A Proscriptive Relationship Page 11

  “Nah, Mr. Heywood already made me breakfast.” A huge, delicious, seemingly professional breakfast.

  Lance pursed his lips at me, frowning. I mimicked his expression. Why did he always frown whenever I mentioned Mr. Heywood? He didn’t have any reaction when Casey or Danielle mentioned him, so why me? Was it because I was his best friend? Or was it because he thought I had fallen in love with Mr. Heywood at first sight? But even so, why would he be worried about that? I ran a hand through my hair. Why were men so difficult to understand?

  “Do you like anyone?” Lance asked suddenly.

  I stared at him curiously. “We’ve been over this already, Lance. I don’t like anyone.”

  “Not even the slightest bit?”

  I opened my mouth to say no, but closed it after thinking a moment. I couldn’t deny that I had a little crush on Mr. Heywood. A little, tiny, itty-bitty crush that any girl would have if they saw him. But I couldn’t tell Lance that. However, I didn’t want to lie to him either. Chewing on my bottom lip, I set my eyes downcast.

  “Holly?”

  “Who do you like?” I questioned, trying to avoid answering him.

  Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m not telling you.”

  “Then I won’t tell you who I like,” I responded.

  Lance narrowed his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I responded. “You don’t tell me, I don’t tell you. That’s fair.”

  “But you just said you didn’t like anyone!”

  “Maybe I lied.”

  “Never mind, let’s just drop it,” he responded with a sigh.

  I stared at him, extremely confused. Why did he even bring it up in the first place? Lance was so bewildering sometimes!

  “Do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Huh?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You know, dinner. What you usually eat at night,” he explained sarcastically.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I’ll go. Have you asked Casey yet?”

  “Just you and me,” he pressed. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  Lance’s face lit up. “Really?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He stared at me for a split second with a weird expression before shrugging. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to.”

  “Well maybe I’m sick of you,” I joked.

  He looked at me with a fake horrified expression. “No!”

  I laughed and nudged him in the shoulder. “You know I can’t get sick of you, Lance. You’re one my best friends and will always be one of my best friends.”

  “What if I . . .” Lance cut himself off and cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.

  “What if you what?”

  “Never mind,” Lance said quickly, forcing out a quick laugh. “I’m going to go home, so see you later, Holly.”

  “You’re leaving already?” I asked in surprise. Usually he stayed for hours on end.

  He nodded. “I only came over to make sure you got home. No other reason. So I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You’re too nice,” I laughed, giving him a bear hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow in school then.”

  Lance pushed me away from him. I looked at him in surprise. His expression almost mimicked mine. “Um, sorry,” he apologized, his brow furrowing.

  “It’s alright . . .”

  He grinned at me for a second before waving and heading out of the kitchen. I frowned after him, crossing my arms. Whatever Lance wanted to talk about, I had the feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

  LESSON TEN

  Loud, excited talking met my ears as soon as I opened the locker room door. I frowned, but walked to the changing area to see what all the commotion was about. A few girls near the locker room door giggled, looking eager. Casey was halfway through putting on her shirt when she noticed me.

  “Holly!” she cried, yanking down her shirt quickly. “Guess who is subbing for Ms. Long in gym class?”

  I knew right away by all the excited girls, but decided to play along. “Who?”

  “Mr. Heywood!”

  “Cool,” I responded, setting down my gym bag and starting to take off my shirt.

  “Why aren’t you more excited?” she asked, tossing her clothes in one of the lockers.

  “Why should I be excited?” I responded, fumbling with the button on my pants. “This just means all the girls will be trying to impress him.”

  “Well I think you should be happy.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Casey winked. “He gets to see you in your cute little short-shorts.”

  Blushing, I looked down at the shorts in my hand. “My shorts aren’t that short!”

  “Still, you never wear shorts except for in gym class.”

