by Jordan Lynde
I gave him a questioning look. “Understand what?”
“If I was in Mr. Heywood’s position, I would also take the blame onto myself. And I guess it was a little out of line to actually punch him, so sorry about that too.”
“I forgive you for yelling, but you’ll have to tell Mr. Heywood himself that you’re sorry for punching him,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
Lance’s eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. “There is no way in hell that I will ever apologize to him!”
“Well, your apology to me won’t be accepted,” I responded stubbornly.
Lance scowled. “Why can’t you just accept it?”
“Because I’m not the one you punched!”
“But—”
“No buts,” I said quickly. “You will apologize for punching him. He could press charges you know.”
Lance scowled. “I know.”
“Make sure you apologize to him.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “If I do that, are we good? No hard feelings?”
I laughed, lightly punching him on his shoulder. “Lance, we are best friends. If there were ‘hard feelings’ over something like this, I’d be worried about our friendship.”
Lance grinned. “That’s true. And what would you do without a handsome man with a sexy British accent around?”
“Tell Mr. Heywood to talk in a British accent all the time,” I responded, smirking.
Lance shook his head. “I think I liked it better when I wasn’t positive that you liked him.”
“Wait,” I started, staring at Lance. “You said you already knew when you told me to admit it.”
Lance snorted. “How am I supposed to know, Holly? You didn’t tell me anything!”
I stared at him, my mouth open in shock. “So you lied?”
“I got you to admit it, didn’t I?”
“But still—”
“Mr. Heywood! What happened to you?” I heard Casey cry.
Lance looked over my shoulder, an amused expression on his face. I quickly turned around to see Casey staring at Mr. Heywood in shock—or more precisely, the bruise on his neck.
“I fell down the stairs,” Mr. Heywood told her.
Casey’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. She quickly looked over at Lance and myself, gesturing with her hands frantically. She pointed at Mr. Heywood, then at her cheek, and made some more frantic gestures.
I tried to hold in my laugh, but Casey’s face made it impossible. I burst out laughing, turning away from the pair. She came over to us, Mr. Heywood trailing behind her.
“Did you hear that? Mr. Heywood fell down the stairs too!” she told me, her eyes still wide.
I cleared my throat, glancing at Mr. Heywood. “What a coincidence,” I responded, faking shock.
“And you all have bruises.”
For one panic-stricken moment, I thought I saw suspicion flash across Casey’s face, but before I was positive, it was gone. I relaxed slightly. There was no way she could figure out what happened.
That thought brought guilt back to my gut. We were all lying to Casey now. Even though it was for her own good I felt awful about it. She had been my friend for so long . . . I shook my head. I’d rather lie to her and keep her safe, than tell her the truth and put her in danger.
“I’m going to class,” I heard Lance mutter. He turned to walk away, but then paused, spinning back around. “You,” Lance started, getting Mr. Heywood’s attention.
“Yes?” he responded politely.
“Sorry about yesterday,” Lance apologized, his voice hard and strained.
Shock passed across Mr. Heywood’s face. Lance turned and started hurrying towards the school building. Mr. Heywood turned to me, his eyebrows raised.
“What was that about?” Casey asked, looking after Lance.
“Yesterday he knocked into me at the grocery store and I dropped everything. It wasn’t a very big deal,” Mr. Heywood lied smoothly, smiling at Casey.
“Oh, I see,” Casey responded, tapping her chin.
“Casey!” a familiar voice called suddenly.
I looked up to see Willis hurrying towards Casey. She grinned and waved. “Hey!” she called back.
“Casey,” Willis panted again when he was closer. “I have to show you something. Come here!”
Casey grinned at him, shaking her head. Then she turned to Mr. Heywood and me. “Apparently I have to go see something, so I’ll see you two later.”
Before I could say anything, Willis grabbed Casey’s hand and started dragging her away, leaving me alone with Mr. Heywood. I did my best to avoid his gaze, staring at the ground as hard as I could. I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to look up.
What was I supposed to say? Should I apologize? Should I be mad? I didn’t know. I wanted to be mad. He had put all the blame on himself. But being mad about that made me feel like a jerk. He was only trying to help me.
“Holly, look at me.”
I looked at him. He was frowning at me. I slowly frowned back.
“I see you got home safely,” he commented.
I raised my eyebrows. That was the last thing I had expected him to say. I couldn’t help a smile from slipping onto my mouth. “Yeah, Jeremy’s a nice guy,” I told him.
He nodded. “I agree . . .”
There was an awkward silence again. I averted my gaze from him again.
“Holly, are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.”
He let out a relieved breath. “Good—”
“I’m irritated,” I continued, now turning to look at him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“Because! You put all the blame on yourself, Mr. Heywood!” I responded, clenching my fist. “That’s what caused Lance to punch you! You should have just said that it was my fault too!”
Mr. Heywood rolled his eyes. “Holly, get over yourself.”
I stared at him in shock, my face reddening. “Get over myself?”
