.
Later I would wonder why I was so stupid. I registered the warning signs on some level, but didn’t bring them into my consciousness.
I trot obediently over to him and stand beside his chair as I verbally walk him through my thought process on each article.
And that’s when it happens.
It’s so unexpected, I almost can’t assimilate it at first.
Mr. Brumgard’s hand slides up my inner thigh.
I freeze. Ice and fire rush through me at once. My stomach hurls into my ribs, trapping my breath.
Later I would wish I’d done a million things.
Gone kung fu on his ass. Stepped quickly back. Throat-punched him. Yelled, get your fucking hands off me!
But I don’t do any of them.
I just stay frozen as his sweaty palm moves higher until it meets my crotch and he rubs his fingers over my panties.
And then my brain completely disconnects. I’m at total odds with what should be happening and what is actually happening. The room spins.
I’m going to puke.
When his fingers prod under my panties, I stiffen up like a board.
Blackness creeps in around my vision as it narrows to a single spot on the desk.
Cole
After practice, I throw my gym bag and backpack in the truck. Casey isn’t around, she texted me she has a group project she’s working on with Stacy, but there’s a prickle on the back of my neck like I need to be aware of something.
Wolf sense coming through.
I sniff the air.
Nothing.
I look back at the school. The light’s still on in Brumgard’s room.
Fucking Bailey. She’s in there playing teacher’s pet, working on her precious newspaper project. Am I getting prickly because she’s turning me in for cheating?
Never one to miss an opportunity to throw her off balance, I slam the truck door and head back to the school. Brumgard told me to stop by and pick up my graded papers to rewrite them, so I have a perfect excuse to show up, anyway.
Most of the outside doors are locked now, but I find an open one and jog through the halls, a sense of urgency pushing me forward.
When I open the door to the classroom, I’m totally unprepared for what I see.
Actually, scent comes first: The salty smell of tears and behind it—fear. Shame. Anger.
Next, sight. Brumgard has his hand up Bailey’s skirt. Pink appears frozen in shock. She’s white as a ghost and looks like she’s about to vomit.
And that’s when I lose my shit. I hurtle across the room, closing the distance between me and him.
One punch—shifter strength—and his head snaps back, blood spurts from his nose. The chair he sat on flies back and hits the wall with Brumgard still in it.
I go in for more. I’m ready to kill the fucker, but Bailey wakes up from her stupor, grabs her backpack and tears out of the room.
“Bailey!” I shout.
I’m torn between the need to punish this asshole adult who touched her—fucking touched her against her will—and wanting to follow Bailey and make sure she’s okay.
I point a damning finger at Brumgard. “You ever fucking touch her or another student, and you’re a dead man. Understand?”
Our teacher makes some kind of moaning sound from where he’s crumpled on the floor, blood streaming from his face. I don’t think his neck is broken, but I definitely hit him hard enough it could’ve happened. He’s lucky he’s alive. He’s lucky I’m letting him live.
I back out of the room and run.
There’s no sign of Bailey in either direction.
Fuck!
I take the first exit and scan the parking lot. I still don’t see her. Jogging to the truck, I jump in and start it, then take off to loop around the school.
There I see her in the back, running.
I screech the tires pulling up next to her. “Bailey! Get in the truck.”
She ignores me. She’s sobbing so hard as she runs I’m surprised she can even see where she’s going.
I reach across and throw the passenger door open as I step on the gas to keep pace with her. “Bailey, hold up! Get in the truck, I’ll drive you home.”