A Proscriptive Relationship

by Jordan Lynde

  “What?” he answered, sounding unexplainably irritated. “No. I don’t care. I’m busy . . . No. Do it yourself. I told you no. You can’t always count on me; I’m a teacher now. No! I’m hanging up, goodbye.” He snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, looking annoyed. He noticed me staring and narrowed his eyes. “What? Get back to work.”

  “Yes, sir!” I responded quickly, turning around and sawing through the next box. In my rush, I accidentally missed the tape and ended up slicing myself. I hissed in pain and shook my hand.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I responded, smiling at him, holding my hand behind my back, and starting to saw the box open with one hand. Seconds later a hand captured my wrist and held it still. I looked up to see Mr. Heywood tearing off a piece of bandage with his teeth. I stayed silent as he wrapped the bandage around my hand, sealing off my cut. He wrapped it with medical tape and let go of my hand.

  “Um, thanks,” I said as he put the bandage back into what looked like a first aid kit.

  “Be more careful,” he warned, stuffing the box back in a cabinet. “You can stop with the boxes for today. Show me where the stuff in the classroom goes.”

  I nodded, setting down the knife and grabbing some of the stuff that belonged in the classroom. Surprisingly, Mr. Heywood grabbed the rest of the stuff for me and helped me carry it. I told him where everything went, and he actually helped me put it away. I was slightly impressed. After all, he had been slacking for the first hour.

  “Well that’s everything,” I said when I put the last beakers away. “Is that all you need help with?”

  Mr. Heywood nodded. “For now.”

  “What do you mean, for now?”

  “I’m going to make you a deal,” he started. “I’m going to let you keep your stuff in my room before you go to lunch that way you won’t ever be late, but you have to help me after school when I need it.”

  “No way,” I responded without hesitation. I could make it fine as long as I put my tray away in time.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I should rephrase that. It’s not a deal. You have to do it.”

  “No,” I repeated.

  “In that case . . .” Mr. Heywood pulled out his cell phone and came towards me. I backed up until I was backed up against the whiteboard. He smirked and held up his cell phone.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “This.”

  Before I realized what was happening, his face was only inches away from mine. My heart stopped. Why was he so close? Was he going to kiss me—wait, did I want him to kiss me? No, that wasn’t a good thought. I opened my mouth to tell him to get away, but he brought up his hand, placing two fingers on my lips. Confused, I blinked at him. He grinned a little, before kissing his fingers and snapping a picture. After a few seconds he pulled away and I furrowed my eyebrows. “What?”

  He held up his phone. On the screen was a picture of him and me kissing. Well, no, we weren’t kissing, but it looked like we were. I stared at it with my mouth open.

  “Blackmail,” he stated. “Now if you don’t help me, I can spread this picture around.”

  This guy really was unbelievable. But I couldn’t let that photo get out. I knew he would get fired and I would get in trouble. I cursed my personality. Why had I been born so kind?

  “You can go home now,” Mr. Heywood told me, a smirk still on his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes,” I responded through gritted teeth.

  “You want a ride?”

  “No, thank you.”

  I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, scurrying out of the room. Once I was out, I stopped in the hall, making sure no one was around before touching my lips again. My face felt warm. To think that guy could have taken my first kiss . . . and I’d almost wanted him to. I really needed to get over this mystery-man infatuation.

  LESSON FIVE

  “It’s not that funny,” I growled, slamming a box down on the counter in the biology equipment room three days later, when I was hailed back to help him after class yet again. Although I complained, he really looked helpless when he couldn’t find things during class, so I took pity on him and didn’t fight helping him out too much.

  “You’re a senior, but you haven’t even been kissed?” Mr. Heywood asked laughing so hard he was out of breath. “You haven’t had your first kiss and you’re a senior?”

  I felt myself blushing and I looked at the ground. “I mean I’ve done quick pecks and stuff, just nothing, you know . . .”

  He started snickering again. “How many boyfriends have you had?”

  “Three,” I responded, frowning deeper.

  “Only three?”

  “What about it?” I demanded, glaring angrily at him. “I can’t help it if guys don’t like me!”

  Mr. Heywood looked surprised for a second, and then he frowned. “You’re mistaken. I think a lot of guys like you.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him. “How would you know? This is only your fifth day here.”

  “When you’re a young teacher, people tell you stuff,” he responded with a shrug. “For example, your friend Sadie is going to be asked out today.”

  “What?” I gasped. “By who?”

  “Some kid named Sam.”

  “I knew he liked her!” I responded, slamming my fist down into my hand. “It was only a matter of time!”

  “Yeah, like for your first kiss,” Mr. Heywood snorted once more.

  “Oh, will you drop it!” I snapped, unpacking the box that I had just placed on the counter. “How’d you even find out about that anyway?”

  “Your friend, Casey.”

  That little traitor. With unnecessary force, I ripped the tape off the next box.

  “I’m going to go get a drink, do you want something?” Mr. Heywood asked, hopping down from the counter.