He nodded, putting a hand on my head and ruffling my hair. “Like I said before, you’re a good girl.”
I stared at him in confusion. He wasn’t making any sense at all!
He chuckled at my expression. “Make sure you don’t have any plans after school for a while.”
I was about to tell him not to change the subject, but didn’t have the energy. “Why?” I responded with a sigh.
“You’ve got a lot of work ahead for you if you don’t want me to press charges against Lance. So I’ll see you after class today.”
Mr. Heywood smirked. I stared at him, stupefied. Before I could say anything, he turned and began walking towards the school building.
I scowled. That stupid, blackmailing devil of a teacher.
When I entered his classroom at the end of the day, he was sitting at his desk writing something down in his planner. I glanced around the room and my attention was drawn to the homework section on the bored. Getting a signed permission slip for a field trip was listed under my grade.
“What’s the field trip?” I asked, turning back to Mr. Heywood.
He stared at me curiously for a moment. “You don’t know? Oh, that’s right. You were out yesterday.”
“How do you know I was out? You were out too.”
“Attendance form,” he informed me, an amused smirk on his face.
“Oh,” I responded simply.
“There’s a class trip to the beach on Saturday,” Mr. Heywood started, going over to his desk. “I have a form somewhere if you want one. It’s a two-day trip.”
“I want one,” I told him quickly.
He frowned at me. “Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Never mind.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Thanks,” I responded, sticking it in my backpack.
“No problem, Holly.”
I turned back to the board and frowned. “Say, Mr. Heywood . . .”
“Chris,” h
e corrected me.
“Chris,” I said and rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you ever have a detention list on the board?”
He eyed me for a moment before shrugging. “I didn’t realize I had to have one.”
“You don’t, but most teachers do to remember who had a detention,” I responded, looking at his desk. “And I’ve also noticed that you don’t have any detention slips either.”
“They’re just in my drawer.”
I frowned deeper. “Come to think of it . . . I’ve never heard anyone say they’ve gotten a detention from you.” I looked at him curiously. “Why is that?”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I give detentions.”
“Yeah, to me,” I snorted. “But how come I’ve never heard anyone else say they have?”
“I don’t know.”
“The girls would surely gloat about it and the guys would complain . . . but ever since you started working here, no one has said anything about a detention with you.”
Mr. Heywood sighed and looked at me. “Why are you so interested?”
I shrugged. “No reason really. Just curious.”
He stayed quiet for a moment and I went over to the whiteboard, debating asking whether I should clean it for him or not. It didn’t seem like he had anything planned for me to do.
“I’m not allowed to have students serve detention with me,” Mr. Heywood said, breaking the silence.
I turned to look at him in surprise. “What? Why?”
He shrugged. “Can’t you figure it out? A young, extremely handsome, kind man like myself being alone in a room with a high schooler?”
I pursed my lips at his arrogance. “You’re a teacher. Nothing could happen since it’s illegal.”
“Mhm,” he responded, gaze locked on me.
I felt like what I had said had dampened his mood slightly, but before I could comment on it another thought popped into my head. I glared at him. “Hey, if you aren’t allowed to give out detentions, how come I got one the first week?”
This time his trademark smirk came onto his face. “I had a feeling you’d be a fun person to tease . . . and boy, was I right.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?”
He laughed. “And I take pleasure in the fact.”
I scowled at him. “Well, now I know that if you ever give me a detention again, I don’t have to go.”
“You’ll go anyways, though.”
Had he figured something out? Why would he make that comment? He must have mistaken my look for a confused one.
“Because it’ll be blackmail, of course,” he continued simply.
I gave him a flat look. “Don’t say such things so lightly.”
He laughed again, his unruly hair falling into his face. I was taken aback by his looks for a moment and forced myself to look away as a warm blush spread onto my face. I couldn’t check him out so blatantly! But he looked so young.
A silence settled in and I awkwardly played with my fingers while Mr. Heywood stared at me. I finally snapped my attention to him. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do?” I demanded, the silence getting to me.
“What do you mean?”
“Obviously you need me to do manual labor,” I responded. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have blackmailed me into coming.”
Mr. Heywood laughed. “I wouldn’t really call it blackmailing.”
I stared flatly at him. He grinned back.
“Whatever,” I responded, sighing deeply.
“Follow me,” Mr. Heywood said suddenly, beckoning me towards the supply room. “While we’re waiting for him, you can help me store today’s materials from the labs.”
“Him?” I echoed, following Mr. Heywood into the supply room.
“Wash out those test tubes,” he ordered, ignoring me completely.
I sighed, walking over to the sink where the test tubes were. Something hit me in the back of my head and I turned around to see Mr. Heywood nodding to the ground where a pair of gloves lay.
“Wear those just in case,” he suggested, before turning his back to me.
I looked at the test tubes warily before picking up the gloves and putting them on. “What chemicals were you using today?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I rolled my eyes, picking up one of the test tubes. If anything happened, at least I could sue him. The thought brought a smile to my face.
