Heart Of Marley (14 page)

“A democracy.”

“Ah… So the beauty queen
does
have a brain.”

I gave him a contemptuous smile. “Beauty and brains is a rare combination these days, but I’ve been blessed with both.”

Hushed voices echoed in the room and I could feel Mr. Monroe’s previous irritation turn more into anger and, possibly, embarrassment. I had a feeling that this was a man who liked control and wanted everyone to agree with him no matter what.

“Miss Bowen, please see me in my office after class.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied in a sing-song manner.

The bell rang a few minutes later and I took my time collecting my things, hoping to prolong the inevitable punishment that would await me for speaking back to one of my teachers. Following the crowd out of the classroom, I slowly made my way toward the administrative wing, heading down the quiet hallway to Mr. Monroe’s office. I was about to turn the corner when I nearly ran into someone walking rather quickly toward me.

“Brianna?” I said, noticing her downturned head.

She stopped abruptly and raised her eyes to look at me.

Scrunching my eyebrows, I surveyed her agitated demeanor. “Are you okay?” Lowering my voice, I asked, “Did you get in trouble for staying out all night on Sunday, too?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she said sheepishly, pushing down the sleeves of her cardigan.

I followed her hands and could almost make out faint scratches and bruising. Grabbing her arm, I went to pull up her sleeve.

“Miss Bowen!” a voice bellowed out, forcing me to turn my attention away from Brianna. “Do you need a written invitation? Because, I assure you, my temper will only increase the longer I have to wait.”

“Coming, sir,” I replied meekly, looking at Brianna’s nervous expression as I kept her wrist clutched in my hand. “We’ll talk later,” I said to her before dropping her arm and heading toward Mr. Monroe’s dark, windowless office.

“Have a seat, Miss Bowen,” he said, gesturing to a chair on the opposite side of his mahogany desk that appeared to be more of a mission statement than a surface on which to do paperwork.

I followed his request, growing nervous when I heard the click of the door behind me. As he walked around me and sat behind his desk, his vexing eyes remained glued to mine and I couldn’t help but feel incredibly creeped out by him.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here today?”

“Yes, sir,” I responded, trying to exude all the southern charm that I had learned from my aunt over the past several years. “I was out of line in class today. I apologize for my behavior and lack of judgment. It won’t happen again.”

It was silent for a moment while he appeared to process my words, caressing his chin with his folded hands. “You see, Miss Bowen, while I do appreciate and admire people who have the courage to stand up for what they believe in, I find your method of trying to bring attention to yourself quite juvenile.”

“I was not trying to bring attention to myself,” I protested.

“Then leave the sarcastic comments for your devoted followers, Miss Bowen. Your brother may find your sense of humor endearing, but I do not.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll keep that in mind in the future.”

“He’s not always going to be around to cover for you. He’s not always going to pick up the pieces for you. Don’t you want to be an individual instead of someone who is so dependent on another person that they barely have their own identity?”

I was completely taken aback by his words. “I have my own identity,” I murmured.

“Do you? By all means, please enlighten me. I’ve been trying to ascertain who the real Marley Bowen is for years.”

I fidgeted with my skirt, wishing that I hadn’t rolled the waist to make it shorter. The way he was staring at me made me want to cover every inch of my body with heavy armor. I could see how other girls at school would find it endearing and attractive, but they didn’t have the past I had. Then again, I knew I was overreacting, as I was prone to do whenever in awkward private situations like this.

“I’m only seventeen. I don’t
know
who the real Marley Bowen is. But I will say this about her. She doesn’t always do what’s expected of her. Not anymore.” I stood up from the chair and grabbed my bag, looking down at him. “Are we done here? I’m already late for my next class, sir.”

“Yes, we are…for now.”

I turned away and went to open the door, only to find that he had locked it. My hands grew unsteady and I quickly unlocked it, throwing it open and practically sprinting down the hall.

I hated that my past still made me think the worst of everyone. He was a teacher, for crying out loud. Why did I automatically assume that he locked the door to his office for some perverse reason? Was I more messed up than I originally thought? Since spotting Buck in Charleston over the weekend, I felt as if I was losing control over everything. I needed to get it back.

“S
O
WHAT
’
S
THIS
I hear about you banging Brianna?” Mason, her ex-boyfriend and one of my basketball teammates asked, coming up to me as I sat down at my regular lunch table to wait for Doug.

“You guys broke up.” I shrugged, scanning his muscular stature. “And we’re not having sex. Even if we were, it’s none of your business.”

He slammed his fist on the table, startling me.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” I asked. “You’ve been hanging around with Grady a bit too much.”

