She froze in fear, not daring to run into the living room.
Sylvan Cheney glanced at her coldly, "You decide to come back?"
"I didn't get into a fight, I didn't slack off. I only fell into the water...by accident," Jasmine Yale hastily explained.
Without even thinking about it, she knew she was a mess. Her clothes, shoes, and hair were all dirty.
"Didn't attend your study class today?" Sylvan Cheney asked sternly, with a stormy look on his face.
"I did."
She giggled, but wore an uncomfortable smile, embarrassingly awkward.
It was strange that Mr. Cheney suddenly took an interest in her, it felt like a weasel paying a New Year's visit to a chicken.
No, that analogy wasn't quite right; she wasn't a chicken.
Nor was there any weasel as handsome as Sylvan Cheney.
This man, impeccably dressed in a suit and seated on the couch, was lean and handsome, really a sight for sore eyes.
At that time, she was already sixteen, and had developed feelings for Sylvan Cheney.
