A Little Crushed (3 page)

While the class erupted, Max struggled to keep the smile from his face.

“So, Miss Harding, I take it you do not believe in romance? Why is that?”

“Coz you’d have to be certified to get involved with her.” The carrot kid enlightened him. “She bites. Ouch.”

Kicks as well, by the looks of it
, Max thought. He stood up straight and clapped his hands. “Okay, enough of this crap.” Oops—that had slipped out, but his pupils sat up, mouths hanging open. His bad language impressed them. He only hoped their parents would be as understanding. “You—
Crystal Tipps
—hand out copies of the play, and we’ll take turns reading. You
can
read, can’t you?”

“Oh, goodie, it’s kindergarten time.”

And there she was again. Max stared hard at this Rebecca girl, and she stared right back. But he wasn’t about to let her better him. He
couldn’t
let her get the better of him. Sure enough, under what Kate termed his hoarfrost gaze, she looked away.

“When you’ve quite finished…”

“Well actually, I—”

Before she could add whatever gem of wisdom she held in her how-to-intimidate-new-teachers box, Max picked up the nearest object to him and lobbed it in her direction. Luckily for her, it was only an eraser. The thought crossed his mind that he could be up for child abuse on his first day, but by this point, he was beyond caring. He’d had about all he could take from the incorrigible Miss Harding.

* * * *

Rebecca seethed in silence while her mind raced, her imagination revving into top gear as she plotted the demise of Mr. Jackson. She couldn’t believe the intensity of the man. No one talked to her that way; not even her father.

“I don’t think he likes you much,” Emma whispered in her ear.

“You don’t say.” From beneath a strategically arranged curtain of hair, Rebecca studied him. He leaned against his desk, hands resting behind his head, droning on in that horrendous antipodean drawl, oblivious to the effect he seemed to be having on her female classmates. Or was he? Rebecca rubbed at her nose and snorted. She betted not. Weren’t all Aussie men male chauvinist pigs?

Julie the class philanthropist’s ‘Is he fit or what?
’
roused her from her silent discourse. She was just about to lash Julie with an acid reality check when Emma’s sigh of concurrence stopped her dead.

“Yer… what a hunk!”

Emma’s disloyalty stunned her. Oh, but revenge was sweet.

“Would you like to contribute to this so far pitiful discussion on the finer points of iambic pentameter Miss…?”

Despite herself, Rebecca was impressed. This guy beamed around the room as fast as a time traveler.

“Emma, sir. Emma Brown.” Emma dissolved into a mound of half-set jelly.

“Get a grip, Em. You are so—”

“Miss Harding, either you have a death wish, or you have the mental capacity of a two-year-old.”

Beneath his freezer glare, Rebecca squirmed.

For the rest of the lesson, she remained silent, wishing the bell would ring and end the torture. Her headache pounded against the front of her skull, as subtle as a heavy metal drum beat. From behind her copy of Shakespeare’s finest, she contemplated how best to punish her new adversary.
Why
was he her adversary? It didn’t make sense. Mid-life crisis? No. He looked too young for that. Maybe… The shrill trill of the bell interrupted her deliberations. Thank goodness. It had been a crap beginning to the new term, and she just wanted to run home and jump into bed with half a ton of Aspirin.

“Don’t forget,” Mr. Jackson called as the class filed out. “I want that essay completed by tomorrow. Not so fast, Miss Harding. I want to speak to you.”

Rebecca sighed. Was there no end to her torment?

“Lucky bitch. You get to be by yourself with him.” Easing by, Emma pinched her arm.

Alone in the ominously quiet room, Rebecca tugged on the end of her plait. She was not a coward by a long shot, but he made her feel vulnerable. Most men did.

“Close the door.” His tone was low and clipped. Scary.

She obliged, the thought crossing her mind that maybe he was going to strike her. He seemed crazy enough. Facing him again, she braced herself for a verbal blitz, but instead, a stony wall of silence met her head-on. He sat, studying her while tapping on the edge of his desk with a pen. His piercing stare made her very uncomfortable. If this was psychological warfare, she was fast losing the battle. Oh well, time to eat humble pie. She cleared her throat. “Look if it’s about the other day, I really was in a hurry. Wally, you see…my dog…he’s a bugger, and when I said bloody colonials, I didn’t mean you. I mean, how could I? I didn’t even know you were a bloody col—Australian—but Mrs. Baird
is,
and that’s who—”

“Have you finished? I don’t recall asking you for a commentary.” He continued to flay her with too-clear contempt. “I know your type.”