  “I don’t have any money,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “It’s on me.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t be so shocked, you make me feel like a mean person,” he responded with a sigh.

  “You are though,” I pointed out.

  “I know.”

  “Bottle of water. Now go,” I demanded, irritated again.

  He left the room, and I continued to unpack in silence. There were only a few more boxes left to unpack. I’d probably finish today. If I finished, did that mean I was done helping him after school? For some reason, that thought made my stomach turn a little. Why was I sad about it?

  I shook the thought away and continued unpacking. After my third box I frowned. How long did it take Mr. Heywood to go get drinks? I started on my fourth box and was halfway through when he walked in, carrying a coke and a bottle of water. He set them both down on the counter and ran a hand through his hair. “Jeez,” he muttered, pushing himself onto the counter.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I ran into some girls at the vending machine,” he explained, taking his Coke and opening it. “It took forever to get away from them.”

  “Why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to talk?”

  Mr. Heywood gave me a flat look. I realized why he couldn’t do that. He was the “nice, handsome, young, amazing” new teacher. He couldn’t ruin his image. I grumbled as I grabbed my water. Why was it only me he was himself with?

  “Thanks.” I opened it and took a long drink, letting the cold liquid run down my throat.

  “Call me Chris outside of class,” he ordered, setting down his Coke. “It’s weird being called Mr. Heywood when school’s over.”

  “Um, sure.” After about a half hour, I finally finished the last box. I turned to Mr. Heywood, chewing on my bottom lip. “Mr. Heywood—er, Chris?”

  He looked at me, opening his mouth to speak, but suddenly his phone went off. He placed the magazine he was reading down and held up a finger to me. He pulled out his phone and looked at it. A scowl appeared on his face and he flipped the phone open, putting it t
o his ear.

  “What now?” he demanded into the receiver. “How many times do I have to tell you no? No! I said I don’t care, and I really don’t care. Yeah. Do what you want, but leave me out of it. Go ahead. Whatever. Bye.” He snapped the phone shut and glowered at it for a moment before tossing it onto the counter.

  “Was that the same person from a few days ago?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” Mr. Heywood responded with a shrug. “What did you want?”

  “Oh, um, all the boxes are unpacked and put away,” I told him, gesturing to all the empty boxes behind me.

  “Oh. Well I guess you can go home for today,” Mr. Heywood responded, looking slightly surprised, and a little disappointed. “That took less time than I expected.”

  I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t I frowned. Was this really it? Was I off the hook now? No more chores from him? I didn’t know why, but not only did I feel disheartened, but I actually felt a little bit lonely. I hesitated by the counter, taking my time finishing my water so I didn’t have to leave.

  It was much more fun to be here than to be at my house by myself since my mom didn’t come home until late due to her work. If I was here helping out Mr. Heywood, I actually had someone to talk to and interact with, even if it was just orders, and being made fun of.

  When my water was gone I sighed and threw the bottle into the recycling. I stooped down and picked up my school bag, lingering. I pretended to be interested in a poster on the wall. After a few minutes I heard the jingle of car keys. I turned to see Mr. Heywood holding them out to me.

  “Want a ride home?”

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  It was sort of awkward sitting in Mr. Heywood’s car. He had a pretty fancy BMW. It made me wonder how he could afford it. I didn’t say anything though. I knew better than that. I sat in the passenger seat with my hands in my lap, staring straight ahead.

  “Do you mind if I stop for gas?” he asked, quickly glancing at me.

  “No,” I responded quickly.

  He looked over at me suspiciously. I regretted answering so quickly. He probably thought I liked him or something now.

  “I, er, don’t really want to go home yet,” I explained, fiddling with my fingers. “No one is ever home, so it’s boring, you know?”

  “I see,” Mr. Heywood responded, his eyes on the road again. “Where are your parents?”

  “My dad died about two years ago,” I said, looking out the window. “Some car hit and killed him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What about your mom?”

  “She’s alive,” I told him. “And she works her butt off to support the two of us. She’s got this crazy idea in her head that I need to live in a big house and wear brand name clothing like all the kids at school. But I don’t really like taking money from my mom. It feels weird.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mr. Heywood responded.

  I stared curiously at him. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I never had a good relationship with my parents. It was always weird asking them for money. I felt like a moocher or something since I never really saw them.”

  I realized he was speaking in past tense. “They’re dead?”

  He nodded. “Both of them died in a car crash . . . about two years ago,” he started slowly. “They hit a man in the street, and my dad, who was driving, veered to the right, straight into a telephone pole which killed them both.”

  My mouth went dry. I remembered my mom telling me that the couple in the car that had hit my dad had died as well. I swallowed, licking my lips. Did this mean what I thought it meant? “April,” I started, my voice coming out quiet and unsure.

  “Eleventh? Yeah,” he responded, confirming my thoughts.

  His parents really did kill my dad.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized out loud, hanging my head in shame. “I’m sorry, Mr. Heywood, I just thought something really bad.”

