“Dammit, Asher—what the fuck’s your deal?”
Smith sort of snarls at that.
“You oughta learn to keep your fucking hands to yourself, Fenton,” he growls.
“Shit, man, I was just trying to scare the bitch. Having a little fun, you know.”
Smith cocks his fist back and sucker-punches J. D. right in the nose. He yelps and I watch as blood spurts out onto the linoleum floor. Guess that’ll be another time his nose has been broken.
“You just stay the hell away from her,” he demands.
Smith steps back, scrubbing a hand over his face. His chest is heaving and he’s staring at me now—his eyes look almost bottomless. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them and deeper than I would have thought possible. I want to go to him, want to tuck myself into his arms and cling to him. Instead, I lean back against the cold, hard wall.
When J. D. manages to get up, there is blood soaking through his shirt and he’s holding a hand over his nose. He starts to stumble toward the door, but, before he can reach it, it swings open and Officer Rains comes charging through.
“What’s going on in here? I heard yelling.” He looks from J. D. to Smith, then over to me. “Miss Hendricks, are you all right?”
I swallow hard, then glance at J. D.
“I caught Mr. Fenton selling drugs to two other students. I asked him to go to the principal’s office. He wouldn’t listen. He used inappropriate language. He—he grabbed my face. He had me pinned up against the wall.”
Officer Rains sort of sneers at J. D.
“Didn’t your parents teach you to keep your hands to yourself, Fenton?” He looks him over, then quirks an eyebrow at Smith.
“So, do I need to ask who worked him over?”
Smith doesn’t say anything and Rains rolls his eyes.
“Fantastic. A twofer. Follow me, Asher. We’re going to Weathersby’s office. Now.”
“Fuck you. I didn’t do shit,” Smith spits at him. Rains narrows his eyes.
“According to Fenton’s face, you’ve done plenty. You can follow me to the office or I can take you into custody. The choice is yours.”
Rains half leads / half drags J. D. out the door. For a moment, Smith stands stock-still, his chest heaving with his breath and making his body look even broader. Stronger. When he finally heads for the door, he stops to look at me first.
“Are you okay?”
His voice is soft, but not gentle. I watch his fists clench and unclench at his sides. Then I nod.
“Yes. I’m okay.”
He gives me a long look, absent of any humor or warmth, then turns away from me and stalks out the door.
***
The call I know is coming actually takes longer than I expected—it’s about ten minutes before the bell for third period when my classroom phone finally rings. The secretary’s pinched voice sounds annoyed, as though I’ve interrupted her while completing a hugely important task.
“Miss Hendricks, could you please come see Mr. Weathersby immediately?”
She hangs up before I can even say yes.
When I get to the main office, she sniffs at me, then nods toward the bank of chairs next to the wall. From behind Mr. Weathersby’s door, I can hear muffled voices. When one of them rises to a yell, I wince.
Seconds later, the door flies open and J. D. comes out, hands behind his back, with Officer Rains and another officer I don’t recognize following close behind him. J. D. glares at me coldly, then makes a big production of leaving the office, yelling “Fuck this place!” at the top of his lungs. The second officer grabs his arm and starts directing him out of the building. I feel almost paralyzed as I watch them leave.
“Miss Hendricks?”
Mr. Weathersby is standing by his door, both eyebrows raised. Hastily, I stand and hurry toward him. Inside, Smith is sitting in one of the chairs across from the large wooden desk. He’s looking out the window and I can’t see his face.
“Officer Rains has informed me of the altercation that just occurred,” Mr. Weathersby says, crossing the room and sitting behind his desk. “I was hoping you could clarify what exactly happened in the teachers’ lounge this morning.”
I swallow hard.
“There was an incident between myself and J. D. When I walked into the lounge, I saw him pass a plastic bag to another student in exchange for cash. I confronted him about the bag, and he then grabbed me—my face and my wrists—and held me against the wall.”
Mr. Weathersby coughs. “I’m incredibly sorry that happened. I assure you that J. D. will receive the highest level of discipline for his actions.”
His eyes shift to Smith, then back to me.
“What about Mr. Asher here? Did he get in your personal space as well?”
Not lately.
Smith glares at Mr. Weathersby. “I already told you I didn’t start this. I was being the good guy.”
I nod. “No. He was very helpful—in fact, he put himself in harm’s way in order to assist me. It was . . . chivalrous of him.”
I feel Smith’s eyes on me and I swallow hard, looking directly at Mr. Weathersby and nowhere else. The principal sighs, rubbing his temples.
“Well, then,” he sighs, “ordinarily all students involved in violent altercations are required to receive disciplinary action. However, I’m told Smith’s already serving detention with you this week—is that true?”
My eyes flick over to Smith, then back to Mr. Weathersby. “Yes—he’s been staying after school with me.”
Mr. Weathersby nods again.
“Alright, then.” He looks at Smith. “I’ll let you serve out your detentions with Miss Hendricks as your consequence. But, let me be clear, Mr. Asher—you do not touch people in this building. Ever.”
I look down at my hands, still fisted in my lap. Touching people in this building is certainly something I’ve been avoiding when it comes to Smith. I guess it’s good that now it’s been fully mandated by my boss.
“Mr. Asher, you’re excused. Miss Hendricks, please stay for another moment.”
The chair next to me scrapes back as Smith stands. He brushes against my arm as he walks past and I wonder if that’s just a big fuck you to the whole “not touching” thing. Wouldn’t surprise me.
When the door closes behind him, Mr. Weathersby leans back in his chair.
“Miss Hendricks—Hyacinth. May I call you Hyacinth?”
I blink at him. “Of course.”
“I want to give you the opportunity to tell me anything you feel compelled to share with me.”
I frown. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“Listen.” He sighs, leaning forward and putting both elbows on the desk. “I know that Franklin is a tough school. I know that this is the second violent episode you’ve been a part of in a less than a week, and I want you to know that I’ll understand if you’d like to leave the position.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Mr. Weathersby holds up a hand.
“I took the liberty of calling the principal over at Percy Middle School on your behalf. They still have a student teaching position that’s vacant. You’d be in the social studies department, not English, but it might make for an easier semester for you.”
I stare at him, unblinking.
He thinks I want to quit.
“We’ve lost a lot of interns over the years,” Mr. Weathersby is saying, shaking his head. “The fact is that this a tough place to break yourself in.”
I nod slowly.
“You’re right. It is tough here. Probably tougher than I imagined it would be.” I lean forward, placing a hand on the desk in front of me. “But, Mr. Weathersby, let me assure you—I don’t want to quit. I want to stay. I want to make this work.”
And as I say it, I realize how true it is. I don’t want to go anywhere else—not when I just proved I can stand up for myself, even in the face of someone much larger and scarier than me.
“Are you sure?” My principal looks skeptical and I smile at him.
“I am—although, I have to tell you that I’m not particularly comfortable with J. D. being in my class now.”