Branded (The Branded Series) (5 page)

Rachel giggled
and buried her head as the rest of the class burst into hysterics. Mr. Meade
turned about six shades of pink, red and, in certain light, you could even say
blue. It was one of my proudest moments, for sure.

Ms. Peters
nodded slightly and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you as well. I’ve
heard lots of great things about the students in this school.” She looked at me
and winked. “And I am really looking forward to getting to know all of you.”

What did she
mean by that? I mean, it was obvious she threw a wink in my direction. Was my
reputation really that bad?

“Thank you for
stopping by, Ms. Peters,” Mr. Meade said as he walked her to the door. When she
was gone and the door was closed, he turned and his eyes shot balls of fire in
my direction. This wasn’t good.

“Jacob, you
will come back and see me at lunch hour today, tomorrow and every day next
week.”

“What?” I
protested, feeling my hands gripping the sides of my desk.

“Apparently,
you need some time to consider the concept of respecting your elders.” He sat
down at his desk and pushed his thick glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.
His evil grin spread from ear to ear.

“No, this
isn’t fair!” I declared louder.

Mr. Meade
stood up quickly and pounded his desk. “IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, MR. ROVERT, WE
WILL DISCUSS IT AT LUNCH HOUR!” His voice boomed over the silent classroom.

My teeth
clenched together in bitter fury. My desk began to make cracking noises as the
wood in my grasp began to splinter.
Who does he think he is?

“Jake?”
Rachel’s voice cut through my raging thoughts. “Are you . . . okay?”

I followed her
eyes to my desk—the edges of it were broken and hanging on by threads.

“Nuts!” I
quickly let go and leaned back in my chair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just grounded.”
Dad would be home later today and Meade would have surely called by then. There
would be no Wentworth weekend for me.

I had so many
emotions running through me and I needed to get out of that classroom. Away from
that teacher. Away from the dozens of eyes that were burning holes into my
back.

“I have to go
to the washroom,” I mumbled quickly as I started for the door.

“Get back to
your seat,” Mr. Meade warned, “or you’ll be here for the rest of the month
too.”

I didn’t
bother to argue. I just stormed out of the classroom and threw my fist into the
door for good measure.

That was a
mistake. Although the door was metal, my fist left a fairly good sized dent in the
middle of it. I heard a few gasps coming from the classroom and Mr. Meade bellowing
something about respect . . . or lack thereof.

I waited out
my frustration within the bathroom walls as I nursed my bleeding knuckles. My
hand was completely purple. What was I thinking? This was not going to go over
well with my parents. I wish they could see how he pushes my buttons. How he
only picks on me and no one else. How his glare alone instantly raises my
defenses. Like he has an agenda and I’m it.

The bell
finally rang and I had to go back to the classroom to collect my books. Thankfully,
I met Rachel in the hallway and she was holding my book bag.

“Thanks,” I
said as I took my stuff. “I did
not
want to go back in there.”

“You’re pretty
strong,” she said as she reached out and touched my swollen hand.

“Apparently,”
I muttered. “Although I’m pretty sure our new principal won’t be as impressed
once she finds out.”

“Oh, don’t
worry about Ms. Peters. She seems cool.” Spoken with such confidence.

“I hope so,” I
answered.

“Well, I guess
I’ll see you later?” Rachel asked as she gently tossed her hair over her
shoulder.

“Yeah. Later.
Unless I’m grounded from school too.” I laughed, although the idea didn’t seem
too far-fetched at this point.

The next day
I was on my
best behaviour at school, which didn’t seem to lessen the intensity of Mr. Meade’s
burning hatred toward me. I had been dreading the end of the day when I would
have to tell my friends that I couldn’t go to Wentworth with them because I
would be grounded once Ms. Peters got a hold of my parents. How embarrassing.

Anna greeted
me at the classroom door. “I didn’t hear from you last night. Is everything
okay?”

Her hair was
pulled back in a ponytail with her bangs swept to the side and tucked behind
her ear.

“Yeah, well, I
got a detention for disrespecting Mr. Meade yesterday. Pretty sure I'm not
going anywhere for a while. Sorry about that.”

“You should
be! I can’t believe you!” she teased.

I forced a
smile. “I won’t be going this weekend.”

“What?” She
stopped and held my arm firmly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Once Dad finds
out, I’m sure he’ll have a list of chores for me to do this weekend.” I kicked
at a rock on the classroom floor. “It sucks. I know.” No one knew it better
than me. Knowing Eric would have Anna all to himself this weekend sent
vibrations up my spine.

The room went
quiet. My eyes flickered to Anna, and I could hear her breathing.

“Jake?” she
said quietly, her voice being the only sound my ears could hear. She played
with the cross on her necklace, letting it twirl between her fingers. “I was
wondering . . . if . . . you might want . . .”

Mr. Meade
cleared his throat, “Okay, class! Break it up and get back to your seats!”

Anna’s eyes
met mine and I saw her disappointment. The man had impeccable timing. She
turned to go back to her seat.

“Wait, what
were you going to say?” I asked quietly as I followed her down the aisle.

“Nothing,
really . . . it’s okay . . . I just . . .”

For some
reason, her turmoil was eating away at me. She looked so uncomfortable and all
I wanted to do was fix it . . . somehow. If I knew what she wanted to say, I’d
say it for her.

“Hi Jake,”
Rachel interrupted as she approached us. “How are your knuckles feeling today?”
She lifted my hand and caressed it with her soft fingers.

