by Jordan Lynde
“Oh, no, a cop drove me home.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why?”
“No reason, I just happened to fall into her way,” I said honestly. I did fall into her way. Well, Shawn pushed me, but technically it’s the same thing.
Mr. Heywood narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. Something happened.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “How do you know?”
“I can just tell with you.”
“Well stop, it’s annoying,” I complained making him laugh.
“Maybe if you stopped lying to me, I wouldn’t have to. I’ve told you the truth, Holly. Don’t you think it’s fair to return the favor?”
Sure. Play the guilt card. I cleared my throat nervously. “Well, you know how Shawn was at the park?”
“Yes.”
“Well before I knew he was there, he called me using Lance’s cell phone, and we talked for a bit—”
“About what?”
“Stuff . . .”
“Like what? Don’t beat around the bush.”
“He, um, said now that you have the other Holly, that I should get with him. He thought I’d want to get back at you by doing that.”
“He what?” Mr. Heywood said, sounding angry. “He just wants to use you as a replacement!”
“I know that. But at least he had the decency to tell me right away.” Immediately I regretted letting those words slip out of my mouth. Mr. Heywood’s eyes flashed with sorrow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Holly, I don’t mind,” he cut me off. “I did use you as a replacement at first. I deserve every word.”
“No you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d probably do the same if I was in your shoes. If the person I loved left me, I’d try to find a replacement too. Well, maybe not, but you know . . .”
He smiled. One of his rare, genuine smiles. Not a smirk. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“What did you say to Shawn?” he asked after a moment.
As I remembered the words I said to him, a blush made its way onto my face again. Mr. Heywood raised an eyebrow.
“Well?”
“I just said I wouldn’t go with him,” I responded, editing out the embarrassing moments.
“That’s obvious,” he said with a laugh. “Smart move.”
“Shawn said he’d take me by force and he was coming to get me. That’s when I tried to leave, but he was waiting by the entrance—”
“What?” Mr. Heywood interjected, his eyes widening. “Holly! Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“Earlier we were arguing . . .”
“But this is more important! Are you okay? What happened?”
I lowered my gaze again to the floor and cleared my throat once more before continuing. “He said Dan was bringing the car around, but the car that actually showed up was a police car so he shoved me away, and that’s how I ended up being taken home by the police.”
“He tried to kidnap you?” Mr. Heywood said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you telling the truth?”
“I wouldn’t lie about this!”
“We have to tell the police,” he said suddenly, looking around the living room. “Where’d I put the phone?”
“What? No!” I cried, grabbing onto his arm. “If you’re involved, won’t you go back to jail?”
“Holly, your safety is more important than whether I go to jail or not! I should’ve called the cops from the very beginning!”
“No. If you go to jail I’ll feel like it’s my fault!”
“This is all my fault,” he told me flatly. “Don’t think for one second that any of this is your fault.”
“It’s my fault for running away in the middle of the night when I know there are gang members after me!”
“It’s my fault for getting you involved in the first place.”
“Don’t call the police!”
“But Holly—”
“If you go to jail then I won’t be able to see you,” I said, grasping onto his arm tighter. “I don’t want that.”
He tensed up, looking at me with an unreadable expression. After a moment he put a hand to his head and sighed deeply. “Why?”
“Why?” I repeated in confusion. “Why what?”
“Why would you put me not going to jail over your safety?” he demanded.
“It’s not fair that you have to go to jail for nothing just like the first time! I don’t want to see you going back. If you go back, we won’t be able to see each other and the school would be losing everyone’s favorite biology teacher,” I rushed, squeezing his arm. “I understand you want to help me, but I’m going to be extra cautious. So please don’t call the cops.”
“You don’t understand, Holly,” he responded. “You’re in danger.”
“I don’t care,” I responded defiantly.
“Are you stupid, Holly?” he asked, suddenly angry. “I worry every day about your safety when you aren’t around me. I’m always scared that something’s going to happen to you when I’m not around to save you.”
He thought about me that much? I blushed slightly, clearing my throat. “But I—”
“Hearing you say you don’t care just makes me more troubled,” he continued, cutting me off. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger to help me. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me—which you don’t seem to understand.”
“But I do understand,” I argued.
“Then let me call the cops.”
“No!” I said, frustrated. “You’re not calling the cops! I won’t let you!”
“Holly—”
“Please,” I begged, holding onto his arm even tighter. “I don’t want you going to jail! I promise I’ll be careful, so, please!”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally he sighed, gently pulling his arm free from his grasp. “I’m sorry, this isn’t up for discussion.”
