Chapter Five

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  • Dedicated to My little sister Chloe, who always pushed me to finish this story
                                    

“Start with Maths,” he says the next morning, slamming down several exams onto the desk in front of me. He cuts the power to my computer, hands me a pen and pushes a calculator towards me. I smile up at him and push the calculator back to the edge of the desk.

He just shrugs. “Watch her,” he tells Leevens.

“My pleasure,” he purrs.

“Shut it,” I warn.

“Sorry ma’am,” he chuckles. “You’re a feisty one.”

I ignore him and continue working through the papers. They’re not too difficult, but I find myself needing the calculator for some of the work I should have been covering next year. They only take me two hours. Two hours of Leevens staring at me. When I finish, I chuck my pen at him.

“You didn’t have to take him so literally, you know,” I tell him, privately flattered by the attention.

“You might need this,” he says, waving the pen at me.

“I’m finished,” I shrug.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Every question?”

“Every question,” I confirm.

“Double checked the answers?”

“I triple checked the answers.”

“Dang girl, you must have an IQ of 150,” he mutters picking up the neat stack of finished exams.

“130,” I correct him.

“131,” he says smugly.

“I haven’t checked in a three weeks,” I shrug.

“Check.”

“Fine.” I reboot my computer, find my usual online IQ tests and take it. It’s not a perfect measurement, but it can tell me if I’m improving. “133.”

“I don’t believe you,” Leevens says, narrowing his eyes. I swivel the screen around so he can see it. “Bitch.”

“Lighten up,” I chuckle. “And mark my exams for me.”

“I’m not qualified to do that,” he says.

“Don’t write on them, just work them out yourself and see how many I got right.”

“Fine.”

“Thanks,” I say, punching is shoulder lightly on my way out of the office.

“You wanna go home?” Luca asks me as I brush past him.

“Not really,” I admit. Mum will be there.

“You hungry?”

“Kind of,” I say.

“Shayne, take her for something to eat,” he says, throwing his credit card and keys to his little brother.

“But it’s 2:00,” he says.

“Just go. And then take her home, okay?”

“Fine,” he mutters.

“You’re gonna let him drive your Vanquish?” I ask, disbelieving.

“He’s a good driver,” he shrugs.

“No I’m not,” Shayne says innocently.

“I know. Just don’t kill her,” he warns.

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