by Jordan Lynde
“Okay.”
Fortunately, by now, the line for the Ferris wheel was much shorter. I climbed into the swaying compartment carefully, holding tightly onto the railings. When my whole body was over the gap between the compartment and dock, I quickly sat down so I wouldn’t fall. Mr. Heywood followed, casually stepping in without a worry. He sat across from me and the worker closed the gate, sending me a knowing smirk, as if he knew how nervous I was. I looked away, my gaze falling on the crowd waiting in line. “What happens if someone sees us?”
Mr. Heywood chuckled. “Depending on who it is, either we’ll have to think of a pretty convincing excuse as to why we are riding the Ferris wheel together, or it wouldn’t matter. There’s nothing wrong with a teacher and student going on a ride together, unless you think of it the wrong way.”
I nodded and the compartment suddenly lurched forward. We moved for about thirty seconds and it stopped again, to load and unload more people. Mr. Heywood sighed and looked at all the people below us.
“Do you like Ferris wheels?” I inquired, frowning slightly. I hadn’t even asked if he was fond of them or not. He might have a fear of Ferris wheels for all I knew.
Mr. Heywood shrugged. “I don’t hate them,” he responded.
“Oh.”
The compartment began to move again, going up higher into the air. I licked my lips nervously. In my excitement to go on the Ferris wheel, I had forgotten I was afraid of heights. How ironic was that? I placed my hands securely on the seat, hoping the compartment would stop swaying. When we were about halfway from the top, the Ferris wheel started moving full speed. I stared wide-eyed at the ground below us. Since when did Ferris wheels go so fast? I reached out and gripped the pole in the middle.
“Are you scared?” Mr. Heywood asked in a teasing voice.
“No,” I lied, swallowing hard as we continued to go higher.
“You won’t mind if I rock the compartment then, would you?”
Before I could protest, Mr. Heywood stood up and started shaking the compartment. I wrapped my arms around the pole and held on tightly as he violently shook the only thing keeping us from falling and dying.
“Scared now?” he asked.
“Stop!” I cried, my heart racing. “Please, stop!”
Mr. Heywood laughed. “Say you’re scared.”
I glared at him and forced myself up off the seat and shakily stood next to him. Still clinging to the pole, I kicked him as hard as I could. He lost his balance and fell towards me. I screamed as his weight broke my grip on the pole and we both fell onto my seat, making the compartment rock even more violently than it already was.
I frantically grabbed onto Mr. Heywood, wrapping my arms around him, and gripping onto the back of his jacket. My breath quickened, and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the rocking to stop. Mr. Heywood sat up, dragging me with him. Although I was pissed at him, I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. When the compartment was nearly still I opened my eyes, my hands still shaking and attached to his jacket.
“You’re a jerk,” I accused, my voice cracking.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, looking amused. “I didn’t think I’d fall . . .”
“Why are you like this?” I demanded, slowly making myself release him.
He straightened out his jacket, smoothing the wrinkles I had made. “Like what?”
“This! You always say something mean to me and than apologize and think everything is okay!” I cried, throwing up my arms. The compartment shook again and I leaned forwards, grabbing onto Mr. Heywood again. He put his hands on my shoulders and after I moment, I let go of him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “It’s just my personality.”
“Well it’s not a good one!” I told him.
“I know,” he responded.
“Yeah—wait, what?” I said, staring at him.
“I know I have a horrible personality,” he told me, rolling his eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
I felt the wheel come to a stop and looked around me before I could stop myself. Dizziness swept over me when I realized our compartment was at the top. Usually I would be feeling excited, but after my near death experience, I was feeling sick. I pushed myself away from the side, but before I could sit back Mr. Heywood grabbed me and pulled me towards him.
“Wait,” I said, trying to pull away from him.
He held me tighter and slid me down right next to him. “No. I know you’re scared, so it’s okay.”
I chewed my lip, but sighed. He was right. I was scared. And being closer to him made me more comfortable—not that I was going to let him know that. “Fine. But now you tell me why those men tried to assault you in the woods.”
Mr. Heywood chuckled. “Straight to the point, huh? Don’t you want to know why I became a gangster?”
I looked up at him. If I said yes, would he tell me? Or would he be his usual self and say something along the lines of “like I would tell you.” After a moment of hesitation I nodded. He was the one who offered.
He snorted. “Like I would tell you.”
I tried to move away from him. I knew it. He held me fast, though, and laughed quietly. “Just kidding,” he said. “I’m not sure exactly when I started. Either my freshman or sophomore year of high school. It just so happened that a bunch of members from the town’s gang attended my school.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to join them,” I pointed out.
Mr. Heywood hesitated for a moment, looking uncomfortable. He let out a long sigh before continuing. “That’s not it. I didn’t join out of my free will right away. At first I was just like every other normal student. I got good grades, played soccer on the school’s team, and had friends. But one of my friends was a complete stereotypical nerd who was made fun of all the time.”
I stayed quiet, nodding my head when I felt the need to. Mr. Heywood stretched, resting his arms on the top of the seat. I leaned forwards, to make sure that I wouldn’t accidentally lean back onto his arm. Sitting next to him like this made me feel like we were a couple taking this ride on the Ferris wheel together. My face heated slightly at the thought.
