back of the room. “Stop right there, Ms.…”
Crap. I closed my eyes momentarily, under some bizarre delusion that if I blocked him out, he would disappear. Of course, that wasn’t the case, as he was still glaring at me with visible disgust when I opened them again.
I sucked in a quick breath and prepared myself for public humiliation. “Evans. My name is Nevaeh Evans.”
I waited for recognition to alter the sneer spreading across his face, but it never came. And why would it? I was hundreds of miles from my old home, in a city filled with strangers who didn’t know me or my pitiful story.
Thankfully, the awkwardness of the moment lasted all of two seconds. Keltar quickly retreated into what I could only assume was his normal, crotchety self. He cleared his throat with a grating cough and glared at the sea of students before him, arm raised, finger pointed at me. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. Lateness such as this,” he jabbed the fat digit through the air in my direction, “will not be tolerated. I expect each and every one of you to be in your seat and ready to work before the tardy bell rings. Is that clear?”
He turned his head and beamed me with a set of invisible death rays. Had he truly possessed any kind of superpower, I was certain I’d be toast. And really, what was his deal? Why was he so uptight and serious? It wasn’t like he’d be doling out Top Secret government information. He taught Foods, for Pete’s sake. His biggest concern should be making sure the jackass in the corner didn’t set fire to himself when he lit the gas burner to cook.
I kept my expression blank and my gaze to the floor as I shuffled toward the station near the back of the class that offered two empty seats. I’d reached my max quota of negative attention for the day with that little display and was eager to get out of the limelight.
Paper Thief chuckled as I whisked past him and slid into the empty seat across the table.
The room was utilitarian and beige, much like the rest of the school. Keltar’s display table, which looked a heck of a lot like a cooking cart, sat at the head of the room and was flanked by storage on either side. A set of giant sliding white boards sat directly behind it. Six “cooking stations” filled the rest of the room, each comprised of a U-shaped counter complete with oven, sink, and a bevy of appliances and various kitchen type objects. An aging set of table and chairs rounded out each station and provided a place for the students to sit while Keltar prattled about the day’s culinary creation.
The moment Keltar turned his back to the class, Paper Thief leaned forward and placed a hand on the table in front of me, eyebrow raised. “Troublemaker, huh? Guess we’ll have to watch out for you.” He cast me a quick wink before righting himself in his seat and turning to face the front of the room.
His deep voice and million-dollar smile sent a frenzy of knots whirling in my gut, and my cheeks flushed much to my utter, freaking dismay.
A bit flustered, both from Keltar’s scrutiny and Paper Thief’s persistent flirting, I sucked in a few quick breaths as I stashed my bag beneath my chair. Half-worried I looked like a blushing idiot and in no rush to make my presence further known, I sat quietly in my seat and surveyed the eclectic group of students that made up my station.
A beefy-looking boy wearing a football jersey sat directly to PT’s left. And by beefy, I mean the boy sported the type of muscles one would assume could only be achieved with some sort of artificial enhancement. No joke, the boy had no neck, just a clump of muscles that connected his noggin to a burly set of shoulders below. His brown hair was shaved all over, save a thin strip along the middle that stood maybe a quarter inch in height, and a small patch on the left side that showed his number: twenty-two. His blue eyes sparkled beneath the dull fluorescent lighting accentuating a good-natured face
Crap. I closed my eyes momentarily, under some bizarre delusion that if I blocked him out, he would disappear. Of course, that wasn’t the case, as he was still glaring at me with visible disgust when I opened them again.
I sucked in a quick breath and prepared myself for public humiliation. “Evans. My name is Nevaeh Evans.”
I waited for recognition to alter the sneer spreading across his face, but it never came. And why would it? I was hundreds of miles from my old home, in a city filled with strangers who didn’t know me or my pitiful story.
Thankfully, the awkwardness of the moment lasted all of two seconds. Keltar quickly retreated into what I could only assume was his normal, crotchety self. He cleared his throat with a grating cough and glared at the sea of students before him, arm raised, finger pointed at me. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. Lateness such as this,” he jabbed the fat digit through the air in my direction, “will not be tolerated. I expect each and every one of you to be in your seat and ready to work before the tardy bell rings. Is that clear?”
He turned his head and beamed me with a set of invisible death rays. Had he truly possessed any kind of superpower, I was certain I’d be toast. And really, what was his deal? Why was he so uptight and serious? It wasn’t like he’d be doling out Top Secret government information. He taught Foods, for Pete’s sake. His biggest concern should be making sure the jackass in the corner didn’t set fire to himself when he lit the gas burner to cook.
I kept my expression blank and my gaze to the floor as I shuffled toward the station near the back of the class that offered two empty seats. I’d reached my max quota of negative attention for the day with that little display and was eager to get out of the limelight.
Paper Thief chuckled as I whisked past him and slid into the empty seat across the table.
The room was utilitarian and beige, much like the rest of the school. Keltar’s display table, which looked a heck of a lot like a cooking cart, sat at the head of the room and was flanked by storage on either side. A set of giant sliding white boards sat directly behind it. Six “cooking stations” filled the rest of the room, each comprised of a U-shaped counter complete with oven, sink, and a bevy of appliances and various kitchen type objects. An aging set of table and chairs rounded out each station and provided a place for the students to sit while Keltar prattled about the day’s culinary creation.
The moment Keltar turned his back to the class, Paper Thief leaned forward and placed a hand on the table in front of me, eyebrow raised. “Troublemaker, huh? Guess we’ll have to watch out for you.” He cast me a quick wink before righting himself in his seat and turning to face the front of the room.
His deep voice and million-dollar smile sent a frenzy of knots whirling in my gut, and my cheeks flushed much to my utter, freaking dismay.
A bit flustered, both from Keltar’s scrutiny and Paper Thief’s persistent flirting, I sucked in a few quick breaths as I stashed my bag beneath my chair. Half-worried I looked like a blushing idiot and in no rush to make my presence further known, I sat quietly in my seat and surveyed the eclectic group of students that made up my station.
A beefy-looking boy wearing a football jersey sat directly to PT’s left. And by beefy, I mean the boy sported the type of muscles one would assume could only be achieved with some sort of artificial enhancement. No joke, the boy had no neck, just a clump of muscles that connected his noggin to a burly set of shoulders below. His brown hair was shaved all over, save a thin strip along the middle that stood maybe a quarter inch in height, and a small patch on the left side that showed his number: twenty-two. His blue eyes sparkled beneath the dull fluorescent lighting accentuating a good-natured face
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