A Proscriptive Relationship Page 16

“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?”

  His face softened and he nodded his head. “There’s a few key things to know if they try to attack you while fleeing, which they undoubtedly will.”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “I still say we just let her fight them.”

  “I’d be killed,” I stated, frowning. “I don’t even want to delude myself into thinking I could take on a gangster . . .”

  Mr. Heywood nodded, sending a glare at Jeremy. “The most important thing is keeping Holly safe.”

  “How much do you know about fighting?” Jeremy cut in, looking at me curiously.

  “I’ve watched a few movies,” I responded, furrowing my eyebrow. “I know right hooks, left hooks, uppercuts . . .”

  Jeremy looked impressed. “Anything else?”

  “I took karate for like a week when I was younger.”

  Jeremy smiled wryly. “Yeah, so that won’t help.”

  “Let’s start with punching,” Mr. Heywood cut in. “If you feel that you have to fight back, and by have to, I mean have to,” Mr. Heywood started, putting emphasis on his words, “aim for the nose and lips.”

  I stared at him. “What? Why? The head is where it’d hurt—”

  “You could easily break the smaller bones in your hand or collapse your knuckle if you go for places with the hardest bones,” he explained. “Especially if you’re a girl. The nose is the best spot, then the temples, then the throat, and moving lower aim for the kidneys.”

  I raised my hand. His expression became amused for a moment and he grinned a little. “Yes, Ms. Evers?”

  “What do I do if my hands are . . . unable to be used,” I said, wording my sentence awkwardly. “Like, if they were holding my arms or something.”

  “Kick,” Jeremy responded simply. “It should be in your nature to kick violently if some man has his hands on you when it’s not wanted.”

  Mr. Heywood nodded. “Kicking is correct. However, don’t aim for the head.”

  “Why not?”

  “They may be aiming to kill you, but I highly doubt you want a murder on your hands. Aim a kick right, and with enough force, it can kill someone.”

  My eyes widened slightly and I shook my head. “Yeah, definitely don’t want that.”

  “Good, because kil
ling someone never leads to good things . . . right, Chris?” Jeremy added, nudging his friend in the shoulder.

  Mr. Heywood shot him a glare before rolling his eyes. “Everyone knows that.”

  I gave the pair a suspicious look. “Yeah . . .”

  “If you fall on the ground, roll,” Mr. Heywood said, turning his attention back to our lesson again. “Trust me when I say that they will not hesitate to kick you while you’re down . . . or stomp on you.”

  I winced at the mental image in my head. “Will do . . .”

  “Now let’s practice.”

  “P-practice?” I choked out.

  He nodded. “Stand up. I’m going to pretend to attack you, you do what you can to protect yourself.”

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I mumbled, but still climbed to my feet.

  “I’m rooting for ya!” Jeremy cheered. “Beat the crap out of him!”

  Mr. Heywood spared Jeremy a dry look before turning back to me. “I’ll move in slow motion so you have time to defend.”

  I nodded. Suddenly he threw a punch at me. Instead of dodging, I flinched, bringing my hands up to shield my face. Jeremy laughed from his chair and I opened my eyes to see Mr. Heywood’s fist a couple inches away from my face. Embarrassed, I let out an awkward laugh. “I’m guessing that was wrong.”

  Mr. Heywood blinked. “New idea. Jeremy, get up. You pretend to attack Holly, and I’ll help her out.”

  Jeremy jumped to his feet. “This’ll be fun.”

  Mr. Heywood moved to stand behind me. I stood stock-still, very aware of how close he was standing to me. If I took one step back my back would bump his chest. Jeremy gave me a wolfish grin before advancing on me. He brought out his hand, aiming for a hit to my jaw. Still distracted by Mr. Heywood’s presence behind me, I didn’t move. That is, until Mr. Heywood suddenly put his hands on my shoulders and turned me slightly, so Jeremy’s fist knocked into my shoulder lightly.

  “Block jabs with your shoulder,” he told me, his hand capturing my right wrist, “and then counter strike quickly.” Our hands went to Jeremy’s face, my knuckles brushing his nose. “Understand?”

  “Y-yes,” I stammered, positive my face was thirty shades of red.

  He finally let go of my hands and I returned them to my side. “If you cover your face like you did before, you’re not only blocking your vision, but occupying your hands so you can’t defend either.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was closer than I expected, so I quickly averted my gaze. “Oh. I never thought of that.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” he responded tightly. “Jeremy, throw another jab.”

  Jeremy nodded and I felt Mr. Heywood’s hands return to mine. This time he moved closer to me, pressing his chest into my back. When he spoke, his voice was right next to my ear. “Another good technique is to parry. Just slap the hit downwards.”

  “R-right . . .” As soon as Jeremy threw his punch, Mr. Heywood brought my palm down on his fist, redirecting its path away from my face. I felt like a marionette doll.

  Jeremy pulled his hand back, looking satisfied. “But remember, if you keep your hands down at your sides like you had them earlier, you might not have time to parry an attack.”

  “Oh, so that’s why boxers always have their hands near their faces,” I commented, impressed.

  Mr. Heywood released my hands again and stepped away from me. I almost frowned at the loss of contact. Holly, don’t be weird, I chided myself.

  “Yes, but you shouldn’t keep your hands near your face all the time either,” Jeremy continued. “What if someone tries to punch you in the kidneys?”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know?”

