tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

001. THE SHOCK

"Nice job, Leah," my math teacher said as he handed me back my quiz. On the top right hand side, was a 98% written in red ink. I smiled.

"So, as reflected from most of your tests, you guys will have to practice trigonometry a bit more. I was pretty disappointed with most of you in this quiz, I know you can do bet—" he said, before a loud, crackly whine came from a speaker, and most of us covered our ears, including me.

"Leah Adler, would you please report down to the principals office? There is a man here to speak with you," a stern voice said through the mic. I looked up immediately, almost as if there was a face on the microphone.

Whatever the reason was for me to leave math class was an angel sent from heaven.

I opened up my backpack as I shoved my test in, as well as my notebook.

"Well Leah, I suppose I'll see you Monday then," my math teacher said as I left the classroom with a wave.

As I wandered the halls of the school, making my way to the office, I wondered what I'd been called there for. I wasn't in trouble, so it couldn't be bad. Perhaps my Dad called...no, he wouldn't.

It's not like I even wanted to talk to him. I didn't want to talk to him ever. Not after what he'd done to me.

As I pushed open the door, and I was taken aback when I saw Leslie sitting there.

"Hi, dear," she said in a blank tone.

Sensing the worried and confused look on my face, she made her tone warmer.

"You're not in trouble, sweets. Just sit down," she said as she motioned to the one empty chair besides the unknown person.

"Is Dad..."

"Your father is fine." The voice that issued that statement didn't belong to Leslie's or Principal Letterman.

I whipped my head up, seeing another person, dressed in a fancy black suit, who looked like someone to have a entourage. What was going on here?

He didn't look much older than me. Maybe two or three years, tops. My principal sat there, arms folded, but with a smile on her face.

"W-Well, I guess I'll let Mr. Hawthorne, over here, explain, she said, her hand now shifting to the unknown gentleman.

"Your father is fine. Thriving, if you were to put it that way. As of yesterday," he continued, he paused for a moment. "He was  alive,  well,  and  safely  sleeping in  a  state Texan jail."

I furrowed my brows. I tried not to glare at him, and well, I failed.

"How could you possibly know that?" I demanded. I hadn't talked to my father in seven years. He didn't matter to me, so much so that I didn't even know where my deadbeat father was.

He must've sensed the fire that was burning inside me, hungry to know more.

"Principal Letterman?" he said. "If you could give us a moment?" She nodded quickly, clearly intimidated by the boy in the suit. She rushed out of the door, closing it with a thud behind her.

"You asked how I know where you father is." I kept staring square in his eyes. They were eye-catching. Extremely. So much so I found myself frozen in his gaze— unable to look away. They were the same color as his suit— gray, bordering on silver.

"It would be best, for the moment, for you to just assume that I know everything."

I snorted at him. "A guy who thinks he knows everything," I muttered. "That's new."

"A girl with a razor-sharp tongue," he rebutted, silver eyes focused on mine, as the ends of his lips ticking upward.

"Who are you?" I asked. "And what do you want?" I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next. "What do you want with me?"