Breaking Rules (3 page)

“Noted,” I said, slipping the crisp, white tee over my own shirt. I looked down at my chest and
observed the emblem on the left pocket. Underneath a small global illustration, a bold text read: RI Volunteer. “Thanks.”

I joined my classmates in the first row, and fifteen minutes later, we were a complete group of eleven students, one teacher, and Lashell.

“I have packets and pamphlets,” Lashell said, passing them around to each of the eleven students. Our teacher and school supervisor for the project, Mr. Davies, also took a set. “There is one important thing to remember as we start and progress through the project. You are not here to raise money for the Raddick Initiative. RI exists to raise money for nonprofits and bring people together to create positive change in our communities. Every penny you raise will go directly toward local charities.”

Lashell paced the floor in front of the first row.

“Today is going to operate as a basic, brainstorming session. We’d like you to break into small groups and come up with some charitable ideas.”

“Like
fundraising?” one of the junior girls asked.

“Fundraising-focused events are not at all discouraged,” Lashell said. “But don’t commit all of your time and resources to
just those events. Remember that the program stresses the importance of educating and collaborating with others to positively impact your community. It’s not all about raising money, but also about making a difference.”

“Can you give us an example of what’s been done in the past?” I asked. “What are your expectations for us?”

“This is our first time working in the schools, so this whole process is just as new to us as it is to you. But if you look in your packet,” Lashell said, turning to the first page of hers, “there’s a list of events the organization has hosted in the past. Food drives are always popular with our volunteers, as well as highway trash removal. Simple donation boxes at high-traffic businesses could be a good place to start fundraising. Your options are open here, so don’t be afraid to think outside the box.”

Mr. Davies stood up and turned his attention to the group.

“Keep it school appropriate, charity-oriented, and follow your instincts,” he said. “The projects you choose will represent our school. The more unique your ideas are, the better chance you will have at distinguishing our team from the others.”

“And what about the scholarship?” the same girl
from before asked. “How do we win that?”

I perked up as Lashell stepped in to answer.

“There is only one scholarship, and it will be awarded to the student at the winning school who exhibits the most drive, the most commitment, and the best attitude within the project,” Lashell said. “It’s not solely dependent on the outcome of any specific idea or action you may bring to the table. Consideration for the scholarship relies on many qualities and criteria, so please remember that we’re always watching for the best of the best. All I ask is that you keep that in mind over the next six weeks.”

When no one had any more questions, we were split into smaller groups. I ended up working alongside two juniors. Fletcher, who
m I’d met once or twice in passing, settled in next to me in the back row of the theater. Carla, the curious, question-asker and probably my biggest competition for the scholarship, settled in next to him.

Carla was the first to pitch an idea; she suggested setting up a short-term
, soup kitchen at a local church. She mentioned that her uncle, a pastor at the Nazarene church on the corner, wouldn’t mind letting us use the kitchen and dining facilities as often as we’d need them. So we had one charity-oriented project to jump start the brainstorming session.

Fletcher, the leading man in almost every S
CHS theater production, said that he could probably talk the drama club into donating a portion of the ticket sales from the upcoming fall show.

After the initial ideas were pitched,
we all jumped into conversation, bouncing ideas off of one another, and trying to think outside the box, just as Lashell had asked us to. But my mind wasn’t fully focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t get my thoughts centered on anything happening inside the auditorium. I was distracted, and no amount of counting or cleansing breaths seemed to do the trick. My mind only wanted to focus on one thing: the man I’d hit out on Highway 6. I kept seeing his face, picturing the pained look in his eyes as he’d turned and limped away from me. I knew that I’d hurt him worse than he’d been willing to admit, and my stomach wrenched at the thought of how quickly I’d let myself drive away without really trying to rectify the situation. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get past the sinking feeling in my gut that I’d done the wrong thing by leaving him without help. I should’ve called someone.

“So what’s your big idea, Mandy?” Carla asked, snapping me
back into the conversation. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“Hmm?”

She and Fletcher both watched me carefully and quietly, and then Carla leaned forward and whispered, “Are you okay?
You’re sweating.”

“Yeah,” I said,
wiping my forehead. “But you know what? I think I need some air. I’m just going to step outside for a second.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no,” I said, standing up. “I’ll be fine.”

She nodded, but I felt her eyes glued to me as I left the room and stepped
through the door.

I sat down on the top step outside the school and let a slow breath pass between my lips. I buried my head inside my hands and then dropped them forward onto my knees. I sat
in that bent-over position for a while, trying to collect my thoughts through a budding migraine. It wasn’t until the faint sound of footsteps rounded the corner that I lifted my head.

I watched a familiar
turn the corner, and the man began his slow ascent up the auditorium steps.

“Oh, you have
got
to be kidding me,” I mumbled, and then I stood up. I watched as he limped up the stairs, only a little faster than he’d moved earlier. “Seriously, dude? You followed me here?”

His head snapped up and in my direction, and his eyes widened as his gaze swept over me.

“You,” he said, and never had I heard a single word sound so full of hate.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I offered to call an ambulance, anyone who could’ve helped you. You refused my help, so you can’t follow me here and harass me. I’ll call the cops.”

“And tell them what, exactly?” he asked. “That the guy you ran down with your car
while texting
is out for revenge?”

I felt my mouth gape open
.

“Is that why you followed me here?” I asked. “You want revenge? It was an honest to God accident
!”

