Seven.
The new guy doesn't look up when I walk in. Cope doesn't let my attention linger, directing me to sit over by the window. The opposite side of the room.
"I've got a lot of marking to do today, so we should all be busy enough to keep our heads down, shouldn't we?"
I say yes, but he stays quiet. I get the impression he nodded as she returns the gesture and sets about destroying someone's work with slashes of her red pen.
He's out of my eyeline, and I'm not one to be obvious, so I get my file out and stare at the scribbles I've already collected. When I put my mind to it, words usually come easily, but I can't concentrate. There's no sounds of pen scratching or pages turning from his side of the room. No sighs or sniffs or movement at all.
I steal a glance and get a shock that his attention is fully on me. I let my eyes skip over him, to the clock, the door, the floor. Back to the paper.
He doesn't look bored. In fact, the opposite. He's studying me. I can feel it as if he's reaching out and touching the hair fallen over my face, my shoulder, my neck. I shiver and shift in my seat. Cope looks up. I look away.
Someone raps at the door. Mr. Dunn, my history teacher, sticks his head in and mouths something to Cope. Her chair scrapes back and she follows him outside, their shadows visible through the partly closed door as they talk.
"You should be more careful," comes a voice from across the room.
"Excuse me?" I exaggerate the effort it takes to turn around to look at him, tapping my pen on the wooden desk.
"I said, you should be more careful." He's slouched in his chair, arms crossed with boredom, which contradicts the intent look on his face.
"Is that a threat?"
A phantom smile crosses his lips. He dips his head to hide it. "Not at all." He wipes it off his face as he uncrosses his arms and leans forward to write, turning away from me.
I don't mean to say anything else, but his attitude is pissing me off. Also, I'm the kind of person who likes secrets, and he's bursting with them. "You should mind your own business."
Dark eyes snap back to me. "You're making that difficult."
"Why?"
He fixes me with a look that should be disinterested, but the weight of something else draws the space between his brows together. He doesn't voice whatever it is and I don't ask.
A decision I regret.