Free ARC: Crushed by Eliza Crewe Page B

the limits of her abilities.” He stresses the word limits.
    “She has no limits,” I snap at him. “Dammit, Jo, climb up .”
    The laughter gets a little louder at the ridiculousness of the situation.
    The professor steps in. “Miss Porter, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    I turn on him. “It’s Miss Melange ,” I glower. “And make me.”
    The class gasps, and I hear Jo’s horrified “Meda!” above them all.
    The professor and I stare at each other as he considers my challenge. Then he says to Jo, without taking his eyes off me. “It’s alright, Miss Beauregard. If you would like to quit, you may come down.”
    Quit. Jo’s no quitter.
    To my horror she slides down without a word. She lands heavily at the bottom and stumbles a little, her weak leg giving out, and she grabs the rope for support. Someone snickers, but someone else, to their credit, elbows them in the gut before I figure out who. Jo sticks up her chin but doesn’t make eye contact with any of the students. She looks only to professor Keller when she says, “Permission to go to the infirmary, sir?”
    “Of course.” His voice is not without sympathy.
    Jo stumbles again as she turns and I duck forward to take her arm, but she jerks it away. “I told you to stay out of it, Meda.”
    I hear a few more snickers as Jo limps off, and I whip around. Professor Keller steps between me and the rest of the assholish student body, filling my view. I try to look around him and he reaches out an arm as if to stop me. I snarl, finally looking at him. He doesn’t back down, but he does drop his arm. I turn on my heel and stalk out.
     
    Thanks to my early exit, I’m early to Western Civ. I drop into my seat in the empty classroom and glare stonily at the chalkboard (yes, chalk, none of those fancy-pantsy dry-erase boards here!) until the bell sounds (yes, a real, old-school bell), and the room starts to fill up.
    A sly voice slithers into my pissy contemplations.
    “Hey, Meda.”
    My hands tighten on my pencil. Of the mountain of people whose shit I’m not currently equipped to take, Isaiah is at the top. “Not now, Isaiah,” I growl, without looking at him. It’s a struggle not to kill him when I’m in a good mood.
    I am not in a good mood.
    I hear a chair slide as he pulls it over and sits facing me. His tone drips sweet-and-low sympathy – overly sweet and entirely fake. “Having a bad day?”
    Even though he’s not in S and C with us, it’s pretty obvious he heard what happened. Not surprising. Scientists looking to break the light-speed barrier should study the speed of gossip in small-town high schools.
    If Isaiah were clever, he’d know that now is a dangerous time to antagonize me, but I’m fairly certain no one has ever accused Isaiah of being clever.
    He keeps talking. “In S and C, perhaps?”
    The pencil snaps in my hands, I picture his spine. Be good, Meda. You promised. “Not now, Isaiah,” I repeat, keeping my eyes carefully on the chalkboard on the front of the room.
    “I think now’s perfect.” His tone oozes with smugness. “I heard your pussy, demon-loving friend’s finally dropping out.”
    Beeeee gooood, the annoying words buzz.
    “You heard wrong,” I bite out.
    “I don’t think so,” he says, and I don’t turn my head. I can tell by his voice he’s smirking and if I see it, I will rip it off his face. “I heard she wussed out on the rope climb. Dangled there like a six year-old crying for her mama.”
    I tense, seething. He’ll be the one crying for his mama after I…
    Good, the word stings.
    He slides closer so he’s talking nearly into my ear. His voice lowers. Not low enough that everyone avidly listening can’t hear, just enough so it rumbles out nastily. “That incompetent bitch is gonna get someone killed.”
    “Keep talking, and you’re going to get someone killed.” It just slipped out!
    He doesn’t listen. “I heard that Chi wants to ditch her but he can’t.”
    This is a new