She held up her index finger and gave me a tight smile. “One second. Let me shut the door.”
I placed my bag on my lap and clutched it tightly as I waited for her to make her way back around and take a seat. Again, her eyes shifted over me.
“How are you today?”
That was the question of the day, apparently.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
I nodded and tried to be more convincing. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Even though the one person who shouldn’t be running through my mind, is.
“I spoke with your mother the day you were suspended and released early to go home.”
Why are we rehashing this? I knew it all already and so did she, so what was the—
“Your mother mentioned you came home last Wednesday with the bruised lip.”
I remain silent, wondering exactly what she was getting at. That was when she dropped her bomb.
“I know that Jessica didn’t strike your face on Wednesday in the parking lot. So, who did that to you?”
I wondered exactly who she thought did it. If she’d seen that Jessica hadn’t slapped me, just how long did she stand there? Had she seen me talking to Grayson?
“It’s okay, you know. You can tell me.”
I thought about that and then, for first time in days, I heard the—tick, tick, tock—of her clock. That was when I asked with a little more malice than I expected, “And why would I do that?”
She didn’t flinch, not even to blink, as she spoke in a tone that was clear and invited no deviation. “I’m your teacher. I’m here to help you, to guide you. I’m someone you can trust implicitly.”
I didn’t trust her—not at all.
“Are we done?”
She sat back in her chair and silently nodded, indicating that yes, for now we were done. I stood, and just as I got to the door, she called out my name. With a palm on the handle I looked back.
“Perhaps you should talk to Mr. McKendrick. It seems like you trust him.”
Without saying a word, I opened the door and left Miss Shrieve’s office.
Present…
“What’s in the envelope?”
Lifting the yellow rectangle, Doc hands it to me.
“It’s for you.”
I start to open it, but he puts his hand over mine. “Nope. Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Nope.”
He removed his hand, and I put the envelope on the bench between us and sighed. “Okay, O wise one.”
“Ah! There’s your sense of humor!” Bringing a hand to his chest, Doc admits, “That does very good things to this old heart.”
“You aren’t that old.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. You’re only as old as you feel.”
“And how old do you feel, Addy?”
“Nice one. How long did you think about that before you threw it in there?”
“Last night and this morning. But…back to the question. How old do you feel?”
I stretch my legs out in front of me and then shrug. “I feel like a child here. Someone is always telling me what to do.”
“Well, you know why. They just want to—”
“I know. Make sure I don’t hurt myself or anyone else,” I finish for him. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Look where it got me,” I tell him, gesturing around us.
“Sitting on a bench with me on a nice sunny day? Could be worse.”
“Locked up. I mean it got me locked up.”
“Hmm…”
“There you go again.”
Pointing to the envelope, he says, “Open it.”
Picking it up, I unseal it and pull out what’s inside. There in my hands is the smiling face of Brandon Williams.
Standing all around him are members of his new track team, and he is front and center, beaming at the camera. I can feel the anger I’d forgotten for days start to bubble up inside me. The picture had been featured in the Sunday newspaper and stated that Brandon Williams was now the National 100-meter dash champion.
My head snaps around to Doc, and fuming, I get to my feet.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Addy, please. Watch the language.”
“Explain. Why would you give me this?” I demand, shoving the article back at him. He takes it from me as he stands, but before I can pull my hand back he takes ahold of it.
“He hurt people. Didn’t he?”
“You know he did. They already told you when I was admitted here what happened.”
I don’t understand. Why is Doc throwing this in my face? I don’t want to know about Brandon. I don’t care about him. I don’t care about—
“But he’s happy. Just look at him.”
“I thought I could trust you!” I shout. He’s hurt me just when I thought I didn’t have any feelings left to hurt.
“You can,” he tells me. I shake my head, quite adamant he is lying.
“Listen to me. You can’t let these people continue to have such a hold over you. Use your head, not your heart. Make yourself want it. Crave it, not some illusion, Addison.”
The use of my proper name pulls me from my angry haze. “Make myself want what? You aren’t making any sense.”
Letting me go, Doc points to the paper in my hand. “What he has. Freedom.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Past…
“Addison!”
I stopped walking and saw Grayson at the far end of the hall. The bell for lunch had rung and I was planning to step out and take the hour in my car, by myself—where I could try and get my usual facade back in place.
Miss Shrieve had been insinuating too much and asking too many questions—too many potentially damaging questions. They weren’t damaging for me but they would be for the man now striding down the hall in my direction.
I waited off to the side where my locker was and watched several students greet Mr. McKendrick as he passed them. It wasn’t unusual for a teacher to need to see a student, but I knew from the look in his eyes that it had nothing to do with school.
When he stopped an acceptable distance from me, he asked, “Where are you going? We need to talk.”
“We do? Why?”
Checking to make sure no one was within earshot, he asked in a hushed tone, “What is going on with you today?”
Not quite sure what to say, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he hissed.
He was right. It was bullshit.
He gestured to the small alcove at the end of the lockers, and I obeyed without protest. After talking to Doc, I realized that I’d been using Grayson for my own selfish reasons and giving nothing but pain in return.
It was time to free him from my burdens.
“You’ve shut down. I want to know why.”
Refusing to draw this out any longer but knowing this wasn’t the time or the place to get into it, I said, “Maybe I’ve realized a few things.”
It sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.
He must have thought so too because his mouth pulled into a grim line, and the emotions swirling in his eyes were oscillating between anger and concern.
“Oh yeah, like what?”
I swallowed, and gestured between us. “That this—”
“Yes?” he interrupted, his cutting tone and his expression making this much more difficult than I expected it to be.
“This is going to hurt you,” I stressed on a whisper.