**AUTHOR'S NOTE: All my apologies for how long this chapter took-work and weather have combined to make a powerful writer's enemy. Anyway, also I apologize for calling football soccer in the last chapter-I made a conscious decision not to do that… and then apparently forgot all about it. Old habits die hard. Happy reading!**
CHAPTER FIVE- Coming to a Decision
"You got in his car."
Gen didn't care to count how many times she'd heard Connor utter those same words over the course of the day. "Not helping, Connor," she grated out between her teeth, staring balefully at the sandwich in front of her. She wasn't in the least bit hungry, and hadn't been since she'd seen that envy-green machine sitting in front of her house that morning.
Connor reached over to pick at Gen's food and chewed thoughtfully. "You rode to school with Drake Mallory," he said slowly. At Gen's murderous look, he held up a hand. "Not finished, don't disembowel me just yet." He looked pensive, nibbling on a corner of what had, until moments before been her sandwich. "And you actually defaced his precious vehicle. I think I could safely write it up for the student paper, have you crowned princess of our class."
Annoyed-and guiltier than she cared to admit-Gen shot Connor a warning look. "Not a word of it, Con. Not a single bloody word. You're my best friend, not one of those trash reporters."
"Not yet," he rejoined smugly. While a small part of him was jealous for Gen's attentions, a large part of him was frankly fascinated; he'd never seen anyone ruffle her feathers quite as effectively as Drake Mallory had. It would be interesting to know what exactly made her care what the rebellious wealth-monger thought.
"I have to tutor that bullying toerag after sessions, you know," she said mournfully. He'd kill her. Or get her suspended. Or-and the last thought that occurred to her was by far the most horrific-he'd somehow tell her parents.
But she managed to snort a laugh at that notion-the idea of a Mallory, any Mallory, contacting the Wesleys… well, it was simply ridiculous.
"You know," another voice joined the conversation, this one dreamy and only half-attentive. "He'd be quite handsome if it weren't for that scowl and those clothes and the attitude…" Lucia Lovejoy trailed off and frowned as she sat beside Connor, a whole pineapple in one hand and a plastic fork in the other. "Hm. I suppose I've nearly named everything, haven't I?"
"Lovey!" Connor jostled the willowy blonde next to him in greeting, causing her to stare at him thoughtfully. After a moment's observation, she turned back to Gen.
"Hello, Genevieve," she said kindly, already looking as though she'd forgotten what she was going to say, her blue eyes a bit unfocused under down-drawn pale brows.
"Lovey," Gen said, trying not to smirk as she addressed the girl by her nickname. Sometimes she wondered how, exactly, the young woman didn't get bullied more than all the rest of them combined. She suspected Lucia's weirdness made people a bit afraid to bother her. "Don't tell me you're here to get a scoop for the school rag, too?"
Lucia's eyes did clear then, and she smiled prettily at Gen. "Of course not. I'm reporting on Robert."
"My brother?" Gen asked incredulously. "You'll never get anything useful from him. An interview with him would make nearly as much sense as two rocks banging together."
"Less, I warrant," Connor laughed.
"My father says Drake Mallory's father is a thief," Lucia stated matter-of-factly. "I wonder if that car is stolen."
Disgusted with the conversational pivot back to the topic of Drake, Gen rolled her eyes and tossed the remainder of her sandwich on Connor's plate. "I've things to do before class," she said, trying to keep her voice gentle despite her annoyance. She stood and gathered her things, walking across the commissary without a backward glance.
"Hm," Lucia said thoughtfully, seeming to turn her attention to her pineapple. "I believe Genevieve seems a bit stressed."
Connor's eyes switched from the retreating Gen to the small knot of hoods sitting in the corner, flanking none other than Mallory himself. "I couldn't imagine why," he said dryly.
~~~
She told herself it was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do. After all, it could hardly be intelligent-or healthy-for her to continue coddling that spoiled horse's arse, "tutoring" him and listening to him prattle on about money as though it were the only thing in the world worth commenting on.
No, Gen told herself, shoving her last schoolbook into her bag and mentally running over the day's assignments, there really wasn't any point in that at all. When asked about the progression of her punishment, she would merely tell Headmaster Dunmore that things simply hadn't worked out and she'd gladly take another form of punishment.
It had nothing to do with fear of retribution at her actions of that morning, Gen insisted in her mind.
Nothing at all.
And it felt nice, really, to walk down the hallway knowing good and well she was supposed to be somewhere else. It sort of felt gratifying to skive off her punishment.
"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you repugnant, destitute wretch?" Drake stepped to her side, slamming a hand into the hallway wall just in front of her, effectively stopping her progress. "You've an appointment, or did you forget?" He'd been stewing over it all day, and a small, masochistic part of him had been looking forward to their meeting after school.
And then she hadn't shown up, the yellow-bellied, penniless bint.