He spoke so quietly she strained to hear him. More tactics no doubt. “Oh?” She aimed for nonchalance. “I didn’t realize I was a type.”

“Miss Harding. You’re very much mistaken if you think I am going to be intimidated by you because I assure you I’m not.”

“All this because I was a few minutes late?” she burst out. “It’s simply ludicrous.”

“Ah, now there lies the problem, you see. To you, it doesn’t seem important, but to me, it’s extremely important. It’s all about punctuality, discipline, good manners, and you, young lady, are lacking in all three. Isn’t that so?”

“Am I supposed to answer that,
Mr
. Jackson?” She walked a dangerously thin line, but she couldn’t help it. He dumbfounded her. How could he know what kind of person she was? He had no right to judge her.

“Why do you do this?” He changed tactics. “Is it a ploy for attention? Do you
crave
attention?”

She flinched, feeling the angry flush creep from her neck to her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were a part-time psychologist.”

He didn’t reply, continuing to probe deep with all-too-seeing eyes.

“Can I go now?” She struggled to keep tears at bay. Her eyes stung, hot and gritty from too little sleep.

“Yes, you
may
go for now, but I want those lines on my desk tomorrow.”

“You cannot be serious. I’ve got your essay to write, not to mention—”

“Not my problem.” He stood and guided her to the door. “Besides, I’m sure a girl of your superior intelligence will breeze through it. Now out. I’ve wasted enough of my time on you as it is.”

She couldn’t wait to oblige.

Emma pounced on her from her stakeout point. “What happened? Did you let him have it?”

“He is insane.” Rebecca threw her books to the floor. “And he can go to hell.”

Expression fretful, Emma bent to rescue the sprawled books from the feet of rampaging pupils on their way to their next lessons. “Keep it down. He’ll hear you.”

“I don’t care. He
is
a colonial peasant, and I’m not doing it.”

“Doing what? Tell me on the way, or you’ll be late for French as well.”

“He expects me to do his pathetic lines by tomorrow. Who does he think he is? He’s not even old enough to be a teacher. I’m going to change my option. I’m not sitting in a room with him for the rest of the year, and I’m not going to French. I’m going home.” She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but that’s how he made her feel.

Emma looked ready to faint. “But you can’t quit his class? English is your best subject, and who I am going to copy from? He’ll calm down, and so will you. Just do the lines.”

“And you call
me
self-centered?” Pushing her so-called friend aside, Rebecca went to get her jacket.

Four o’clock, and Max felt as if he’d climbed Ayers Rock and back. Kate had a point. What did he know about teaching? Not a lot, if today’s experience was anything to go on.

Tom popped his head around the staff-room door. “Coming home for a drink to celebrate your first day on the job?”

“It’s not beer I need…it’s a tranquilizer.” Gathering up a pile of ink-smudged papers, Max stuffed them in his briefcase.

“Problems?” Tom attacked him with an oh-you-poor-rookie grin.

“Hardly a problem, more like a bloody disaster. Tell me about Rebecca Harding. I think I may have over-reacted, but she…” Tom’s expression caught him off guard. “Okay, did I say something wrong? Oh no. Don’t tell me she’s the governor’s daughter or something. That’s it. I’m going to lose my job and all on the first day.” Wincing, Max snapped his briefcase shut. “Oh well. A record—even for me.”

A smile replaced his friend’s frown. “You always were over-dramatic. You know, at one point, we all considered you might be gay.”

Max quelled him with a look. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m Australian. We don’t do gay. It’s in the constitution, and don’t change the subject. Tell me about this Rebecca.” Max grabbed his jacket and briefcase and followed him out. “The problem as I see it—”

“The problem is…it
isn’t
the problem as you see it.”

“Am I supposed to follow this?” Max pushed through the swarm of buzzing kids on their way to freedom.”

“We can’t talk here.
Walk
,” Tom hollered as a group of gaggling youths almost bowled them over. “Come home for a beer. Fiona will do a better job of explaining Rebecca Harding than I.”

Intrigued beyond words, Max followed Tom to the car park.