  “He’s a teacher, Case, I don’t think he cares what high school girls look like in short-shorts,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “When will you get it out of your head that Chris and I have a thing for each other?”

  “Chris?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  “I meant Mr. Heywood,” I corrected myself quickly.

  Casey smirked. “Sure you did. Lance told me about how you and Mr. Heywood were in the same car together yesterday morning.”

  I scowled and silently cursed Lance. But I had never told him not to tell, so it wasn’t entirely his fault. “Whatever, let’s just go up. Everyone has already finished changing and I bet the bell—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, the bell went off. Casey made a face and together we ran for the stairs that led up to the gym. I pushed the door open and, sure enough, there was Mr. Heywood with a gaggle of girls surrounding him.

  “I want to go talk to him,” Casey complained as I dragged her to where Lance and Willis were.

  “Hey babe,” Willis greeted Casey, giving her a one-armed hug.

  “Hi,” she responded with a sigh.

  Lance laughed, patting Willis on the back. “Looks like she was struck by the Heywood love bug too.”

  Casey laughed while Willis shot Lance a dirty look. “I’m not in love with the man, Lance, that’d be creepy,” Casey told him, rolling her eyes. “He’s just attractive for a man of his age.”

  “Can we not talk about this?” Willis asked in an irritated tone.

  “You’re still my favorite, Willis,” Casey told him, enveloping her hand in his.

  I frowned to myself and looked at the ground. Casey thought it was creepy to be in love with Mr. Heywood? Did that mean I was creepy? I quickly slapped myself, earning curious looks from the trio in front of me. I blushed and shrugged at them.

  “A mosquito,” I lied.

  “Oh, Mr. Heywood! Check out your muscles!”

  My eyes shot over to where Mr. Heywood was. One girl was feeling the muscles on his arm as he flexed for her. I narrowed my eyes slightly, feeling irritated. I just wanted to take that girl’s arm and rip it off. I slapped myself again; however, this time mentally. Now what was I doing? Getting jealous? There wasn’t anything to be jealous of, and yet I was still getting jealous! I ran a hand over my face and through my hair, sighing.

  I did not like these feelings.

  “Okay class, gather ’round!”

  I looked back at Mr. Heywood, who was waving his arms to catch everyone’s attention. His eyes locked onto mine and I swear I saw him quickly check me out. Either that or I was just getting ahead of myself, which was probably more likely. Lance pushed me from behind and I stumbled towards our teacher. When everyone was gathered, he cleared his throat.

  “Okay guys, we have two choices today. We can either play handball or badminton.”

  Everyone started to shout what to play all at once. I heard about an even amount of handball and badminton. I personally didn’t want to play badminton, since I sucked. Usually I could play every sport fairly well. Badminton was the only exception; with a birdie, I had no hand-eye coordination whatsoever.

  Mr. Heywood ro
lled his eyes. “You can’t all shout at once. Raise your hand for handball.”

  Ten people raised their hands.

  “Badminton?”

  Ten people raised their hands.

  A few of the girls twittered with laughter. I rolled my eyes. Because having an even amount of people who wanted to play each sport was so funny. I pinched myself on the arm. Great. Now I was thinking nasty thoughts about girls that didn’t even do anything to me. Jealousy really was an ugly emotion.

  “Well, Ms. Evers, what do you want to play?”

  I stared at Mr. Heywood. He was going to make me choose? I flushed slightly as all the attention was drawn on me. “Uh, well . . . I don’t really care. But I’m kind of bad at badminton.”

  “Well, then, badminton it is!”

  There was a cheering from the people who wanted badminton and a booing from the people who didn’t. I stared at Mr. Heywood with a dumbfounded look. He smirked. “I’ll go get the equipment. Come help me, Ms. Evers,” he ordered, gesturing with his finger.

  Before I could respond someone pushed in front of me. “I’ll help you,” a girl named Lauren offered, looking eager.

  “I will too!” another girl chimed in.

