A Proscriptive Relationship (24 page)

“Then we do this the old fashioned way.”

Shawn stared at me curiously. I brought my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. This time he let go of me in surprise and I twisted on my heel, fleeing before he got over the pain.

I shook my fist lightly. That had definitely not been a weak punch. And Mr. Heywood had even said I had a good punch. Who was this guy?

I came to the stairs and ran quickly down. On the fourth stair my foot went through the board, followed quickly by the rest of my body. I screamed in surprise as my body plummeted down the rotten step. I frantically grabbed onto the step above me, catching myself before I fell all the way.

As I hung there, I tried pulling myself back up, but found it to be impossible almost immediately. I had almost no upper body strength. I struggled for a minute more, trying to force myself up, but it only made my arms more tired.

I grunted as I hung in the air, frustrated. I’d definitely break a leg or ankle or something if I just dropped down from the stairs.

A sudden pressure met my fingers and I cried out in pain.

“You think you can get away after doing that to me? Who do you think you are?”

I couldn’t see who it was, but the voice told me it was Shawn. I scowled. Couldn’t he stay in pain for at least a minute longer?

“I think it’d be fun to let you fall, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

I winced as he ground his shoe into my fingers, making them ache painfully. After a few seconds, I already felt like they were going to break.

“Stop!” I begged, my hands becoming slippery with sweat.

“I can’t hear you,” he taunted, switching hands.

I hissed in pain, trying to control the shaking of my other abused hand. My arms screamed in protest to the unusual treatment of my muscles.

“You’re tough. But you won’t be tough when I break your fingers.”

I sucked in a breath when he took his foot away. Was he going to stomp on them?

“Holly, let go!” a voice cried from under me.

Without a second thought, I shut my eyes and let go of the staircase. A piece of the broken stair scratched my cheek as my head went by it. I fell through the air for a split second and then abruptly landed in someone’s arms. I opened my eyes to see Jeremy staring at me.

“Let’s go,” he demanded, putting me down and grabbing my hand.

He yanked me towards the door, running faster than I could keep up with. He forced me out and then slammed the door behind him. We ran to the car together and I didn’t hesitate to wrench the car door open and hop in. Jeremy did the same and stuffed the keys into the ignition. He started it in one swift movement and we peeled out of the driveway. Soon, we were speeding down the dirt road away from the house.

I let out a deep sigh of relief, trying to catch my breath.

“That was close,” Jeremy sighed, glancing in the rearview mirror. At least no one was following us.

“You’re telling me! Imagine if the car didn’t start.”

He grimaced. “I’d rather not. You okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. How about you?”

“Perfect,” he said, grinning. “Hadn’t had that much of a thrill in a while. It was nice.”

“Gangsters,” I muttered.

Jeremy laughed. “Hey, I don’t appreciate that word.”

“How about thug?”

“I prefer ruffian.”

“Let’s stick with hoodlum.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes at me. “Forget it, stick with gangster. I can’t believe it was Shawn we ran into. And we made it out without a scratch.”

“
Is he strong?”

“
Yup. We got lucky.”

I looked into the rearview mirror again. Just who was this guy? And why did he harbor such a grudge against Jeremy and Mr. Heywood?

“
Hey, isn’t your class trip tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah!” I sat up straighter. “I haven’t even packed!”

“I wish I could go,” Jeremy sighed. “I want to go to the beach while the weather is still okay.”

“To be honest, I don’t know why we are going in October since it’s been chilly lately, but it’s supposed to be warm tomorrow. Fortunately. Why don’t you just come down for fun?” I suggested.

“Can’t. I’ve got to watch my sisters,” he responded.

“You have sisters?”

“Yup.”

“How old?”

“I have a thirteen-year-old sister and a seven-year-old sister,” he told me, smiling slightly. “They’re cute. You’ll have to meet them sometime.”

“Sure,” I responded, smiling too now.

We lapsed back into silence as we entered the downtown area. As we passed the grocery store, I vaguely wondered if Lance was working. Jeremy pulled into my driveway and I unbuckled myself, grabbing my backpack from the floor. “I’ll see you later, Jeremy.”