Luckily, Mr. Heywood’s voice interrupted them.
“I’m not sure about nowadays, but back when I went to school, we had the classic bullies who literally beat people up for lunch money and all that.”
“Weren’t you in high school like four years ago, Mr. Heywood?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow, ignoring my question. “I told you to call me Chris out of class.”
“Sorry, er, Chris,” I responded, looking at my lap. “Please continue.”
He chuckled. “Anyways, I bet you guessed it, but my friend was beaten up constantly. He never told me, but one day after soccer practice I ran into a fight. Four guys were beating up Chris. Without thinking, I dropped my equipment and attacked them.”
“All four?”
Mr. Heywood nodded. “It was easy. They were all down for the count in five minutes flat. It just so happened the leader of the school’s gang was watching and he decided he wanted me to join them. Do you know what happens when you refuse to join a gang?”
I shook my head. Mr. Heywood suddenly started to take off his shirt. I grabbed it and pulled it back down, blushing madly.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, avoiding eye contact.
“Relax,” Mr. Heywood responded with a snicker. “I’m just going to show you something.”
I frowned and let go of his shirt. He pulled it up again and showed me his back. My breath caught when I saw a large, pale, scar across the top of it. I slowly reached out and touched the smooth skin.
“What did they do?” I whispered.
Mr. Heywood let out a bark of laughter. “What do you think? They all got together and hit me until I agreed to join.”
I looked lower on his back and saw another scar. I touched it and Mr. Heywood arched his back slightly. “What is this scar from?”
“Lighters,” he resp
onded.
“Oh my God,” I said, pulling my hand away. “You didn’t tell the police?”
“And get myself killed?” He pulled down his shirt and looked at me with an eyebrow cocked. “I don’t think so.”
“But—”
“They knew I was stronger than the leader,” Mr. Heywood explained, ignoring me. “That’s why they all got together to force me to join. If there had been only like, five or seven of them I could have taken them. Twenty, not so much. And after I joined, I was able to easily stop the bullying at school. My friend was never harassed again.”
“So why didn’t you just join before they beat you up?” I asked.
Mr. Heywood shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about the good things being in the gang would allow me to do—that’s why I refused at first.”
“So you went through all that just for your friend?”
“Pretty much,” he responded with a shrug. “But it was also for everyone else who was being bullied as well.”
I stared at Mr. Heywood. I had been wrong about him all along. He wasn’t some jerk who didn’t care about anyone but himself. In fact, it was like he cared about everyone else more than himself. He had gone through all that, plus having both his parents die? Guilt washed over me. It felt like my heart had dropped into my gut. I was the jerk here. Not him. Mr. Heywood put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up at him. He looked almost as guilty as I felt, which threw me off guard. What was he feeling guilty about?
“Are you okay?” he asked in concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
That’s why he felt guilty. I shook my head quickly. “That’s not it . . . It’s just . . . I had pinned you as a self-centered jerk, but I didn’t know you at all, so I was just assuming things and I feel really bad about it because you’re actually a nice person who would do all that for you friends. And yet the whole time I knew you . . .”
Mr. Heywood’s face twisted into an expression I didn’t recognize. “It’s okay. Being a jerk is part of my personality as well. That just isn’t my whole personality.”
“I’m a jerk too,” I pointed out.
“No you’re not,” Mr. Heywood said with a sigh. “You’re just an honest girl who cries easily. And who is probably very gullible,” he added as an after thought.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
Mr. Heywood grinned. “I just get a feeling from you.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at him. I was seeing him in a new light now. But seeing him in this new light made my heartbeat increase, and my stomach churn. I couldn’t pull gaze away from his handsome face. Even though I hadn’t had much to do with guys, I definitely recognized these feelings. And it wasn’t a good sign.
LESSON EIGHT
The air had become considerably colder after two more trips around on the Ferris wheel. Now that I had become use to the height I was enjoying the ride. Mr. Heywood sat beside me, keeping silent after spilling part of his past. The ride suddenly came to a halt, stopping us at the very top again. I moved close to the side of the compartment so I could look down. Mr. Heywood moved as well, shaking the compartment. A startled gasp escaped my lips and I jerked away from the edge, smashing my head against Mr. Heywood’s.
“Ow,” I complained, bring a hand to the back of my head.
Mr. Heywood grinned at me. “You have a hard head.”
“No, you do,” I responded, frowning.
Mr. Heywood rolled his eyes, nodding to the left. “Aren’t those your friends?”
Following his finger, I located a few familiar faces that sent of a jolt of surprise through me. Lance and Casey were standing in line for the Ferris wheel along with Sam and Danielle. Panic gripped me, and I looked back at Mr. Heywood—who didn’t look concerned.
“They are going to see us!” I told him in a frantic whisper.
“Why does it matter?” he responded, vaguely bemused.
