Unscripted by Jayne Denker

Author:Jayne Denker [Denker, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: QuarkXPress, ebook, epub
ISBN: 9781601830845
Amazon: B00BTG44M4
Publisher: eKensington
Published: 2013-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

I was on time for class the next day. I looked like I’d been run over on the way there, but I was on time. I knew I wasn’t looking my best when I walked into class and the students who were there already halted their conversations and stared at me, open-mouthed.

Mason bustled in, put his messenger bag on the desk chair, and said, “’Morning, everyone. And Ms. Sinclair, nice to—” Then he stopped dead and stared as openly as the kids. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I growled. Sleepless, jumpy, with a tic in my left eyelid, and starving to boot, since I had no money for food and didn’t have time to find an ATM in my mad rush to get out of the ghetto that was my new neighborhood, but otherwise, just dandy.

“I dunno, Ms. Sinclair,” Elias said, shaking his head worriedly. “You look like you partied pretty hard last night.”

If only, I thought. “Thank you, Elias,” I muttered. “Your concern is noted.”

“No, really,” Brandon pressed. “What happened?”

Mason recovered from his shock and got all professor-y again. “I’m sure that’s Ms. Sinclair’s business, not ours—”

But I didn’t want the class to think I was some idiot addicted to the sort of substance that sent my buddy on the motel office sofa into orbit, plus I wanted to get a dig in at Mr. Professor Mason Mitchell, so I blurted out, “I took Professor Mitchell’s advice and decided to stay in the area, so I could be close to school.” I hesitated for a dramatic beat before dropping the bomb. “So I got a room at the Super Duper Nine Motor Court.”

Trina walked in at that moment; at my news, she let her book bag slide to the floor with a thud. “Seriously?!”

I nodded, perversely pleased at the horrified looks on everyone’s faces.

“Ms. Sinclair, that’s messed up.”

“I have since found that out, Trina.”

“No, really, you can’t stay there.”

“Every other hotel was booked.”

“Well shit, you can stay on the couch in my dorm suite. My roommates won’t mind.”

Dear God, what a choice—crashing on a couch or staying in a fleabag motel. “Thanks, Trina, really, but I’ll be fine—”

“My cousin got rolled in that parking lot, Ms. Sinclair. You sowill not be fine,” Elias said.

“I can handle it.” I didn’t tell them that I’d gotten about three hours of sleep, total, the entire night, and that wasn’t about to change if I continued to stay there. Between freezing—I slept on top of the bed, as there was no way I was getting between those sheets—and being jolted awake repeatedly by slamming doors, thuds coming from the other side of the adjoining wall, an ongoing screaming match in the parking lot between a resident and his, er, evening companion of the female persuasion, and, yes, the regularly scheduled rumbling of the ice machine, the absolute last thing I intended to do was spend one more minute at the Super Duper Nine.

But I wasn’t going to tell them that right now, because I was enjoying the look of remorse on Mason’s face as I lapped up the kids’ sympathy.

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