“Hey wait, grab a wipe out of the glove box and wipe your face,” he said. “It’s bloody from where you got cut.”

I sucked in a quick breath. Good thing Jeremy had caught that. Otherwise my mom would’ve been asking a lot of questions that I probably wouldn’t want to answer. After I found a wipe, I pulled down the visor to use the mirror, but found there wasn’t one.

“Let me do it,” Jeremy offered.

I nodded and handed him the wipe. He grabbed my head and turned it towards him, gently swiping at my cheek.

I winced. “Why does it hurt?”

“It’s got disinfectant,” he responded, wiping my cheek a little more roughly now. “My sisters fall down a lot, so I have these things handy.”

“Oh,” I responded. I had a feeling Jeremy was a good older brother.

When he was done, he chucked the dirty wipe into a trash bag in the back and then turned back to me. “Well it’s been an interesting day,” he commented. “Will Chris being hearing about this?”

“No way,” I responded immediately, shaking my head. “I think he might kill me if he found out I got involved with gangsters.
Again
.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Good point. Have a good night, kiddo. Have fun at the beach tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” I replied with a small smile. “Tell your sisters I said hi.”

“Sure.”

I climbed out of the car and shut the door behind me. It was pitch black out now. We’d been gone for the better part of the day. As soon as I entered my house, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted over me. Following the smell, I entered the kitchen, letting out a yawn. “Mom, did you make me a cup?”

“Mom?” a male voice responded.

My eyes snapped open and I came face to face with Mr. Heywood. He raised an eyebrow at me. With wide eyes, I looked past him to my mom, who was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee.

She watched me for a moment and then stood up. I watched her warily as she came to a stop right in front of me. I braced myself, preparing for the worst.

“Welcome home!” she cried, throwing me into a big hug. “How was school? Was everyone nice to you? I hope so! I don’t want to have to make any calls to the principal!”  

Yep. My mom was a doting mother.

I rolled my eyes, giving my mom a short squeeze before trying to squirm out of her grasp. “Today was great, Mom.”

“
And your date? How come I’ve never met this man before?” she continued, beginning to frown. “How old is he?”

I shot Mr. Heywood a glare. He was biting his lip, trying not to laugh. That only made me more irritated. “Mom, why is my teacher here?” I asked, trying to change the topic.

She grinned, pulling me over to Mr. Heywood. By now he had his laughter under control and he was smiling pleasantly at my mom.

“
Lynn and I ran into each other at the grocery store,” he explained.

“
Literally,” my mom said. “And then I found out he was your teacher, so I invited him here to have dinner. He’s so young and handsome . . . how come you haven’t mentioned him before, Holly?”

“
She’s never mentioned me?” Mr. Heywood asked, frowning slightly.

“
Since you’re so busy all the time, it’s never come up,” I told her wearily.

She nodded. “I see.” Then, turning to Mr. Heywood, “work keeps me busy so I don’t have a lot of free time at home.”

He nodded his head understandingly. “I’m sure being a single mom with a . . . a teenage daughter must be hard.”

I scowled at him for a second. I knew he was going to say something offensive about me before he corrected himself. He smirked back. My mom was oblivious to the exchange completely.

“
Well, shall I get supper started then?” she asked, looking between Mr. Heywood and myself.

“
You
won’t,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “Face it, Mom. You can’t cook at all.”

She blushed, looking down in embarrassment. “I could still try . . .”

“
I can cook something,” Mr. Heywood offered. “Believe it or not, I’m a good cook.”

She turned to him with a grin on her face. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Holly, would you help him?”

“Uh . . .”

“Good!” she said happily, putting a hand on my back. “I’m sure the two of you can figure out something good. There are steaks in the fridge. If we don’t cook them soon, they might go bad. There are also onions in there. And some potatoes. It could make a good dinner—”

“Mom,” I started, cutting her off, “if you want a steak dinner, you just have to ask.”

She blushed again, laughing sheepishly. “Right, sorry.”

“No worries, I can make a great steak,” Mr. Heywood assured her, a charming smile now on his face.

