Foreigner

Chapter 10

Sitting in Mrs. Simmons' class, I realize just how close I am to passing out. I haven't slept properly in days, thanks to my busted nose and this school's apparent allergy to silence. If it's not the guys yelling across the dorms at midnight, it's someone deciding that 3 a.m. is the perfect time for a dubstep remix of snoring. And don't get me started on basketball—well, lack thereof. I can't play for weeks now, so at least I'm off the hook for dragging my sorry ass out of bed at 5 a.m. to shoot hoops alone.

My life sucks right now.

Across the room, a couple of idiots are playing hot potato with a stress ball. It's come so close to my face that I've gone full slouch mode, practically sliding under the desk like I'm in witness protection. One more near-miss and I'm reporting them to... someone. Does this school even have rules?

Trying to ignore the potential for head injury, I mentally go through my to-do list. First up: the letter. My eyes flick over to Christian, a row behind me, sprawled out on his desk like he's in a coma. He's so still I can barely see him breathing.

For some dumb reason, I have to double-check. He's breathing. He's fine. Obviously.

Before I can spiral into whatever weird corner of my brain that came from, the door slams shut, and the rapid-fire click of heels pulls everyone to attention. Mrs. Simmons is here, and she looks like she's ready to end someone's entire career. Christian stirs at the noise, his head snapping up just in time to glare at me. Why me? No clue. But I'm not in the mood to play staring games, so I whip around and shove my earbuds into my back pocket.

"Good morning," Mrs. Simmons says in that 'I hate all of you' tone she's mastered. "I hope you enjoyed your weekend because now it's time to get back to work."

She dives into some lecture about... something. I'm not listening. My gaze drifts to Julian, sitting at the front of the room, legs spread so wide he's practically taking up three seats. He's laughing at something Oliver said, the tail of his fake cobra tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. Yeah, fake. Christian spilled the beans on that one.

The thought of exposing Julian is tempting. But I need evidence—like that box of stick-on tattoos he orders online. Breaking into his room might be the move. Or maybe... Dr. Matthews' office. I've been there before, and the files he keeps on us are ridiculously detailed. If there's dirt on Julian, it's in there.

Still, it bugs me. How does Christian know about Julian's petty theft backstory? Did he break into the office too? And if so... why? What's he hiding? My head's spinning so hard I almost miss Mrs. Simmons laying into Julian.

"Julian, do you have something to share with the class, or are you done acting like a ten-year-old?"

Julian mutters something I can't hear, turning to face the front. Mrs. Simmons moves on, but I'm already checked out again.

¤ ¤ ¤

Later, back in the dorm, I'm pacing like a lunatic, music blasting in my ears as I try to figure out how to confront Christian. He's been gone since classes ended, and I don't even know if he's coming back tonight. One thing's for sure: he's going to read that letter. I don't care if it kills me—or, more likely, if it kills him. Someone needs to explain why I've been stuck with this mysterious envelope burning a hole in my pocket.

I'm mid-pace when the door creaks open. I turn to see Christian standing there, looking like he just rolled out of bed and straight into a bad mood. I yank my earbuds out, suddenly feeling about as prepared as a hamster at a cat convention. The hallway noise filters in, but the tension between us is almost louder.

Say something, Lukas. Anything.

"Where were you last night?"

Oh, for God's sake. Not that!

Christian squints at me like I've just asked him to solve world hunger. He brushes past without a word, heading to his side of the room. For reasons even I don't understand, I grab his shoulder and shove him down onto his bed. The second I do it, I regret every choice I've ever made.

He stares up at me, wide-eyed, like I've officially lost it. To be fair, he's not wrong. But then he stands, slowly, and suddenly we're way too close. He's a few inches taller than me, but being in front of him like this, I feel very small. His green eyes lock onto mine, and for some reason, the chaos in my brain quiets.

"Move," he says, voice low and gravelly.

"Sit," I shoot back, somehow finding the courage to stand my ground.

His expression darkens. For a second, I think he's going to shove past me, but before he can, I plant a hand on his chest and push him back onto the bed.

"I said, sit." My voice is steady, but inside I'm freaking out.

Before he can respond, I pull the envelope from my back pocket and shove it at him. "Read this."

"What is it?" His voice is cautious, his eyes flicking between me and the letter like it might explode.

"Just read it," I say, more impatient than I should be.

He hesitates, then snatches the envelope and tears it open. As he reads, his face hardens. His jaw tightens, his grip on the letter so strong it crumples.

"Where did you get this?" he asks, his tone dangerously quiet.

I scratch the back of my neck, stalling. "Some woman showed up last night asking for you. When I said you weren't here, she gave me this and told me to make sure you read it."

Christian doesn't say another word. He bolts out of the room, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

I'm left standing there, stunned, staring at the empty space where he'd just been. Whatever's in that letter... yeah, I don't think I want to know anymore.