  I rolled my eyes, turning around. “Looks like you don’t need my help.”

  “Ms. Evers—”

  “I’ll help,” Lance cut in, an annoyed look on his face. “Girls shouldn’t be going down to the storage room anyways.”

  “Sure,” Mr. Heywood responded, looking relieved for some reason. “Everyone else, set up the nets.”

  He and Lance exited the gym to go to the storage room while a bunch of guys took off towards the nets. A few minutes later Mr. Heywood and Lance returned and the nets were set up. Everyone grabbed a racket. I held mine glumly and joined Lance, Casey, and Willis at one net.

  “Casey and me against you and Lance,” Willis announced, looking at me. “So stay on that side.”

  “Sure,” I responded.

  “What? Why am I stuck with her?” Lance complained, a grin on his face.

  I hit him lightly with my racket. “Shut up.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m good so I’ll make up for your lack of ability. You serve first.”

  I rolled my eyes, but tossed the shuttlecock in the air and swung at it violently. To nobody’s surprise, I missed. The shuttle fell to the ground and I sighed, bending down to pick it up. Once more I tossed it up in the air, and once again it dropped to the ground.

  “You can do it, Holly!” Casey cheered from the other side.

  I gave her a flat look and tried once more. Yet again, my racket didn’t make contact. I scowled, now frustrated. I threw it up and swung my racket as hard as I could, putting every ounce of effort I could into the swing. Not only did it miss the birdie, but my racket also went flying out of my hand. I gasped, twisting around to see it nearly hit my friend James at the next net over. He turned quickly, his face in shock. I grinned sheepishly. When he saw it was me, he shook his head, but smiled nonetheless.

  “Be right back,” I told Lance, and jogged over to pick up my racket.

  “You almost knocked me out!” James complained, handing the racket to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I don’t know how to hit the shuttle.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  I jumped and turned around to see Mr. Heywood, a grin on his face. I guessed he had witnessed my attempt at James’s murder. He followed me back to the court. Casey’s face brightened immediately. I felt very self-conscious as Mr. Heywood took my hand and repositioned the racket.

  “Swing your arm like this,” he instructed, slowly bringing my arm up. “Don’t make quick short strikes, make long ones.”

  “That doesn’t exactly help me hit the shuttle,” I muttered, copying the movement of my arm again.

  “Just keep your eye on the shuttle and swing. Don’t worry about hitting or missing.”

  I nodded and he stepped away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lance glaring at him. I ignored it. Tossing the shuttle into the air, I did my best to copy the movement Mr. Heywood had just shown me, keeping my eye on the shuttle.

  It struck.

  It didn’t make it across the net, but still I had hit it. Casey and Willis started clapping excitedly. A grin spread across my face. I turned to Mr. Heywood to thank him, but girls had surrounded him again.

  “Teach me how to hit too!” one of the more good looking girls, Allie, requested.

  “You were doing it just fine five seconds ago,” Mr. Heywood told her, sounding amused.

  “But I’m not sure if I’m doing it right!”

  “Me neither!” another girl chimed in.

  I scowled and picked up the shuttle again. “Stupid girls,” I muttered. I swung the racket hard, keeping my eye on the shuttle. It connected again and flew across the gym. Casey hit it back to me. I slammed it back again, letting out my frustration.

  “You got better quick,” Willis commented as he received one of my hits. “You’re not letting Lance get in a hit at all!”

  “I’ve got this one!” Lance called, lunging for the shuttle.

  He hit it straight up and I ran over to rebound it. Lance moved his leg at the last possible second; tripping me and making me fall straight down onto my face. I landed on the gym floor with a loud smack and my racket slid a few feet away. A pang of pain pounded through my wrist as I landed on it awkwardly.

  “Shit, are you okay?” Lance asked, hovering over me.

  “I’m fine,” I responded, putting my hands under my body to push myself up. A stabbing pain went through my wrist and I quickly shifted my weight off it and fell down again.