I stared at him. Was he trying to flirt with my mom? That was gross!

“Great!” she responded enthusiastically. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take this time to make a few business calls.”

She smiled at Mr. Heywood again and squeezed my shoulder before leaving the room. I frowned, trying to smooth my hair out. Mr. Heywood watched me with an amused look. I turned my frown onto him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed your mom was so doting,” he commented.

I shrugged. “She didn’t used to be like this. She was much more manageable before my dad died.”

“I see.”

There was an awkward silence. “So what do you want me to do?” It was weird having to ask him what to do in my own house. It was weird having him
in
my house. Again.

“
You can sit in that chair right there.” He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ll do the cooking. It seems like you had a rough day.”

“Huh?” I responded, feeling my heart skip a beat. “W-what are you talking about?”

He gave me a flat look. I returned it with an innocent one. After a few seconds he marched up to me, lips in a flat line. Standing my ground, I turned my chin up at him. He stopped about a foot away and raised his hand to my face.

I flinched and he sighed. Then I felt his hand touch my face softly.

“There’s a cut on your cheek,” he said, running his thumb over the cut, sending tingles to my toes. “And your shirt sleeve has a hole in it. Not to mention your knuckles are bruised.”

I looked down at my hands in surprise. Like he said, the knuckles on the hand Shawn had stepped on were bruised. I looked back up at him in shock. How had he noticed that?

“Should we talk about this now, or later?” he demanded, his mouthing twisting into a frown.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I responded, realizing his hand was still on my face. I blushed and pushed it away. “Nothing happened.”

He rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I told you that you can’t lie to me?”

“I’m not lying,” I stated stubbornly.

“Fine,” he responded simply, turning around, and walking away from me. “I trust you enough to believe you.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. Was he trying to make me feel guilty? Well, it wouldn’t work. I could handle the guilt. After all, I had to handle the guilt of lying to Casey anyway.

“I’ll just beat the truth out of Jeremy.”

I sighed, hanging my head in defeat. “No, don’t do that.”

“So you’ll tell me?”

I bit my lip, staring at the floor. “You won’t like it.”

There was a sudden hand on my shoulder and I jumped slightly, unaware that Mr. Heywood had come back across the kitchen again. His eyes pierced into mine again, and I had to look away.

“Holly, I know I won’t like it, but it’s important that you tell me if something has happened.”

“Don’t be mad at Jeremy,” I started in a quiet voice.

“Stop worrying about Jeremy, Holly!” Mr. Heywood snapped. “Worry about yourself!”

I looked at him, a bit taken aback. He gaze was hard and I swallowed nervously. “Jeremy, uh . . .” I struggled to form a coherent thought. With Mr. Heywood so close to me, and how nervous I was, it wasn’t working so smoothly.

“Jeremy?” Mr. Heywood urged, taking a step away from me.

With him a little further away, I could focus more easily. “Jeremy took me to your old gang hideout . . .” I trailed off, gauging his reaction.

He tensed, but didn’t say anything.

“And after a while this guy from the gang came and we had to leave. And I fell down the stairs,” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “Well, I didn’t technically fall down the stairs, I actually fell through a step and that’s how I got the cut on my cheek, but Jeremy was there below me and caught me.”

Mr. Heywood pursed his lips at me. “Holly, it’s obvious you left out a lot.”

I scratched my head, looking back at the ground. “This guy had back up, so Jeremy took out the back up . . . while the guy came after me. And, well, he didn’t do anything,” I said quickly, catching a look of Mr. Heywood’s dark face. “When I fell, he just stepped on my fingers, so I guess that’s how I got the bruises. Or maybe it was when I punched him, but that didn’t affect him at all—”

Mr. Heywood sighed, shaking his head. “Holly—”

“But Shawn had me and I didn’t want to die!” I said in defense.

“Shawn?” he repeated in a serious tone.

I mentally slapped myself. The plan was to
not
mention Shawn’s name.

“I’m going to murder Jeremy,” Mr. Heywood muttered dangerously. “That little brat.”

“It’s not his fault!”

“Shawn, Holly, is the leader. You attacked the
leader
! Are you stupid?”