The Wicked

I return to the dance floor where I left Katie, but the lingering feeling of his molten gaze stays over me, like he’s branding me with his eyes from across the room.

He’s delicious. A walking, talking red flag if I’ve ever seen one. Just my type – someone who fucks in a storage closet, and then acts like a complete asshole about it.

He’s a fuckboy through and through.

And that toxic part of me wants him.

I feel an ache burning in my stomach as I dance, but I force myself not to look at him, no matter how badly I want to. Instead, I decide to put on a show for him. My skin vibrates with pleasure, and I run my hands over my arms, up my neck and into my hair while I grind my hips.

My head falls back, the electric music pumping directly into my bloodstream now. I twist my fingers in my hair, pulling it off my neck and chest while I roll my body to the music. Breathing through my mouth, my eyes drop closed as I continue to dance, knowing he’s watching me.

I can feel him.

His gaze, his energy, his entire being blasting across the room toward me like a force field trying to suck me in. I want to turn around, cross the room, and throw my legs over his lap. Straddle him and ride him until I’m dripping between my legs.

I don’t, though. I just keep dancing, playing the uninterested card I know so well.

He’s not used to it. I can tell by the aloofness of his atmosphere and smug smile. Men and women alike probably fawn over him, fall at his feet and kiss their way up to the thick cock hanging between his thighs.

Do you wanna dance with me, beautiful?

His words play in my mind on a loop, like a song I can’t stop listening to, even as I stay on my side of the club and pretend he isn’t a speck on my radar. The burn in my stomach grows and grows as his deep and all-consuming voice haunts me, making me circle my hips harder and faster to the beat.

I don’t want to be someone he sees as beautiful. I want to be a dangerous, compelling vixen who rivals his power, showing him I’m no one he can control.

He wouldn’t be able to handle me.

My alarm wakes me at 8 a.m. the next morning, and I whack it with my fist to make it shut up. My head is pounding, and I’m tangled in the thick down comforter I brought from Washington.

Even with the A/C cranked, the sunlight from the window is heating my room so much that a layer of sweat covers every inch of my body.

“Oh my god,” I groan, throwing the blanket off, kicking my feet to get it to fall off the edge of the bed. Sitting up, I put my hand on my head. I haven’t been hungover in a while. I guess I should have skipped the last round of shots before we left the club last night.

I take a deep breath, willing the nausea to fade, and slowly swing my legs over the side of my bed.

Making my way to the kitchen, my feet drag across the dark wooden floor. Katie is nowhere to be found, so I assume she must still be passed out in the guest room. I start setting up a pot of coffee, filling the machine with water, but when I pull open the cabinet, I remember I didn’t stop at the grocery store to get anything.

I slam the cabinet, groaning and moaning.

Still dragging my feet, I go to the guest room and open the door. Katie is asleep under the blankets, snoring lightly with her arm thrown over her eyes.

“Wake up!” I yell, climbing onto the bed to lie with her.

She groans, trying to roll over away from me. I shake her. “Please get up, I need some coffee so bad.”

“You can’t make your own coffee?” she mutters into the pillow, sleep coating her voice.

I chuckle. “We don’t have any coffee, so we need to go get some.”

She shakes her head. “Bring me back a latte.”

I sigh, staring at her as she nuzzles down into the pillows to go back to sleep. “You suck.”

She doesn’t say anything else as I get up and walk out of the room, leaving the door open. I go to my room and throw on a tank top, some shorts, and sunglasses, grab my wallet and phone, then head for the door.

The motion of the elevator makes me feel sick, so I grip onto the wall as it heads down to the ground floor, moaning when it finally stops and I can get off.

I swallow down the bile in the back of my throat, willing myself not to throw up, and walk outside. The sun is already beating down and heating the day, making the dew from overnight steam up from the grass. I yawn, taking the sidewalk and avoiding the few people who have dared to be downtown this early.

It takes about ten minutes to get to the little coffee shop that sits on the corner of the street, and the line is out the door as people get their morning fix before they go to work.