“You can’t!” I cried.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m in love with you!”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I gasped, feeling blood rush to my face. Mr. Heywood’s eyes widened slightly in surprise and either my eyes were betraying me or his cheeks were coloring as well. I quickly averted my gaze, my heart pounding a mile a minute. Nausea rolled over me and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I had just confessed . . . by accident. That wasn’t what I was going to say. I didn’t want to tell him like that! I was too afraid to look at Mr. Heywood. He probably felt very uncomfortable now. Tears were prickling at my eyes again, but this time from embarrassment. I had messed up the most important thing: my confession of love. I wanted it to be like one of the moments in a movie. But no, I had to be my stupid self and ruin it. I quickly rubbed the back of my hand against my eyes.
“Holly,” Mr. Heywood groaned, exasperated. “What are you doing?”
I knew it. He thought it was a ridiculous confession. “I’m sorry,” I apologized, rubbing my eyes again. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out.”
“Not that,” he said. “Why are you crying again? Where do you even get all these tears from?”
“Huh?” I stared at him with a frown. What about what I had just told him? Wasn’t he going to respond?
He brought a hand up to my face and wiped away a few stray tears. “That’s better. Don’t cry.”
“Um . . . what about . . . what I said?”
“What you said?”
“Y-you know,” I stammered. “What I just said.”
“I don’t remember . . .”
I stared at him in disbelief. He had to be kidding. He returned my look with a serious one, tilting his head to the side questioningly. He wasn’t kidding. Unbelievable. I couldn’t repeat myself after that. It was too embarrassing!
He suddenly snickered, but he quickly covered it up with his hand. I gave him a flat look. He grinned, shaking his head. “Just kidding, I heard you, Holly.”
“I take it back. I
actually hate you.”
He laughed once more, but then sighed. “I didn’t want you to say it yet, Holly,” he told me, shaking his head.
I looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I knew how you felt about me, but I didn’t really expect you to actually say it. I didn’t want you to say it.”
Wait, what? Why didn’t he want me to say I loved him? Suddenly I felt like I was going to be sick again. My chest clenched uncomfortably. What was that supposed to mean? He didn’t want me to love him? But didn’t he hint that he loved me too?
“Oh,” I said in realization. “It’s the other Holly, isn’t it?”
He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What is?”
“You don’t want me saying that because you’re with her, right?
“What are you talking about?”
“Aren’t you back together with the other Holly?” I asked.
“What? No,” he responded, staring at me like I was crazy. “Where would you even get that idea from?”
“You’re not together? But you had dates—”
“Holly, I already told you they weren’t dates. I was just visiting her because she stopped in town for a while,” he told me.
“But you love her right? That’s why you said you never stop loving someone,” I prodded.
He smiled. “There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone.”
I blinked in realization. So he loved the other Holly, but wasn’t in love with her. Another blush forced its way into my face. I had said I was in love with him . . . Had he caught that, right?
“Besides, she’s already engaged.”
“What?” I said in shock, looking up at him. “She’s engaged?”
He nodded. “I don’t know the guy, but the reason she’s back in town is because she’s delivering wedding invitations in person. She gave one to me.”
“Then why is she in the hospital?” I had assumed she had some kind of illness.
“Oh, she was mugged the other night and she cracked a few of her ribs,” he explained. “At first I thought it was Shawn, but she says she didn’t recognize her assailants.”
Shawn’s words echoed in my head. At least you’re the right Holly this time. I stared at Mr. Heywood with my mouth open. Now I knew what Shawn meant. But why wouldn’t Holly tell him what happened? Did she want to keep it a secret?
“Holly, you look like you’re in shock,” Mr. Heywood said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong—you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear what you said. But the thing is, you’re seventeen and I’m twenty-two.”
“But I don’t care about that—” I started.
“But I do,” he responded with a frown. “You’re too young for me right now.”
“My birthday’s next week though!” I protested, suddenly becoming anxious. “Then I’ll be a legal adult! Four years and a couple months isn’t that much of an age difference!”
“Hence why I said ‘yet,’” he responded, now smirking.
I blinked at him. He waited a moment, his smirk slowing growing. That’s when I got what he said. He wanted me to wait until I was eighteen?
“I won’t respond to your confession right now,” he continued. “I can’t. It’s not right. I can handle the student-teacher thing, but our age difference is another thing completely. Right now it’s illegal and obviously I need to be careful with the law. So I’m going to forget about your confession for now.”
“So, when I’m eighteen—”
“Tell me again,” he stated, his eyes piercing into mine.
I quickly looked away, clearing my throat. “But since you already know, doesn’t that ruin it?”
