A Proscriptive Relationship (20 page)

“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.”

“
What is up with adults thinking I can’t walk by myself?” I complained, giving up my fruitless struggling as Jeremy carried me down the hall.

“Who me? I’m not an adult.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Jeremy responded simply.

“That’s close enough. You can be considered an adult at eighteen,” I told him, looking around to make sure no one was in the hallways.

“But technically you’re considered an adult at twenty-one. And you can drink at that age.”

“Why does that matter?”

Jeremy laughed, turning a corner in the hallway. He looked behind him for a second and then put me down. “Don’t run away.”

“I won’t run away,” I responded, frowning.

“Good, now hurry, I want to beat Chris to his apartment.”

Jeremy grabbed my upper arm and began jogging out of the building. I stumbled along, trying to keep up with him. His strides were longer and quicker, so basically I had to run to keep up. We came to what I assumed to be his car and he gestured for me to get in and buckle up. I did so and he slipped into the driver’s side. Not even five seconds later we peeled out of the parking lot, going from zero to forty in no time.

I looked over at him warily. “Don’t tell me . . .”

He grinned back, shifting gears. “We are so going to beat him.”

Fifteen terrifying minutes later, we pulled into Mr. Heywood’s apartment’s parking lot. Jeremy pulled into a spot and shut off the car. I stayed seated for a few moments, one hand still gripping the cup holder, the other holding onto the dash.

“That . . . was scary,” I finally said, turning to him with wide eyes. “You drive like a maniac! I’m pretty sure we were over the speed limit the whole time!”

“I took back streets,” he responded with a wave of the hand.

“It’s still dangerous!”

“We’re fine, though!

My door suddenly opened and I turned to see Mr. Heywood frowning down at us. “Holly, what’s wrong?”

“I am never driving with Jeremy again,” I told him, swinging my legs out the door so I could get out.

He chuckled, moving out of the way. I heard Jeremy sigh deeply behind me. “How did you get here so fast?” he huffed, crossing his arms. “I swear you left
after
us.”

Mr. Heywood smirked. “Who used to win all the street races?”

“Street races?” I gasped, looking between the two of them.

“Forget it, let’s go inside and get started,” Mr. Heywood said, brushing me off. “I have somewhere to go at five.”

The three of us trooped inside and then up the stairs to Mr. Heywood’s apartment. He took out his key and unlocked the door, gesturing for us to go inside first. I went in eagerly. It was my third time being to his apartment, but it was still just as exciting.

“Holly, make me some coffee,” he ordered.

I turned to him with a skeptical look. “This is
your
house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

I scowled at him for a moment, but went to his kitchen anyway. I didn’t even know where the coffee was! “Stupid teacher,” I muttered, opening the pantry and locating a cheap package of ground coffee.

Five minutes later, I returned to the living room with three steaming mugs of coffee. “Right, so do you at least know how to make a fist?” Mr. Heywood began, piling sugar into his cup.

After giving him a flat look, I clenched my fist, tucking my thumb between my middle finger and pointer finger. I wasn’t an idiot. Jeremy snorted, bowing his head in silent laughter. I pursed my lips at him. “What?”

“Holly . . . how did you manage to punch those guys before with a fist like that?” Mr. Heywood asked, sighing lightly. “Come here.”

I moved to the other side of the couch and he grabbed my hand, unclenching it. A little surprised, I tried to take my hand back, but he held it firmly. He folded my fingers into a fist again, placing my thumb over my over my pointer and middle fingers. “If you tuck in your thumb, it’s going to get broken,” he informed me. “Even if it’s someone like you.”

I gave him a dirty look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored me. “Punch me,” he said instead.

“What?”

“Punch me,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you know what that means.”

“Of course I do! But why?”

“I want to see how hard you can punch. Do it. You won’t hurt me. I promise.” He stood up and then forcefully pulled me to my feet. I scowled at him for a moment, yanking my arm out of his grasp.

“Well, you asked for it,” I warned him.

Using as much force I could I brought back my arm and then brought it forward, aiming to land a forceful hit on his chest. Before my eyes could catch what was happening, he blocked my fist with his hand with ease. I blinked as he curled his hand around my wrist.

“Well, you have some force,” he commented.

I pulled my hand back and frowned at him. “Teaching me how to fight won’t help me win against whoever I’m fighting if I lack skill.”

He looked at me in surprise for a second and then his face turned serious. “Holly, it’s not about ‘winning.’ I’m teaching you how to defend yourself so you’ll be able to make a getaway. I don’t want you even
trying
to take on anyone—that’s too dangerous. If you aren’t able to contact me, call Jeremy, or even the police if you have to.”

“Whoa, no, I can’t get involved with the police. My mom will flip!”

“It’s better that than you ending up dead,” Mr. Heywood responded in a hard voice.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “So what are your tips for running away then?”