A Proscriptive Relationship

by Jordan Lynde

  “Hey wait, grab a wipe out of the glove box and wipe your face,” he said. “It’s bloody from where you got cut.”

  I sucked in a quick breath. Good thing Jeremy had caught that. Otherwise my mom would’ve been asking a lot of questions that I probably wouldn’t want to answer. After I found a wipe, I pulled down the visor to use the mirror, but found there wasn’t one.

  “Let me do it,” Jeremy offered.

  I nodded and handed him the wipe. He grabbed my head and turned it towards him, gently swiping at my cheek.

  I winced. “Why does it hurt?”

  “It’s got disinfectant,” he responded, wiping my cheek a little more roughly now. “My sisters fall down a lot, so I have these things handy.”

  “Oh,” I responded. I had a feeling Jeremy was a good older brother.

  When he was done, he chucked the dirty wipe into a trash bag in the back and then turned back to me. “Well it’s been an interesting day,” he commented. “Will Chris being hearing about this?”

  “No way,” I responded immediately, shaking my head. “I think he might kill me if he found out I got involved with gangsters. Again.”

  Jeremy chuckled. “Good point. Have a good night, kiddo. Have fun at the beach tomorrow.”

  “I’ll try,” I replied with a small smile. “Tell your sisters I said hi.”

  “Sure.”

  I climbed out of the car and shut the door behind me. It was pitch black out now. We’d been gone for the better part of the day. As soon as I entered my house, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted over me. Following the smell, I entered the kitchen, letting out a yawn. “Mom, did you make me a cup?”

  “Mom?” a male voice responded.

  My eyes snapped open and I came face to face with Mr. Heywood. He raised an eyebrow at me. With wide eyes, I looked past him to my mom, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee.

  She watched me for a moment and then stood up. I watched her warily as she came to a stop right in front of me. I braced myself, preparing for the worst.

  “Welcome home!” she cried, throwing me into a big hug. “How was school? Was everyone nice to you? I hope so! I don’t want to have to make any calls to the principal!”

  Yep. My mom was a doting mother.

  I rolled my eyes, giving my mom a short squeeze before trying to squirm out of her grasp. “Today was great, Mom.”

  “And your date? How come I’ve never met this man before?” she continued, beginning to frown. “How old is he?”

  I shot Mr. Heywood a glare. He was biting his lip, trying not to laugh. That only made me more irritated. “Mom, why is my teacher here?” I asked, trying to change the topic.

  She grinned, pulling me over to Mr. Heywood. By now he had his laughter under control and he was smiling pleasantly at my mom.

  “Lynn and I ran into each other at the grocery store,” he explained.

  “Literally,” my mom said. “And then I found out he was your teacher, so I invited him here to have dinner. He’s so young and handsome . . . how come you haven’t mentioned him before, Holly?”

  “She’s never mentioned me?” Mr. Heywood asked, frowning slightly.

  “Since you’re so busy all the time, it’s never come up,” I told her wearily.

  She nodded. “I see.” Then, turning to Mr. Heywood, “work keeps me busy so I don’t have a lot of free time at home.”

  He nodded his head understandingly. “I’m sure being a single mom with a . . . a teenage daughter must be hard.”

  I scowled at him for a second. I knew he was going to say something offensive about me before he corrected himself. He smirked back. My mom was oblivious to the exchange completely.

  “Well, shall I get supper started then?” she asked, looking between Mr. Heywood and myself.

  “You won’t,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “Face it, Mom. You can’t cook at all.”

  She blushed, looking down in embarrassment. “I could still try . . .”

  “I can cook something,” Mr. Heywood offered. “Believe it or not, I’m a good cook.”

  She turned to him with a grin on her face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, it’s settled then. Holly, would you help him?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Good!” she said happily, putting a hand on my back. “I’m sure the two of you can figure out something good. There are steaks in the fridge. If we don’t cook them soon, they might go bad. There are also onions in there. And some potatoes. It could make a good dinner—”

  “Mom,” I started, cutting her off, “if you want a steak dinner, you just have to ask.”

  She blushed again, laughing sheepishly. “Right, sorry.”

  “No worries, I can make a great steak,” Mr. Heywood assured her, a charming smile now on his face.

  I stared at him. Was he trying to flirt with my mom? That was gross!

  “Great!” she responded enthusiastically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take this time to make a few business calls.”

  She smiled at Mr. Heywood again and squeezed my shoulder before leaving the room. I frowned, trying to smooth my hair out. Mr. Heywood watched me with an amused look. I turned my frown onto him. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed your mom was so doting,” he commented.

  I shrugged. “She didn’t used to be like this. She was much more manageable before my dad died.”

  “I see.”

  There was an awkward silence. “So what do you want me to do?” It was weird having to ask him what to do in my own house. It was weird having him in my house. Again.

  “ You can sit in that chair right there.” He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ll do the cooking. It seems like you had a rough day.”

  “Huh?” I responded, feeling my heart skip a beat. “W-what are you talking about?”

  He gave me a flat look. I returned it with an innocent one. After a few seconds he marched up to me, lips in a flat line. Standing my ground, I turned my chin up at him. He stopped about a foot away and raised his hand to my face.