I groan, wanting to cry at the thought of holding myself upright for the length of this line. The guy in front of me turns, gives me a dirty look, then faces forward again. I’m far too hungover to control myself, so my face curls into a scowl and I scoff. He doesn’t turn around again, so I let him fade from my mind.

After fifteen minutes, I’m at the register. The perky teen greets me, “Hi! What can we get for you today?”

I totally forgot to look at the menu, so my eyes trail upwards to the signs hanging over her head. I don’t want to be that person, though, so I order two very large lattes and four muffins on impulse.

The baristas are quick, and I make a mental note to make this my usual stop for coffee from now on. Within five minutes, I’m out the door and heading home.

I drink half of my latte on the walk, the warm and foamy nectar breathing life back into my aching and exhausted body. By the time I’m unlocking my front door, I feel 80% normal.

Katie is sitting on the kitchen island, kicking her legs back and forth as she scrolls her phone in one hand and holds a glass of water in the other. When she hears the door open, her head turns to the side, and she downs the water until the glass is empty.

“Morning.” Holding out her latte, I approach her.

She takes it, discarding her empty glass on the granite next to her. She takes a sip, then groans. “Thank you.”

I deposit the muffins on the counter, pulling one out and picking at it. “I have a meeting at the school in two hours, then we can go shopping for house stuff.”

She nods, grabbing a muffin for herself. “Sounds good.”

I pull the wrapper from the bottom half of my muffin, then take a big bite before I put it back in the bag and take a swig from my coffee cup. I kiss Katie on the head as I pass. “Gonna shower.”

Unpacking my toiletry bag, I put everything in the walk-in glass shower in my bathroom, then I crank the hot water and strip down. My skin aches at the first touch of the steaming water, but it’s a good ache, like my body is thanking me for soothing it. I stand under the spray for a while, just letting the water run over my head and back, bending forward and closing my eyes.

For someone who’s putting herself through a cross-country move while her dad dies of cancer, I feel surprisingly stable. There’s metal and stone in my veins after growing up the way I did, and I’m more resilient than most. For once, my shitty childhood is something I’m thankful for, because I don’t know what I would be feeling if I wasn’t so strong. I don’t think I could handle everything going on.

I learned at a young age to find something positive in every single part of life – you have to, or you won’t fucking survive. If I had let my circumstances dictate every part of my emotional well-being, I would have shattered a long time ago. There is always something you can find to be happy about. Even when life is crumbling around you, even when everything feels dark and empty, picking one tiny little thing to get you through might just be the thing to tip the scales your way.

Even if it’s something irrelevant, something so small that it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, I’ve always put my focus on that when life is hard. I know I’m lucky to have that outlook, as I’ve seen the best of people fall to the hardships and distress of life being in the foster system for so long. It’s easy to let negativity and bad circumstances consume you, but I think something inside of me is wired differently.

Even when I had nothing and no one, I got through.

That’s enough for me to keep my head high and keep moving forward.

I had to move home, my dad is going to die, my mom is going to be alone, I left all my friends, but I am going to be okay. I’m starting my first teaching job soon, which has been a dream and goal of mine for as long as I can remember. I get to live at the beach again. These are the things keeping me going.

Maybe they’re not as giant as the bad things right now, but I’ll get through.

As I wash my hair and body, I choose my outfit for the day in my head. I don’t want to look too young, but I want to be myself. I want to be taken seriously by the people at Luxington High, but I also owe it to myself to be genuine.

I’m smart, and that’s what I’m going to show them. Maybe I’m edgier than your typical teacher, but that won’t matter when I blow them all away with my intelligence.

I’ve settled on a black pencil skirt and a long sleeve blouse when I’m turning off the water and stepping out onto the mat. That way, I look professional, but I can still put my flare on it with some heels and a pair of hoops.