“That has nothing to do with it. I’m just not keen on the fact that she moved on already. We dated for two years.”

“And how long during those two years were you sleeping with Jessica Harper?”

His dark eyes flamed. “None of your fucking business.”

Grady, another one of my teammates and Mason’s sidekick, approached, his dark hair disheveled. I could almost smell the faint aroma of pot around him. “Heard you’re dating Mason’s ex. Did she ask you to be her escort to the Jessamine Court introduction?”

“Yeah, she has.”

“Marley’s in the court, too, isn’t she?” Mason asked, his fierce expression softening a bit.

“Yeah.”

“Who’s she taking?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Don’t get your hopes up…either one of you,” I cautioned my teammates. “She’s kind of seeing someone.”

Both of their eyes grew wide in unison. “Who?”

“Me,” Doug said, sitting down next to me and taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“You’re shitting me,” Mason retorted. “Marley Bowen is dating
you
?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said. “I’m living proof that girls like nice guys and don’t want to always date someone who looks at them like a piece of meat like you two assholes do.”

“Hey,” Grady interjected. “Plenty of girls have been unable to resist my charm.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Until you got them in bed, then sent them packing.”

“That was, like, one girl!” he protested. “Diana Greene. People don’t call her ‘dirty Diana’ for nothing.”

“And you guys wonder why I never wanted you to date Marley.” I rolled my eyes at them.

Grady shrugged. “Whatever. She’ll get bored with Doug, I’m sure.”

“Don’t count on it,” a familiar voice interjected. I looked at Doug and smiled when I saw Marley sit down next to him and place an affectionate kiss on his neck. “And even if I wasn’t dating him, I wouldn’t go out with either one of you, so don’t waste your time or energy.”

I snickered at Marley’s boldness.

“I heard you already got in trouble this morning,” Mason said snidely.

She looked down at her yogurt, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing, Cam.” She glared at me. “I may have been a bit snarky to Mr. Monroe during my Governments class that
you
signed me up for. I’m not happy with you at all right now.”

“It’s an important class, Mar. You’ll thank me later.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she mumbled.

“Let’s go, Grady,” Mason said. “See you at practice after school.” He retreated from our table and I wondered how Brianna could ever date a prick like him.

“What was that all about?” Marley asked.

“He’s just pissed that I’m dating his ex, even though he treated her like crap the whole time.”

She scanned the cafeteria before leaning across the table. “Have you seen her yet today?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Yeah. Third period. She’s in my History class,” I replied. “I think she was late this morning because she was supposed to be in my first period Spanish class, too, but she never showed up. Why?”

“No reason,” she said quickly. “I ran into her when I was heading to Mr. Monroe’s office and she seemed a little, well…off.”

“I think her mom let her have it pretty bad when she got home yesterday. She was a bit out of it in class this morning and you could tell that she was still a little agitated.”

“She was in homeroom,” Doug offered.

Marley scrunched her eyebrows at him. “She was?”

“Yeah. But about a minute before the bell rang, she got called out to Mr. Grayson’s office…or maybe her dad’s. I can’t remember. All I remember was that it was something about a family emergency. Mason walked her down there because she appeared to be a little worried. I don’t think our homeroom teacher has heard that they’ve broken up yet.”

“I hope everything’s okay,” I said.

“I have to go.” Marley shot out of her chair, leaving her half-eaten yogurt on the table.

“Where are you going?” I called after her as she began to walk away.

“Nowhere. I just… I have to go. I’ll see you later, Cam.” Determined, she walked out of the cafeteria toward the theater wing. I could almost sense the wheels turning in her head.

T
HE
THING
ABOUT
BEING
a victim of abuse is that you can sometimes sense when someone else is suffering through it. You see the signs more clearly than most people, usually because it’s the same things that you tried to hide…sometimes the same things you’re
still
trying to hide.

Then again, sometimes you feel so alone and isolated that you wish you had someone to talk to about what you went through, so you try to see something that’s not there. It’s a fine line.

All I
did
know, as I was leaving the cafeteria after hundreds of red flags started popping up, was that I had a very good idea about where Brianna was. It was where I always went when I was having an “episode”. Walking through the empty halls, I pulled open the door that led up to the catwalk of our school’s state-of-the-art theater. Climbing the narrow spiral stairs, I emerged onto the truss, thankful that I never had a fear of heights.
I guess I’d have to be scared of dying first
, I thought to myself.

I took a step onto the catwalk and Brianna must have sensed the shift of weight. She looked up from where she was sitting overlooking the theater fifty feet below us.