  I flinched and he sighed. Then I felt his hand touch my face softly.

  “There’s a cut on your cheek,” he said, running his thumb over the cut, sending tingles to my toes. “And your shirt sleeve has a hole in it. Not to mention your knuckles are bruised.”

  I looked down at my hands in surprise. Like he said, the knuckles on the hand Shawn had stepped on were bruised. I looked back up at him in shock. How had he noticed that?

  “Should we talk about this now, or later?” he demanded, his mouthing twisting into a frown.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I responded, realizing his hand was still on my face. I blushed and pushed it away. “Nothing happened.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I told you that you can’t lie to me?”

  “I’m not lying,” I stated stubbornly.

  “Fine,” he responded simply, turning around, and walking away from me. “I trust you enough to believe you.”

  I narrowed my eyes slightly. Was he trying to make me feel guilty? Well, it wouldn’t work. I could handle the guilt. After all, I had to handle the guilt of lying to Casey anyway.

  “I’ll just beat the truth out of Jeremy.”

  I sighed, hanging my head in defeat. “No, don’t do that.”

  “So you’ll tell me?”

  I bit my lip, staring at the floor. “You won’t like it.”

  There was a sudden hand on my shoulder and I jumped slightly, unaware that Mr. Heywood had come back across the kitchen again. His eyes pierced into mine again, and I had to look away.

  “Holly, I know I won’t like it, but it’s important that you tell me if something has happened.”

  “Don’t be mad at Jeremy,” I started in a quiet voice.

  “Stop worrying about Jeremy, Holly!” Mr. Heywood snapped. “Worry about yourself!”

  I looked at him, a bit taken aback. He gaze
was hard and I swallowed nervously. “Jeremy, uh . . .” I struggled to form a coherent thought. With Mr. Heywood so close to me, and how nervous I was, it wasn’t working so smoothly.

  “Jeremy?” Mr. Heywood urged, taking a step away from me.

  With him a little further away, I could focus more easily. “Jeremy took me to your old gang hideout . . .” I trailed off, gauging his reaction.

  He tensed, but didn’t say anything.

  “And after a while this guy from the gang came and we had to leave. And I fell down the stairs,” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “Well, I didn’t technically fall down the stairs, I actually fell through a step and that’s how I got the cut on my cheek, but Jeremy was there below me and caught me.”

  Mr. Heywood pursed his lips at me. “Holly, it’s obvious you left out a lot.”

  I scratched my head, looking back at the ground. “This guy had back up, so Jeremy took out the back up . . . while the guy came after me. And, well, he didn’t do anything,” I said quickly, catching a look of Mr. Heywood’s dark face. “When I fell, he just stepped on my fingers, so I guess that’s how I got the bruises. Or maybe it was when I punched him, but that didn’t affect him at all—”

  Mr. Heywood sighed, shaking his head. “Holly—”

  “But Shawn had me and I didn’t want to die!” I said in defense.

  “Shawn?” he repeated in a serious tone.

  I mentally slapped myself. The plan was to not mention Shawn’s name.

  “I’m going to murder Jeremy,” Mr. Heywood muttered dangerously. “That little brat.”

  “It’s not his fault!”

  “Shawn, Holly, is the leader. You attacked the leader! Are you stupid?”

  “Well sorry for wanting to defend myself!” I responded, clenching my fist. “While you were enjoying your stupid date, I could have been injured or killed. Do you really think I’d just let him do whatever he wanted with me?”

  Mr. Heywood ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s okay.”

  “You just don’t understand how serious this is.”

  “Then tell me!”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” I demanded. “It’s all secrets with you, all the time! Don’t you even trust me a little?”

  He gazed at me for a moment, before turning to the fridge. “Sit. I’m going to get dinner started, Holly.”

  I went over to the chair and slumped to the table, admitting defeat. It was useless to try to argue with him anyway. So I watched him as he rummaged through my kitchen instead. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from him. His unruly brown hair, his sturdy build, nor his beautiful gray eyes whenever he’d take a quick look at me. Even though I felt a little embarrassed at being caught staring.

  I pressed my forehead against the tabletop. Why hadn’t he answered me when I asked if he trusted me a little bit? Did that mean he didn’t? Did I give him any reason not to? He had to consider us friends, at the very least.

  Why did I have to fall for such a confusing guy? Not only that, but he was almost five years older than me, and he was my teacher. Hell, my mom probably had a better chance with him than I did. The thought almost made me laugh. My mom was young, but not that young. And it didn’t matter anyway. Mr. Heywood had a girlfriend now. Or at least, he was dating someone.

  “Here.”

  A steaming mug of hot chocolate was placed in front of me. I pulled it closer and peered into it. “Thanks.”

  “It’s my special make,” Mr. Heywood told me. “And I don’t make this for just anyone. So you had better like it.”

  I took a sip, surprised when I didn’t burn my tongue, but even more surprised with the taste. “What’s in here? It’s really good!”

  He grinned. “Secret.”

  Before I could reply, he turned and walked back to the stove. I frowned for a moment, before returning my attention to the hot chocolate he had made me. I took another sip, savoring the taste.