I dry off, wrapping my long, dark hair in a towel and walking into my adjoining bedroom. I slip on some lingerie to wear under my clothes today because it makes me feel confident, and then I stand in front of the full-body mirror to check myself out. The set I picked is white satin with straps wrapping around me and I look amazing in it. I’m already starting to feel that spark of sexy confidence spreading through my limbs, so I grin at myself before I turn around to go to my closet.

Thankfully, I shipped most of my clothes in wardrobe boxes, so everything is hanging in my closet already and there aren’t any creases. I need to remember to leave a good review for the moving company.

I slip on my skirt and blouse, then walk to the kitchen to grab the rest of my coffee.

Katie is on the couch, watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix with three empty muffin wrappers scattered on my coffee table in front of her.

I laugh. “You had three?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Why’d you buy ’em if you didn’t want me to eat ’em?”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I make my way into the kitchen to grab my coffee. Taking a long sip, I walk back to Katie. Once I’ve swallowed, I clear my throat to get her attention. “Well?”

She gives me a confused look. “Well?”

I stomp my foot dramatically, waving my free hand over my body. “Does this outfit say, ‘teacher’ or does it say, ‘faking it’?”

She presses her lips together as she assesses my outfit quietly, then she shrugs. “Little bit of both.”

I sigh. “Is that a good thing?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Definitely. I think if you look too confident, they won’t take you seriously. They’ll be happier if they know you’re shitting your pants a little.”

My brows rise. “What?”

Laughing, she pulls her legs up on the couch and wraps her arms around them. “Like, they’ll want you to be a little nervous, right? It’s your first teaching gig, so it’d be weird if you were cool and careless.”

I shake my head. “You know, in some weird way, I know exactly what you mean.”

When I get to Luxington High, I sit in my car and give myself a pep talk before I have enough courage to turn the engine off and step out into the day. It’s easy enough to find the front office, and I check in with the woman sitting at the front desk when I get there. She directs me to a line of chairs along the wall and tells me she’ll let the Headmistress know I’m here.

I sit down, taking a breath as I put my purse in my lap. A minute later, the door to my left opens, and an older woman steps out.

“Miss Leyton?”

I stand, clearing my throat silently as I brush my clammy hands down the front of my skirt and cross the office to meet the woman standing in the door frame who’s called my name. Her dark hair is slicked down and twisted into a high and tight bun that would impress even the best of ballerinas, and the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes are prominent, even as she stands somewhat emotionless. I smile, holding my hand out for her to shake.

She grips my hand in a strong one of her own. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Leyton. I’m Headmistress Rothchild.”

She looks wise, like she’s been doing this far too long, and the worries of the job have gotten to her. I keep smiling. “Please, call me Penelope. It’s so great to meet you.”

Even though her tone is flat, her smile still radiates warmth. I swallow down the minuscule nerves clawing their way up my throat and follow her into her office when she turns to lead me. She waves a hand at the vacant chair across from her desk, so I take a seat while she rounds the desk and does the same.

“I want to be completely transparent with you, Penelope, we don’t normally take on fresh graduates here at Luxington. There’s a certain reputation we must uphold, and the members of our board expect the best.”

I nod. “What made you decide to take me on, then?”

The worry that she’ll say my father’s phone call was the reason I’m here bubbles in my gut. I love my parents. I love everything they’ve worked toward and built, but I want to get this on my own. Make them proud.

Headmistress Rothchild picks up a stack of papers I hadn’t noticed until now, humming between her lips as she reads them over. “Straight As all through high school at Vanderbilt Prep, highest rank on the honor roll at Washington University, double majors in history and economics, as well as graduating Summa Cum Laude?”

When she looks up at me, I feel my cheeks heat. She looks impressed, though, so I nod to tell her I’m proud of the transcript in her hand.

She flicks through the papers, counting out loud. “Seven recommendations from past professors and leaders from internships, including the head of the history department at Washington University. Very impressive, Penelope.”

I smile with pride. “Thank you.”