  He chuckled. “I said call me Chris. And I’m sure I just had the same thought as you.”

  “Your parents killed my dad?” I whispered, staring at him.

  “Your dad killed my parents,” he responded, rolling his eyes. “But I promise you that’s not what I think. The thought just popped into my head.”

  “Same with me!” I told him quickly. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s weird though,” I said, looking out the window again. “When I thought about the other two people in the car crash, I never thought about if they had a kid or anything. I just thought ‘those people killed my dad.’”

  “That is what’s normal to think,” Mr. Heywood responded. “I thought the same thing. I never thought about you or your mom. It’s in the human nature only to think of yourself.”

  “I still feel guilty.”

  Mr. Heywood raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re an interesting person, you know?”

  “Why do you think that?” I responded, staring at him.

  He chuckled. “No reason.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “It’s a small world, no?” he suddenly said, his lips twitching.

  For some reason, it sounded like Mr. Heywood had a double meaning to his words. Some kind of inside joke only he got. I pushed the thought aside and nodded in agreement, glad for the change of subject. “Yeah.”

  I stared at him thoughtfully. So he had gone through the same grievance as I did as the same time I did. Except while I only lost one parent, he had lost both of his. I couldn’t imagine what I had gone through being doubled. The thought of losing my mom was horrible. But losing both my parents at the same time? I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mr. Heywood had been through. To my surprise, tears were starting to form in my eyes. I tired to subtly wipe them away.

  “What’s wrong?” Mr. Heywood asked, glancing over at me.

  I blushed, embarrassed I had been caught. “Nothing, I was just thinking . . .”

  He smiled gently at me. “It’s all in the past now, so don’t worry, okay?”

  What was that a real smile? I took a mental picture of it, because I doubted I would ever see it again. Mr. Heywood noticed me gawking and smirked.

  “Ah, I knew you would fall for my good looks.”

  “Who did?” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  He pulled into the gas station and pulled up next to a pump. He turned off the car and waited, staring at me expectedly. I returned his gaze with a confused look.

  “What?” I finally asked.

  “Go pump my gas.”

  “What? No!”

  A minute later I was out of the car and pumping the gas while rubbing at my arm, where a bruise was sure to appear later. That guy was pushy. But somehow I was relieved that we had managed to stray away from the awkwardness of finding out how our parents were connected. If it was anyone else, I’m sure it would have been awkward. But I was very glad it was Mr. Heywood.

  When I finished pumping the gas I got back into the car and Mr. Heywood pulled out of the station. We were silent on the way back, arguing slightly at a dumb comment every now and again. When we pulled up at my house I got out of the car and leaned over before shutting door.

  “Well, it’s been fun working for you after school,” I said, trying to sound sarcastic, even though it was the truth for me. “I might even miss it.”

  “What are you talking about?” he replied, leaning over the seat to look at me. “This is just the beginning.”

  With that, he shut the door and with a small wave, began driving away from me. I waved after him for a moment, a smile slowly spreading onto my face. He was right. It was just the beginning.

  LESSON SIX

  “That’s intense,” Lance commented the next day, sitting on my computer chair, mindlessly tapping a pen against his shoe after I’d told both him and Casey about how my parents and Mr. Heywood’s parents were related.

  “You and Mr. Heywood meeting is like, f
ate, Holly!” Casey cried, staring at me with wide eyes. “You being the daughter of the man his parents killed and everything. It’s like a movie! He’ll feel like he has to take care of you because he’s a man while you’re only just a young lady. A romance will bud!”

  “You’re reading into this way too much, Casey,” I responded, grinning at her crazy idea. “But it is a coincidence.”

  “I’ll say,” she said, nearly shaking with excitement.

  “Why exactly were you alone in his car with him again?” Lance asked, frowning at me.

  I sighed. “It’s not what you think, Lance. He was just bringing me home because I helped him after school as my punishment for being late.”

  “But it was the second day of school! Why should you be punished for being late?”

  “Calm down, Lance,” Casey responded before I could. “This is a good thing for Holly. He’s an attractive, experienced young man, and she’s a cute, young lady who is still a virgin. He could help her.”

  “Casey!” I cried, my face growing red.

  “You—” Lance growled, scowling at her.

  Casey laughed. “Chill guys, I was just joking.”

  I shook my head, but couldn’t help a smile from slipping onto my lips. Casey grinned at me shamelessly.

  “I still don’t think it’s fair he is punishing you,” Lance stated stubbornly, crossing his arms.

  I shrugged. “Well, it’s over now.”

  “I just don’t like how you had to help that guy after school,” Lance continued, still looking irritated. “He was using you.”

  “Are you jealous?” Casey teased.

  “No,” Lance snapped, “but what if Holly wants to hang out with friends?”

  “I’m sure he’d have let me hang out with friends,” I told Lance.

  “Still . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Casey chirped, getting off my bed. “The fair is today, so let’s look forward to that! And who knows, maybe Mr. Heywood will be there, Holly.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Why does that matter?”