Wicked Cries (The Wicked Cries Series Book 1) by Michelle Areaux

Author:Michelle Areaux [Areaux, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
Published: 2020-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The loud, wrathful voice came across the loudspeaker, interrupting my Geometry teacher's explanation of linear lines: "Noah Bufford to the principal’s office, immediately." I glanced up, pencil in hand, to see Noah grinning mischievously as he walked out the door. He'd slid his pencil behind his right ear, and had his black binder wedged tightly against his hip. My teacher shot him a slight smile on his way out, knowing he'd probably been caught in another of his ignoramus schemes. Students whispered and giggled as he left.

Noah didn't return to class.

I searched for him later that afternoon, wondering why he'd missed both Language Arts and lunch. Lucy met up with me and told me the latest gossip buzzing about the school. Each student, it seemed, had woven their own dramatic interpretation as to why Noah had been called to the office. I heard everything from that he'd painted his name across the football field, to the principal finding a bomb in his locker. We laughed off each scenario, as we walked together to the gym.

"There she is: the loser who's dating Noah." Melinda and her Melindanites were huddled near her locker, snickering as Melinda voiced her nasty comments. The bitter hatred she conjured up for me seemed to seep through her pores and spill out to form a puddle around her spanking new Coach tennis shoes. "They really do make a cute couple, don’t they? It must be fate‒that or the ugly angel bringing those two nerds together." Her cackling laugh filled the air, leaving me with a bitter aftertaste.

I ignored her comments, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I wanted her to know that I'd heard her and that I detested her just as much as she did me but didn’t want to rip her perfectly made-up face off, at least, not that day‒I tabled it for a later agenda.

My eyes opened the next morning to a burning sun, shining directly onto my face. Irritated, I threw my hands over my eyes, trying to avoid the penetrating light. I groaned at the idea of waking. It was too warm and comfortable in my soft, cushy bed, I couldn't resist laying there a moment longer before turning to look at my alarm clock.

It was six fifteen in the morning. I could hear the clattering of dishes downstairs, in the kitchen, and hurried to get ready for school. I gathered my bathroom necessities and rushed off to take a shower. After I'd dried my hair and put on an oversized, black sweatshirt over a pair of jeans, I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen to find my dad, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. I walked over to him and hugged him around his neck, taking in his aftershave and hair gel. It was the same, strongly masculine smell he'd always worn.

He patted my arm and wished me good morning.

I grabbed a small mug from the cupboard and poured myself a cup of steamy, black coffee.

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