  Mr. Heywood sighed from beside me. “Damn it.”

  Bristling at his remark, I turned to him. “Hey, this was your idea, remember?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t realize you would be so clueless.”

  My mouth opened at his sharp response, but nothing came out. What’s his problem? I thought bitterly.

  A phone ringing suddenly pierced the silence and Mr. Heywood took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, glaring at the phone before turning and going out into the hallway.

  Jeremy and I exchanged curious looks, but I shrugged it off. Mr. Heywood always seemed to be chatting to someone on the phone. And he usually didn’t end the call in a good mood.

  “Good riddance,” I said after a moment, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Jeremy patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Worry about what?”

  “He’s just worried about you. That’s why he’s so snippy.”

  I frowned. “You think?”

  Jeremy smiled slightly. “I know. He’s such a mother hen when it comes to you. I don’t think I’ve seen Chris this worried over anything.”

  I looked down at my hands. “Like a mother worries over her children, huh . . .”

  Jeremy abruptly started laughing. “No. Like a man worrying for someone he cares about.”

  I blushed and shook my head. “But not in that way!”

  Jeremy grinned. “Oh, so you like him in ‘that way’?”

  “I don’t love him!”

  “Whoever said I was talking about love?” Jeremy responded, his grin growing wider. “This is just too cute. You guys will make a great couple!”

  I glowered at him, feeling embarrassed. “It’s obvious he doesn’t like me like that.”

  “I think he does.”

  “You’re stupid then,” I told him. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And after all, I was still a high school girl while he was an adult.

  “You don’t know him like I do,” Jeremy responded. “I think you’d be good for him . . . especially because of the way his life has been up until now.”

  I looked back up at Jeremy, who was frowning now. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—”

  The door opened and before I realized what was happening, Jeremy pulled me into a deep hug. I put my hands on his chest and tried to push him away. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  “Making him jealous.”

  I heard footsteps across the floor and then they stopped behind me. I swallowed nervously, now trying to slide my way out of Jeremy’s grasp.

  “I was gone not even five minutes and you throw yourself at her?” Mr. Heywood asked, grabbing my shoulders and forcibly yanking me away from Jeremy.

  I stumbled and fell back into his chest, now blushing. He steadied me before letting me go. I looked up at him and he threw a disapproving look to Jeremy.

  Jeremy shrugged. “A guy gets lonely sometimes.”

  “Can I trust you to take her home? Or will you attack her in the car?” Mr. Heywood snapped.

  “I might,” Jeremy responded with a smirk.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Mr. Heywood said, sounding exasperated. “Yes or no.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, yeah. What’s got you all hyped up? A date?”

  Suddenly Mr. Heywood’s lips curved up into a smirk. “Something along those lines . . .”

  Jeremy stared at him in shock. I froze, suddenly feeling sick.

  Mr. Heywood had a date?

  LESSON fifteen

  “Holly. Holly? Holly!”

  Something hit the top of my head and I jumped, coming out of my daze. I looked to my right to see Lance frowning at me. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute!” he complained.

  “Sorry,” I responded, stretching.

  “Can I have your extra pizza sticks?”

  A grin made its way onto my face and I shook my head, sliding my lunch tray over to Lance. “You wanted my attention just to ask me that? Usually you just take them.”

  “Can’t I be a gentleman once in a while?”

  He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes. The small scar on his head from when the bat hit him caught my attention. He caught me looking and frowned. “It does
n’t hurt,” he informed me, running a finger over it. “It’s just sort of ruining my good looks.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

  Silence fell between us again and I moodily picked through my trail mix. I had already picked out the M&Ms and the only things left were all the nuts and raisins. Both food items were gross in my opinion.

  I absently wondered if Mr. Heywood liked peanuts. Or if he liked chocolate . . . I frowned slightly after a moment. I didn’t actually know anything about him, besides his past as a gang member, and I didn’t even know all that. He was keeping something from me. But he never shared what he liked or disliked. He never told me what he liked to do, or where he came from.

  He probably wouldn’t tell me who he went on a date with.

  I huffed, crushing a peanut between my fingers. Who did Mr. Heywood know that was a girl besides the faculty and students here? And more importantly, what did he see in her? Mr. Heywood had never mentioned a girl before! And Jeremy didn’t even know who he was dating.

  I wanted to know who she was, but at the same time I didn’t. What if she was a beautiful woman against whom I couldn’t compete? It was possible. Mr. Heywood was very handsome . . .

  I heaved a heavy sigh, slumping onto the table. Love was a very unfair thing.

  “Holly Evers. You tell me what’s wrong with you this instant!” Lance demanded, giving me a hard look.

  “Huh?” I looked at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve sighed at least fifty times since lunch started,” a new voice from my left pointed out.

  I jumped again, turning to my left to see Casey watching me with concerned eyes. “When did you get here?”

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” she told me, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice me?”

  “Oh . . . no.”

  “Because she’s too busy being in the dumps about something she won’t share with us,” Lance interjected, frowning at me.

  “Tell us what’s wrong,” Casey prompted. “Obviously there’s something going on.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing’s going on.”

  They both gave me skeptical looks.

  “Really,” I assured them.

  “Not even the slightest?”

  “Fine. I didn’t study for the math test,” I lied. “All the formulas got to me and I said screw it, I can afford to fail. So it’s not that big of a deal. And even if it was—”