She nods, puts the papers down, and gives me a stern look that’s probably intimidating to the students here. “I’m taking a risk on you because, after looking at all of this, I think you’re worth it. Don’t disappoint me.”

I blow out a breath from my nose, nodding. “I won’t. This is where I’ve worked to get, and this is what I want to be doing.”

“Good.” She smiles. “Now, as we discussed via email, you’ll be shadowing Mrs. Justice this year, acting as her TA, and then next year, when she’s retired, the plan is for you to take over her chunk of history and economics classes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod once more.

“I know you grew up here in Luxington, but have you ever been to our campus before?”

“A few times, but only ever for sporting events, so I’ve never actually been inside.”

“Alright then, how about I give you a tour? I can introduce you to Mrs. Justice, since she’s here doing summer school, and then we can get your email account and everything set up.” She taps her hands on her desk, then stands up.

“Sounds great.” I stand as well, tossing my purse over my shoulder and stepping to the side so she can lead the way.

We go through the administration office again and out into the corridor, and she leads me down the hallway. The walls are a crisp, pale cream color, with golden accents on the light fixtures and baseboards. I went to private school, so the over-the-top cleanliness and lavishness of this place doesn’t really phase me, but I admire it anyway. Headmistress Rothchild points out different departments and classrooms as we make our way through the school, going as far as showing me the way to the cafeteria, gym, and three separate teachers’ lounges.

It’s all starting to feel very real.

Part of me wants to squeal, jump up and down, and clap my hands in excitement, but I keep that giddiness to myself. I’ve just worked so hard for so long to get here – the fucking finish line.

There are a few students scattered about – here for summer school – but for the majority, the school is pretty empty. We circle back around the campus, and she leads me to the hallway that houses the history department. My new home.

We reach the second door on the left, and she raps her knuckles on the wood a few times before she pushes the door open. I follow her over the threshold into a bare classroom, with white walls that almost reflect off the dark, shiny wood of the floor. There’s a whiteboard covering the front wall, and a few bookcases lining the farther wall, but apart from that, there’s nothing to show any personality.

“Mrs. Justice?”

There’s a tiny, greying woman sitting in the desk on the opposite side of the room, but she doesn’t pop her head up to look when the Headmistress calls her name.

“Yes?” she answers, still writing something on a paper in front of her.

“This is Penelope Leyton, your aide for the year,” Headmistress Rothchild says, looking at me and smiling to warm the icy situation.

I step toward her when she looks up at me, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s really great to meet you, Mrs. Justice.”

She stands, rounding her desk, so I hold my hand out for her to shake. She traces her gaze over me, and it feels intrusive, like she’s reading whatever’s underneath my skin from the few feet that separate us, then she slips her hand into mine and shakes it.

“Great, let’s get started, then.”

I have one of those faces that shows all of my emotions, so I know I look bewildered when she blinks at me a few times, as if I’m stupid. “Started?”

“Yes.” She sits back down, grabbing the papers on her desk and tapping them on the wood to straighten them. “Lesson planning.”

“Oh.” I turn, looking at the Headmistress, who chuckles.

“You’ll have plenty of time to lesson plan, Barbara. Penelope was just stopping by to meet us today.”

Barbara doesn’t look pleased with that, and she hums between her lips before she starts rustling through a separate stack of papers. Once she’s found what she wants, she stands again, steps toward me, and holds a booklet of papers out. “The syllabus for 12^th grade history. We can start on Monday. 8 a.m.”

I take the papers, meeting her intense gaze. “I’ll be here.”

“Please prepare before we meet. I don’t want to have to hold your hand,” she quips, turning to sit back down, then she puts her focus back on the papers she was originally working on.

I turn and look at Headmistress Rothchild, who’s trying not to laugh, and blow out a breath. Damn.

Sweat licks at my lower back from the sheer intensity of the woman I just interacted with, so I wordlessly follow the Headmistress back into the hall. Once the door is closed, she turns to look at me. “She’s intense.”

I choke on a laugh. “Just a little.”