"I don't believe any part of my punishment involved getting harassed morning, noon, and night, Mallory," Gen retorted, her chin automatically jutting up defensively. It did no good to show fear. That only made things worse.
But there was a look in his eyes, wild and angry, that sent a tiny shiver of apprehension up her spine.
"I didn't ask for your help, Wesley, but it appears I've been saddled with it," Drake retorted, plucking a cigarette from his shirt pocket and clamping it in his teeth. His head was a roaring mass of aching nerves and had been ever since his history professor had taken him aside and first very gently asked him if he'd cheated on his homework, then insisted repeatedly how wonderful it was that he was getting help from that lovely Gen Wesley.
He couldn't help but want to blame Genevieve Wesley. After all, if he'd just not done the assignment, or better yet, not shown up to class at all, he'd never have gotten the interrogation. His jaw had been clenched ever since, creating a wonderfully unceasing headache.
And it was all her fault, the absentee coward.
"Harassed?" he repeated with a snort, taking his hand from the wall to light the cigarette, arching an eyebrow at her in an expression that spoke clearly of the expectation she would not move.
He needn't have worried; Gen wasn't about to back down from this particular argument. She couldn't help it, something about the bastard just brought out the worst in her. And besides, it would have been a horrifying slight to the Wesley name-and all her brothers-if she'd ran away from a direct confrontation.
"I'll have you remember you're the one who destroyed my property," Drake said, blowing out a thin stream of smoke and wincing against the sharp pain needling behind his eyes.
Pain in the arse? More like pain in the brain.
"Even one of those car seats is worth more than you are, Wesley," he said nastily, watching her blanch at his statement. Reveling in her shame, he sneered. "In fact, I'd wager one of those seats is worth more than your whole house."
"I'd just love to know what in the hell you're doing talking to my sister, you slimy git."
Gen groaned and let her head drop back with a thunk against the wall. Rob was already in his football gear, his cleats open and trailing laces all over the floor. His red hair was a right mess, looking as though he hadn't bothered to straighten at all after pulling on the practice jersey with the bright gold "C" for Captain stitched to the breast.
Not for the first time in the past two days, Gen found herself faced with a choice, and none of her options looked particularly good to her.
She could tell Rob the whole truth, part of the truth, or lie outright and let him attempt to pummel the snot out of Mallory.
Though the last sounded quite wonderful indeed, Gen cast a disparaging eye at her beloved brother's untied shoes and heaved a sigh.
"Stop, Rob," she said, stepping forward and between the two young men, who were now exchanging glares laced with ridiculous amounts of testosterone. "It's fine."
"I hardly think it's fine, Gen," Rob exploded, not taking his eyes off the rodenty, sharp-faced ponce in front of him. "Why's he bothering you?"
"Oh-ho, that's rich," Drake said, snickering. "Not only am I harassing beloved baby sister, but I'm also going to get my arse kicked by an addle-brained athlete who can't even fasten his shoes. Surely, Wesley, they can find some cleats that don't require any motor skills to put on."
"Stop!" Gen said, shooting an accusatory look at Drake and then returning her gaze to her brother.
Partial truth it was.
"Listen, Rob, I've been assigned to tutor him," Gen said urgently. "I got in a spot of trouble last week, let my temper get away with me. It's only a temporary punishment, Rob." Gen laid a hand on her brother's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles beneath the jersey, knowing full well he was about to try and pounce on Mallory. Thinking fast, and thinking of his welfare, she added, "You don't want to lose your temper, too. You'll be removed from the team."
The muscles in Rob's jaw fluttered, and his bright blue eyes narrowed behind the shocks of red hair that had fallen into them. "I don't like this," he stated, knowing that much was obvious. He liked to think he avoided trouble at most turns of life-one trait which was rare for a Wesley-but he knew when a matter called for a little trouble.
A Mallory messing with his little sister definitely smelled like trouble.
But she had looked to be handling the situation competently enough, and that begging note in her voice already had him backing down. It was hard to say no to the girl who'd grown up being both an enemy and a best friend, his ally and his adversary.
But even knowing it was what she wanted didn't make stomaching that smirk on Mallory's face any easier. So, at a loss for what else to do, Rob pointed a finger in Drake's face and tried to look threatening despite his grubby warm-ups and untied shoes. "You don't want to be crossing her or me, Mallory. She'd chew you up before you'd even have time to squeal for Daddy, and I'd do it twice as fast," he concluded, pleased with his parting line.
He turned on his heel and walked away, choosing to ignore Drake snickering behind his back.
Gen bit her tongue, swallowing the curse word wanting to slip out as she eyed Drake balefully.
He looked at her with a sunny grin ill-suited to his features, the malice still showing through.
"Shame on you, Wesley. You told brother dearest there you were tutoring me. Guess that means you have to now." She'd so effectively boxed herself in, Drake thought, he hadn't even had to do any work.
"Shut your mouth, Mallory," Gen said, shoving away from the wall and heading toward the library.
She would be counting down the days until her punishment from hell was over.