“Because,” I started, ducking my head, “Casey has it in her head that something might be going on with us, or will be, so if she sees us together she’ll think she’s right. And Lance . . . ugh, I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do. I ditched him to follow you and didn’t even leave him a note or anything so he probably hates me.”
Mr. Heywood chuckled. “You seem to have dug yourself a pretty deep grave.”
I glared at him. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Any time,” he responded with a wink.
The wheel began moving again, slowly, with pauses to change riders. Rolling my eyes, I dropped my head into my hands, thinking hard. How would I be able to get us out of this situation? It was impossible. I quickly counted the groups of people in line, and then the number of compartments ahead of ours. Just our luck. They would get our compartment. That meant they’d definitely see us.
Our compartment was almost down to ground level. “Put your head down,” Mr. Heywood ordered, motioning to his chest. “Face into my chest, and wrap your arms around my neck.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it,” he ordered, taking the back of my head and forcing it into his chest.
A muffled cry escaped my lips and I felt his chest reverberate with quiet laughter. He then grabbed my arms and wrapped them around his neck. A few seconds later I felt him pulling my hair over the bit of my face that was showing. I kept my face pressed into his chest, sitting as still as possible.
“Can we go once more around?” I heard Mr. Heywood ask in a very persuasive voice.
“Uh, sure,” another voice, I presumed the worker’s, responded, and the compartment kept moving.
“Hey, Mr. Heywood!” I heard Casey cry and felt him nod in response.
I bit my lip in anxiety, silently begging for Casey not to notice me. After a minute I felt Mr. Heywood pulling away from me, and I quickly tightened my arms around his neck.
“Holly,” he started, prying his hands off me. “It’s all clear. They got on a few compartments below us.”
I quickly pushed myself away from him. “Um, thanks.”
“Any time,” he responded with a grin.
When the Ferris wheel came back full circuit, the worker opened the compartment door to let us out. I nearly jumped out, keeping my head down. Mr. Heywood followed, also keeping his head down, and together we hurried as fast as we could away from the attraction.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, pulling me in the direction of the parking lot.
We made it to the parking lot without trouble. A chilly wind nipped at my exposed skin and I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Mr. Heywood guided me through the dark, coming to a stop at his car. He fumbled with his keys for a second before opening the passenger door for me. I quickly slid in while he hurried to the other side of the car, climbing in the driver’s seat.
Mr. Heywood started the car and glanced at me. “Do you have service on your cell phone?”
My eyes widened and I gasped, digging my hand into my pocket. My cell phone! I fumbled with it for a minute, realizing it was off. Scowling, I pressed the on button. My phone had a horrible habit of turning off randomly. When it loaded, text message after text message arrived. After seven text messages, my missed calls showed up. There were fifteen of them. I checked those first. Ten from Lance, and five from Casey. I didn’t even bother to read the text messages. I flipped open my phone and held down the 1 button, speed-dialing Casey.
“Holly!” Casey cried after the first ring.
“Hi.”
“Where are you?” she demanded. “Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you? I thought you got kidnapped! Lance said you were there one second and gone the next! And Sam said he saw you going into the forest!”
“Calm down,” I said, looking over at Mr. Heywood, who was focusing on the heat control, but I knew he was eavesdropping. “I’m okay, I just ran into . . . an old friend.”
Mr. Heywood glanced at me, smirking. I turned away from him. I wasn’t good at thinking on the spot.
&nbs
p; “You could have at least called!” a new voice with a British accent cried.
“Lance!” I heard Casey shout. “Give that back!”
“In a minute,” Lance responded. “You could have at least called, Holly!”
“Sorry, Lance,” I said with a sigh. I had really hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to Lance. “I forgot I had my phone. It was off.”
“You had me—us worried sick!”
“Sorry, I really am,” I apologized again. “It’s just, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight.”
“Him?”
Crap. “Yeah, my friend.”
“Where are you now?”
“On my way home.
My phone beeped and I looked at it quickly. The low battery sign was flashing. Sighing I placed the phone against my ear again. “Look,” I started, “I’ve got to go. My phone is dying.”
“Are you with the guy now?”
“Yeah, he’s bringing me home. I’ll talk to you later,” I responded quickly, my phone beeping again.
“Wait, Holly!”
“Bye!”
Hitting the end button, I disconnected the call and shut off my cell phone. I put it back into my pocket, letting out a little yawn. Mr. Heywood lifted an eyebrow, now pulling out of the parking lot. “Lance seemed very worried about you,” he commented casually.
“Yeah,” I responded wearily. “That’s just him, though. It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“That’s sweet,” Mr. Heywood responded with a nod. “Maybe he likes you?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “No way. He’s my best friend. Besides, he likes someone else.”
“Who?”
“He won’t tell me,” I responded with a shrug. “He’s sure she won’t go out with him.”
“Why does he think that?”
“I don’t know. We were talking, and he said there was no way she would go out with him. Even though I personally think anyone would go out with him.”
“Would you?” Mr. Heywood asked, looking at me from the corner of his eye.
I shook my head. “What? No, we’re just friends. I’ve never thought of him like that . . . we’re just friends.” For some reason, I felt like I was explaining my friendship with Lance to my boyfriend.