“Don’t flatter
yourself,” he said, as if he couldn’t bear to hear me say another word. “I have much better things to do with my time than track down irresponsible, teenage drivers, even the ones who run me down.”

“I didn’t
run you down,” I said, appalled that he’d phrased it so hatefully. “Let me remind you that you were the one standing in the middle of the road. I tried to stop!”

For the first time since he
’d walked up, I noticed a water bottle clutched in his hand. He gripped it tightly for a few long seconds, and then pulled it up and twisted the cap off. Taking a long swig from the bottle, he closed his eyes and savored the drink.

I took another step closer, and he lowered the bottle
.

“I’m sorry.
I don’t know what else you want me to say. So just go, okay?”

He blinked his heavy lashes, and then his gaze trailed down to my shirt.

“Ah, you’re part of the program,” he finally said, nodding at the RI emblem on my pocket. I looked down at my shirt before looking back up to meet his stare.

I nodded, but didn
’t let his change of subject distract me. It didn’t surprise me so much that he’d heard of the project. The
Sugar Creek Gazette
had published a front page article on Thursday morning about the Raddick Initiative, and we’d even had the assembly at the school just yesterday. Not to mention, the guy who started the whole program had a great reputation, and from what I’d gathered in passing, he was supposedly a man of admirable influence and character. With all of that information circulating in a place as small as Sugar Creek, I would’ve been more surprised to learn that someone
hadn’t
heard that the RI project had come to town.

“
Yes,” I finally answered. “I am part of the program, and no, you can’t be here.”

He was about to take another drink just then, but the bottle stopped short of
his lips. He tilted his chin downward and blinked as if confusion had gotten the best of him.

“The school is private property,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure he cared. “The program isn’t open to the public. So leave.”

“Oh
,
there you are,” Lashell interrupted me as she poked her head out the door. “Carla said you weren’t feeling well. Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

I turned to her.

“Yeah, absolutely,” I said, nodding, but then I turned back to the man. “I was just asking this… gentleman, if you can call him that—”

“
Oh
!” Lashell straightened up at the sight of him, and her cheeks grew a darker shade of pink. Her smile only stretched wider as she watched him, and then she stepped outside and let the door close behind her. “Good morning, Gabe.”

“
Mornin’, Shelly.” He winked, and his demeanor changed in a split-second. He took a small step forward and leaned down to brush a gentle kiss to her cheek. He was very careful not to transfer any dirt on contact. Again, Lashell blushed. “We just finished up over at the park, and the rest of the team is headed out to Oakland and then to West Bridge for a quick meet and greet with the student volunteers. I’m tackling Sugar Creek and Desden, and then we’re wrapping up for the day.”

“Oh, well goodie,” she said, clapping her small hands together a few times. “We’ve only wrangled up eleven here, but they’re a dedicated group. And Mandy here’s been a real trouper. She
was very enthusiastic about signing up yesterday. This girl’s in it to win it.”

“Yeah?” he asked, and his lip pulled into a one-sided smirk. He tossed the empty water bottle into the recycle bin outside the door, wiped his hand down the side of his dirty jeans to rub off the moisture, and then extended it forward to take mine. “Mandy, is it?”

“Yes,” I said, looking between them. I shook his outstretched hand
, and his calloused fingers brushed against mine. “Mandy Parker.”

“Any relation to Mayor Parker?”

“He’s my dad,” I said, watching his grin grow wider. Oh yeah, ha-ha, very funny. He probably knew my dad, and if that was the case, I’d be lucky to get through the rest of the morning without the entire town hearing some misconstrued version of what had happened on the highway earlier. I could already hear the rumors…
Oh, did you hear? Mayor Parker’s daughter was out for an early morning, joy ride and just started knocking people over like bowling pins.

“Mandy,” Lashell interrupted my thoughts. “This is Gabriel Raddick. He’s the founder and president of RI. He’s going to be stopping by from time to time to oversee your projects, offer a little bit of guidance, and just be around to support the cause.”

“Founder and president,” I said under my breath, feeling my fingers fall limp inside his firm shake.

“Oh, don’t let the title scare you,
hon,” she continued, noticing how much blood had drained from my face. “No reason to be intimidated. Gabe’s just a big ball of smiles and can-do attitude. One of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. I’m sure you’ll grow to love him as much as the rest of us do.”

He smiled as he held my hand tight
ly inside of his, even though the shake had ceased moments ago. It was only then that I noticed he was still holding on to my fingers, and I jerked my hand away. A jovial smile tugged at the corner of his lip, and I found myself quickly diverting my eyes.

Smug jerk.

“You’ll have to excuse my poor sense of fashion today,” he said. And though his hand was back at his side, he didn’t dare pull his stare away. “My group’s been down at the park gates this morning landscaping the entryway. We’ve been at it for hours, and,” he looked down at himself, “it’s not the cleanest of jobs. And then, like an idiot, I got myself hit by a car.”

“
You were hit by a car?” Lashell asked, and her eyes widened. “Oh, honey. Are you okay? How’s your leg? Are you able to walk?”

“
It’s fine,” he shrugged. “
I’m
fine. I’m alive. Again,
I
was the one standing in the middle of the road. I got what was coming to me.” With a hint of mockery in his voice, he flashed a look at me and then back to her. “Now, let’s get in there and do this meet and greet—”

“No,” Lashell said, putting a protective arm around his waist. “You get back to your car and
go to the hospital. Have that knee checked out, or I’ll call your doctor myself.”