“You’re slow,” Mr. Heywood commented a few moments later, appearing at my side.
“Look, I’m going as fast as I can!” I snapped, raising the hand with the test tube in annoyance.
Water from the test tube sloshed out, going over my shoulder and into his face. I quickly turned around in shock to see him frowning at me, water dripping down his face.
“Sorry,” I apologized, trying not to laugh.
He rolled his eyes, wiping his face off with the back of his sleeve. “I need to go to the conference room for a minute. Stay here.”
“Okay,” I responded, turning back to the sink.
He ruffled my hair and chuckled to himself before exiting the classroom. I watched him go for a minute, trying to fix my hair with my forearm. Why did he do that? As if my hair didn’t look bad enough as it was without having him mess it up.
Hair mussing . . . that was like a brotherly gesture. Or a fatherly one. I froze, my mouth falling open slightly. Did Mr. Heywood think of me as a dad would his daughter? The thought made me sick, but it was possible.
I shook my head. That wasn’t it. That couldn’t possibly be it, and if it were, then I would change that.
Suddenly I felt a pair of arms encircle my waist. I jumped violently in surprise, dropping the test tube in my hand. It fell to the ground and smashed. I struggled for a moment, trying to release myself from the mystery person’s arms. The person holding me chuckled, not letting go of me.
“Did I surprise you?” a familiar voice asked.
“Jeremy?” I asked, turning my head and coming face to face with the blond man.
“Hi there,” he responded with a grin.
Jeremy turned me around, his strong arms still around my waist. I struggled for a moment until I realized I had no chance of escaping his grasp.
“Holly, what’s wrong. What smashed?” said Mr. Heywood appearing in the doorway, his eyes flashing around the room before landing on Jeremy.
“Oh, it’s just you.” he said, a frown on his face, but looking relieved. His eyes moved to Jeremy’s arms around my waist. “What are you doing?”
“Showing the love,” Jeremy responded, squeezing me.
“Hey,” I said, trying to get out of his grasp. “What love?”
“That’s cold,” Jeremy stated. “I thought last night meant something . . .”
“Let her go,” Mr. Heywood ordered, rolling his eyes. “I thought you weren’t ‘interested in high school girls’?”
Jeremy chuckled and released me. “Feelings change, you know.”
“In two days?”
“Maybe.”
Mr. Heywood rolled his eyes again. “Whatever. Holly, let’s go.”
“Let’s go?” I repeated, giving him a questioning look.
Mr. Heywood nodded. “Now that Jeremy’s here, we can get started.”
“With what?”
“Teaching you how to fight, obviously,” Jeremy responded for him, looking at me like I was the densest person on earth.
I stared back at him.
What?
LESSON fourteen
“Teaching me how to fight?” I said, a little stunned.
“That’s what I said . . . you aren’t that bright are you?” Jeremy responded.
I ignored him, turning to Mr. Heywood. “Why do I need to know how to fight?”
“In case something like the other night happens and for some reason I’m not there to save you,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to see you get seriously injured because of me.”
>
“I’m not sure if fighting them is the smartest idea, though,” I responded honestly. “Won’t it just give them more of a reason to come after me?”
Jeremy scoffed. “They have reason enough already. Didn’t you get into a mix with them twice already? You knowing Chris is enough for them.”
That’s what the guys from the other night had said about Lance too. What kind of people were these gangsters? Why did they hate Mr. Heywood so much?
“Mr. Heywood,” I started, looking up at him.
“Chris,” he corrected me.
“Chris,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “What exactly did you do to make them hate you so much?”
Mr. Heywood suddenly tensed, his fists tightening. “I told you already, didn’t I? I left the gang.”
“You said that’s not the only thing you did.”
“I don’t want to explain, now shut up about it.”
“I’ll shut up when you tell me the truth!” I argued, stepping in front of him. “Just tell me.”
“Drop it, Holly.”
“No!”
“Yes, now let’s go,” Mr. Heywood ordered, putting a hand on my shoulder, and pushing me forwards.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me,” I stated.
He rolled his eyes. “Jeremy, grab her and take her out the back. I’ll go meet you at my house.”
“Will do,” Jeremy responded, appearing behind me and grabbing me. “Let’s go, kid.”
“No,” I said firmly, keeping my ground. “I want to know why they hate Mr. Heywood so much and why. And I’m not moving anywhere until I do.”
“It’s Chris,” Jeremy amended, putting his hands on my waist. “Now let’s go.” He suddenly hoisted me off my feet and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I gasped, flailing my arms wildly. He chuckled, placing a hand on my lower back to keep me steady.
“Let me go!” I demanded, struggling against him. “This could be considered kidnapping! Mr. Heywood!”
Mr. Heywood looked at me with an amused expression. “Yes, Ms. Evers?”
“Tell him to let me go!”
“Will you come along willingly, then?”
I hesitated, scowling at him. “Yes . . .”
He chuckled. “Sure you will. Go on, Jeremy. And watch your hand.”
Jeremy laughed. “Okay.”