Anna rolled
her eyes and sat down. I wanted to push Rachel aside.

“Is this the
hand?” Rachel asked as she lifted my other hand and compared them.

“Yeah, it was.
I’m a fast healer.” I pulled my hands back and walked past her to my desk. I
saw Anna smile, which made me smile too.

“A fast
healer, huh?” Rachel sat down beside me and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I
wish I was. See this scar?” She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a two-inch scar
along her forearm. “That’s from when I was five and learning to ride a bike.
Typical, right? Do you have any scars?”

“No, I don’t
think so. I usually heal up pretty quickly.” I mentally scanned my body as I
tried to recall any scars or bruises of interest. I couldn’t think of any, so I
let the conversation die.

I wasn’t a
fan of French
class. It was forty-five minutes a day that I would do anything to avoid. It
definitely wasn’t my strongest subject. The only reason I was passing the class
was because of Noah. We partnered up for everything and he was fluent in
French. He was a natural. It was obviously a turn-on for girls too. They
flocked to Noah in French class.

Today Rachel
asked if she could join our group as we were working on an assignment where we
had to conduct an interview in French. Noah didn’t hesitate to let her join. Apparently,
she didn’t pester him with the same hundred and one questions she did me.

Rachel and
Noah bantered back and forth in French as we worked on our assignment. I
understood very little of what they were saying.

“Parlez-vous
d’autres langues?” Rachel asked Noah as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.
I knew enough to understand that she was asking if he spoke any other languages.

“Non,” Noah
responded.

“Avez-vous
déjà essayé?” she asked again, leaning in further in anticipation of his next
response.

“Have I ever
tried? Like tried to
learn
another language?” Noah clarified.

“Oui.”

“Non,” he
answered.

“
Qual
è il tuo
cibo
preferito
?”
Rachel
shifted in her seat as she waited for Noah’s response. I definitely didn’t know
enough French to understand what she was saying now. It sounded provocative
though. I wouldn't put it past her.

“My favourite
food is pizza,” Noah said as he continued to work on the assignment.

“Hmph! Very
interesting.” Rachel sat back in her chair and tapped her pencil on her desk.

“What?” Noah
and I both looked at her with confusion.

“Well, it’s
just that I asked you what your favourite food was.” Her eyes narrowed on him.
“I was speaking Italian. Did you forget that you know Italian?”

“I knew it!” I
jumped in. “I knew
you weren’t speaking French.”

They both
looked at me as if that wasn’t the real point. I settled back in my chair and
listened for Noah’s explanation.

Noah looked
puzzled for a moment and continued, “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t French, was it?”

Rachel
straightened in her seat and leaned in even closer. Still speaking low enough
that others couldn’t hear her, she said, “Let me try another language.” She
cleared her throat. “Was wir in der klasse sind im moment?”

And without
skipping a beat, Noah responded, “You asked me what class we were in.” Noah
looked confused. “In German.”

They both
looked equally surprised. I tried to keep my mouth closed as I looked from one
to the other. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Noah is
gifted,” is all she said, and then the bell rang and she got up and bolted out
the door.

Noah and I sat
for a few minutes in amazement. He finally looked at me and said, “Is there
something wrong with me? Am I a freak?”

“Apparently,”
I teased, although I was beginning to question it myself. “But if it makes you
feel any better, so is she.”

As the next
class began filtering in, we gathered our books and moved on in silence.

Next period, I
found myself
daydreaming in science class when an announcement came over the PA system. I
was still trying to process everything that had happened in French class and
trying to figure out when Noah would have learned those other languages and why
he didn’t tell me about it. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the
announcement until I heard my name.

“. . . Jacob
Rovert to the office, please.”

Crap!
I figured it
was only a matter of time before I had to own up to the dent in the classroom
door. I gathered my books and headed toward the principal’s office—a route I
knew too well—and caught up to Noah who was coming from biology class.

“What do you
think this is about?” He sounded confused.

“They called
you too?” I shook my head. “I thought it was about me hitting the door in Mr. Meade’s
class, but you weren’t even there for that, so I don’t know.”

The secretary
ushered us into Ms. Peters' office, making some sort of humorous comment about
it being nice to see us again. I quickly noticed Rachel sitting on the window
ledge in the back corner. She had an amused expression on her face, which
confused me even more.

“Boys, come in
and sit down.” Ms. Peters wore an inviting smile and she seemed quite relaxed.
I got the feeling it wasn’t going to be a bad meeting.

“What is this
about?” Noah asked as he turned to look at Rachel who was now smirking
deceptively. Odd girl. Pretty, but odd girl.

“Well, you
both know Rachel Riley,” Ms. Peters said in a soft, low voice as she motioned
toward Rachel.

We nodded in
unison.

“Rachel has
come to me with a very interesting theory.” She paused to pour herself a glass
of water. “Rachel believes you are both gifted.” Ms. Peters looked up to assess
our reactions. Silence. “Noah, I understand you have the ability to understand
foreign languages?”

Noah
straightened in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, apparently I can understand
French, Italian and German . . . and English, of course.”

“Anda dapat memahami
saya sekarang?” she questioned him in a language I had definitely never heard before.

“You asked me
if I could understand what you were just saying, in Indonesian. And I have
no
idea how I know that.” Noah’s voice was shaking and I could see the beads of perspiration
forming on his forehead.

“Excellent.
Very good,” Ms. Peters commended before turning to me. “And Jake, Rachel tells
me that you are a fast healer. No scars anywhere?”