  Lance laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “I think I hurt my wrist,” I muttered, pushing myself back up with my other hand, this time successfully climbing to my feet.

  “You should probably go to the nurse,” Casey suggested, suddenly next to me.

  “Ms. Evers, are you okay?” a new voice asked, sounding slightly amused and slightly worried.

  “I’m fine. I just hurt my wrist.”

  Mr. Heywood took my injured hand and gently grazed it. His touch sent a tingling up my arm and I wanted to rip it away, but I kept myself under control. He frowned. “It might be sprained. You should probably go to the nurse,” he commented, frowning at me.

  “Okay,” I responded, feeling relieved. “I’ll go now.”

  “Can you stop by my room before you go home this afternoon? I need to . . . talk to you about something,” he continued, a hint of a smile on his face.

  Casey caught my eye and wagged her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes at her. But part of me was excited. “Sure, I’ll see you later then,” I told him, trying to keep my face straight. “I’m going to go to the nurse now then . . .”

  “Careful,” he advised with a smirk.

  “Mr. Heywood! I think I got it! Watch me!” a girl cried from the other side of the room.

  “Sure!” he responded. He did a mini eye roll at me before turning around and jogging over to the girl. I smiled to myself as I turned and headed back to the locker room.

  After classes ended I once again found myself at Mr. Heywood’s classroom. “I’m coming in,” I said as I opened the classroom door.

  No reply came and I looked towards his desk. He wasn’t there. I frowned in confusion. Hadn’t he told me he needed to talk to me?

  I heard laughter from the supply room, so I walked over to it. Just as I was about to enter, a girl appeared in front of me. Her shocked expression must have mimicked mine.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, blinking and then walking by me. I turned around and watched her exit the room. What was she doing in Mr. Heywood’s supply closet? I faced the supply room again and walked into it. He was standing by the refrigerator, fixing his shirt.

  It felt like a brick had dropped into my gut. What the hell? What the hell? No longer did I feel jealous. I felt sick.

  He noticed me and grinned, but his
grin quickly went away. “What’s wrong?”

  “What were you doing?” I demanded, sounding more accusing than I had meant to.

  “What do you . . oh,” he said, dropping his tie. “Do you mean what was I doing with Susan?”

  I nodded, biting my lip hard.

  He laughed. “What do you think we were doing?”

  Why was he laughing? Wasn’t it obvious? They were both in the supply room, and he was fixing his shirt. When I didn’t reply, he shook his head and sighed.

  “We weren’t doing anything bad, Holly,” he informed me. “I was helping her with her science project.” He pointed to a tray on the counter.

  “Why are you fixing your shirt then?”

  “Because it was messed up?” he responded, walking over the shelves behind me.

  I blushed instantly. I looked at the floor and clenched my hands. What was I thinking? This was school. Mr. Heywood wouldn’t be making out or anything with students in the school. I was just letting my jealousy get the best of me again. It was his fault for making me feel this way. If he treated me like he treated every other student, I wouldn’t have these unchecked emotions.

  I felt something hard on my shoulder and I jumped.

  “Were you jealous?” Mr. Heywood’s chin was on my shoulder, his jaw moving when he talked.

  “No,” I lied, turning my head away.

  He chuckled and lifted his head off my shoulder. “You’re cute, Holly.”

  My face grew hotter and I frowned at him. “Mr. Heywood, don’t say stuff like that.”

  “Why not?” he responded, going back over to fridge.

  “We’re in school. You’re a teacher. I’m a student.”

  He turned around and looked at me with a sad expression. “I thought we had something special?”

  I narrowed my eyes. This was what I didn’t like about him. When he complimented me, I didn’t know whether he was joking or not, because he always said something jokingly after the initial comment.

  I sighed. “What do you want?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, going over to the closet. He began to shuffle through some stuff and finally pulled out a small paper bag. He tossed it to me. “You left your shirt at my house.”