* * * *

“So,” Max raised the near empty bottle of lager to his parched lips. “Basically, what you are saying is, I screwed up.”

“If it had been any other pupil, I’d say no but Rebecca—”

“Is a young lady with quite an attitude. An attitude you seem to be trying to excuse.”

“Oh, come down off your high Aussie horse—or is it kangaroo? Have another beer.” Tom pushed a green bottle of magic into his hand. “Look, I know how Rebecca can be. She’s irresponsible, condescending, and yes, a pain in the butt, but Max...it’s all an act.”

Max remained skeptical. “I know you pride yourself on knowing your pupils, but how do you know
so
much?”

“Because—”

“Because we didn’t have much choice.” Fiona walked in, carrying a tray laden down with three plates of delicious smelling impromptu curry. “Tom is right.” She placed the tray on the low table. “You have to tread carefully with Rebecca. She has been through a lot. Something changed her, Max, from the sweet, amiable little girl I knew back in sixth grade. She’s bright—”

“I didn’t say she isn’t intelligent. She’s too damn intelligent if her reports are to be believed.”

“She is, believe me.” Tom handed him a plate and a poppadum. “She’s the school’s best hope for the Oxbridge. It would be a great boost for our standing if she passed.”

“But does that mean she can get away with murder?” Max snorted. “So she’s bright, and she obviously has issues but—”

“Max,
murder
is what I am talking about.”

His jaw froze around his fork. “Go on.”

“Promise me first. What I am about to tell you must remain between us. Rebecca’s father wants complete confidentiality, and he is the last person you want to get on the wrong side of. He worships his daughter plus…well…he is a lawyer. A damn good one.”

“Now who is being dramatic? I’m not about to—”

“Okay, okay, I trust you.” Bridging fingers between his knees, Tom leaned forward, expression as grim as Max had ever seen it. “Two years ago, Rebecca Harding was abducted. She was on a camping holiday with the nature group. They’d gone up to the Trossachs in Scotland. God, it was a nightmare time for the school.” Running his hands through his hair, Tom sighed. “I was only deputy head back then. Luckily, we were able to keep it out of the press, but Mr. Harding insisted poor Alan Hughes step down.”

“That seems a bit harsh.” Riveted, Max leaned forward.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “A case of ‘the buck stops here,’ I’m afraid. Rebecca’s father blamed Alan, and in a way, he had a point. The teacher Alan put in charge should never have been given the responsibility of looking after six unruly, hormone-fired teenagers. The poor fellow was fresh out of teacher training. You know the type—a bucket load of idealistic enthusiasm but zilch in the common sense department.”

“I empathize totally.” Max grimaced. “Go on.”

Joining him on the sofa, Fiona took up the thread. “He wasn’t completely to blame. Rebecca has always been strong-willed. She was warned to stay with the group, but Rebecca being Rebecca wandered off into the woods on her own. Plus…”

Fiona grew agitated, anger marring her usually soft expression.

“The police knew there was a lunatic on the loose. They should have informed us. Alan would never have sanctioned the trip.”

“When you say lunatic,” Max swallowed the unsavory bile welling in his throat, “just how much of a lunatic was he? Was she…”

Tom shook his head. “She wasn’t raped, if that’s what you’re getting at, but I am sure that’s what the scumbag had in mind…had he lived.”

Max sat up. “Hang on. I’m confused.”

“She killed him.” Fiona drained her glass of wine. “And I am glad she did. He’d raped before, but Rebecca made sure he’d never do it again.”

“Oh, my God. What happened?”

“No one knows for sure.” Tom tapped his fingers against the sides of his glass. “All we know is Rebecca went missing less than half a mile from the school camp. She was held prisoner in a deserted hut. We know this because after they were found, the police discovered the animal’s lair. You don’t want to know what they discovered inside. Suffice to say the fact Rebecca is alive is nothing short of a bloody miracle. Tenacious girl, our Rebecca.”

“So how…you said after
they
were found.”

“The search team dogs found them together in a clearing not five minutes away from his hell-hole prison. We are assuming, somehow, Rebecca managed to escape, and he chased after her. Rebecca was unconscious. Her clothes were soaked in blood, and she had substantial bruising on her wrists, ankles, and throat. Thing is…the blood wasn’t hers.” Tom breathed in. “Her abductor’s body lay on top of her. Dead. She’d killed him.”