  By the time I finished the hot chocolate Mr. Heywood had finished dinner. My mom entered the kitchen just in time. “Something smells wonderful,” she said, taking a seat next to me at the table, looking very pleased

  “Here you go,” Mr. Heywood said, placing a plate full of food in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

  He nodded and placed another plate in front of me. I said my thanks and watched as he sat down across the table from me. My mom was the first to take a bite. She moaned her approval. I ducked my head, embarrassed by her reaction.

  “If you were twenty years older, I would marry you,” she said, eyeing him closely.

  “If only,” he responded with a laugh.

  I rolled my eyes, cutting off a piece of steak and putting it in my mouth. Like everything else he cooked, it was perfect.

  “You can marry Holly instead.”

  I choked a bit. My mom looked at me with a worried expression. I coughed, trying to breathe.

  “Mom!” I started, eyes watering. “Don’t say those things. He’s my teacher.”

  “Only for a year longer,” she responded, wagging her eyebrows.

  I looked down at my plate, too embarrassed to look at Mr. Heywood. I had to remember never to let them near each other again. Ever.

  After laughing at her own comment, my mom changed the subject and she and Mr. Heywood got into an animated chat as I silently ate my dinner, fixing my eyes on my plate. When I finished, I reluctantly looked up, only to see that they both had finished already.

  My mom yawned and stood up. “Let’s clear up. I want to go to bed soon.”

  I stood up with her. “I’ll take care of it, you can head up to bed now if you want.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded, shooing her with my hand. “It’s fine. Go rest.”

  She nodded and turned to Mr. Heywood. “Well, thanks for coming to dinner . . . and making it.”

  “No problem. Thank you for having me over and sorry for running into you,” he responded politely.

  “Don’t worry about it! Let’s do this again sometime.”

  I stared at her in horror. Something like this should never ever happen again!

  “Of course,” Mr. Heywood said, contrary to my thoughts.

  I sighed, watching as my mom bid us one last goodbye before going to her room. I started picking up the plates and a hand snatched them away from me. Mr. Heywood carried them to the sink and turned on the water.

  “I can do it,” I protested, following him.

  “Shut up and let me do it.”

  I scowled slightly, but let it go. If he wanted to help me out, I wasn’t going to stop him. It was rare and I should enjoy it while I could.

  Silence settled as he washed the dishes. Suddenly feeling exhausted, I rested my chin on my hands and watched him. There weren’t a lot, so he finished quickly. When he finally caught me staring at him, I looked away. “Sorry about my mom. She’s—”

  “Amusing,” he finished for me, drying off his hands. “Nothing to apologize about.”

  I smiled. “Right.”

  “But, I’m going to head home now,” he said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I felt faintly disappointed as I remembered he wasn’t going on the beach trip. “Yeah, okay,” I said, following him to the door.

  He opened it and turned back to me before exiting. “Goodnight, Holly.”

  “Night, Mr. Heywood.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Chris,” I corrected myself, feeling a blush coming up again, but I fought it back. “Goodnight, Chris.”

  He smirked, stepping out the door. I sighed in relief, and went to close it, but it suddenly flew back open, smacking me in the face.

  “Ow!” I cried.

  “Sorry,” Mr. Heywood apologized, sounding more entertained than apologetic. “But I forgot to give you this.” He offered my cell phone ou
t to me. “It’s a Friday, and you’re going out tomorrow, so I wanted to return it. That’s it. Goodbye.”

  “Thank you,” I called before the door shut.

  I grinned, looking at the phone in my hand. He could be unexpectedly nice. I flipped open my phone to check my text messages, but froze as I noticed my new background.

  Instead of the image of Lance and me as my wallpaper, a picture of Mr. Heywood making a silly face replaced it. I couldn’t help but giggle at it.

  And I wasn’t going to change it back, either.

  LESSON SEVENTEEN

  “Holly, let’s go swimming!”

  I looked up at Casey as she hovered over me, her hands on her hips. I raised an eyebrow. “Swimming? It’s like seventy-five degrees out.”

  “We’ve been here for four hours, and all you’ve done is sit there and be depressed,” she accused. “Man up and come swimming with me!”

  “I haven’t been depressed,” I said, frowning. “What is there to be depressed about?”

  “Hmm, let me think,” she started, putting a finger to her chin. “Could it be that Mr. Heywood isn’t here?”

  “What? No! I . . . it isn’t that,” I stuttered, feeling my face heat up.

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why you don’t just tell him you like him.”

  “Shh! Lower your voice!”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “But if you like him, I think you should just tell him.”

  “I can’t!” I cried, my eyes widening. “Casey, you don’t understand the situation.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . he’s a teacher and I’m a student?”

  “And?”

  “That’s illegal, Casey.”

  She waved her hand at me. “You’re a senior. It shouldn’t matter.”

  “He doesn’t even like me,” I continued, digging a hole in the sand with my bare foot and burying it in it.

  Casey heaved a sigh, shaking her head. “You don’t know that.”

  “He’s got a girlfriend.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Did he tell you that?”

  “Well, not in those words exactly,” I responded, biting my lip. “But lately he’s been going on dates.”