“Know what?” he asked innocently. “Hmm, I wonder if the game is on . . .”
He turned on his television, putting it on the game. “Holly, go make me a cup of coffee.”
“But it’s almost two o’clock in the morning,” I protested, glancing at the clock on the TV stand.
“Who are you, my mom?”
“No,” I responded in an irritated voice. “I’m just saying—”
“Coffee,” he ordered. “Now.”
“But it’s your house!”
“Holly.”
“Fine,” I muttered, pushing myself off the couch. “You know, you’re so—”
“Amazing, I know, thank you,” he finished for me with a wide grin.
I rolled my eyes, but a grin made its way onto my face as well. Everything was still normal. Even after everything we had been through, after how much stress tonight had caused, it was normal. But the tough part was still ahead. How was I going to confess a second time to him?
LESSON twenty-eight
The smell of something burning woke me up. I sat up quickly, under the impression my house was on fire. For a moment I looked around the room in bewilderment, until I remembered I was at Mr. Heywood’s apartment. A blush made its way onto my face when I realized I was in his bed. Pushing that thought aside, I slid out from under the covers and headed towards the kitchen to investigate the source of the burning smell.
A few pillows and a blanket were lying askew on the couch. At least Mr. Heywood had the decency to sleep on the couch this time. I felt sort of bad, though. After all, I was the guest. I should have been the one sleeping on the couch. Or I guess we could have just slept in the same bed. We’d done it before . . .
I shook my head violently. No, we couldn’t sleep in the same bed! He was still my teacher, and I wouldn’t be eighteen for another week. It was a good thing he had slept on the couch. What was I thinking? My hormones needed to control themselves.
“Mr. Heywood,” I started, stepping into the kitchen area. “Are you—”
I let out a scream as my foot met on something soft, making me pull it back in surprise and lose my balance. I grabbed the counter and managed to catch myself before I fell to the floor, where I saw something that made my heart skip a beat.
Mr. Heywood was lying face down on the ground, motionless.
“Mr. Heywood?” I asked, bending over him.
When there was no response, I put my hand on his back and shook gently. When still no response came, my pulse picked up. I tried to roll him over. “Are you playing some kind of joke?” I asked harshly. “Because I’m not finding it very funny.”
Still no answer. With surprising force, I managed to roll him over onto his back. His head rolled limply to the side, his eyes shut. Panic coursed through me now. Either something was wrong, or he was a very good actor.
“Mr. Heywood!” I called, shaking his shoulders slightly. “Chris?”
Now when no answer came, I panicked. What was wrong with him? Leaning over him, I lowered my ear to his mouth, and relaxed slightly. He was still breathing at least. But his breaths were shallow and quick. I gently pressed a hand to his forehead and nearly pulled it back from shock. He was burning up!
I didn’t know how to care for a person with a fever. My mom always helped me, and as far as I could remember, and she hadn’t ever been sick in my life. I knew I had to get him off the kitchen floor at least.
He was too heavy to lift. Grabbing him by the arms, I began to pull him across the kitchen floor towards his bedroom. I brought him all the way up to the bed. Now came the tough part: getting him on it.
If I could get his front half up, then I could easily bring up his bottom half. But the question was; how was I going to do that? Maybe I could lift him up by his armpits? Well, it was worth a shot.
I wrapped my arms around him fully. When I quickly glanced at his face he looked back at me with wide eyes. My breath caught and I dropped him in shock, pushing myself back, blushing hard. He landed on the ground with a loud thud and a groan. I blushed even deeper and winced.
“Sorry!” I apologized, bringing myself closer. “Are you okay?”
“What am I . . .?”
He looked at me with an extremely confused expression. His expression, with his
messy hair and worn-out look, made him look like a lost puppy and I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe. He was so cute!
“Ow,” he groaned, bringing a hand to his head.
How I wished I could take his picture. “What’s wrong?”
“Headache,” he said, shaking his head in dismissal. “Why are we on the ground?”
“Oh, um . . . you have a fever.”
“That doesn’t explain why we’re on the ground.”
My face became hot again and I averted my gaze. “Um . . . well, you kind of passed out in the kitchen, so I tried to bring you to your bed . . . but I dropped you.”
He smirked slightly, but it was ruined by a sudden coughing fit. When it was over, he put his hand on the side of his bed, attempting to push himself up. I reached out my hand for support, but he ended up putting a hand on my shoulder, making me sink under the pressure as he managed to get himself to his feet. Then he collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.
“Holly.”
“Yeah?” I asked, straightening myself out.
“Get out.”
“Huh?”
“Go call Jeremy or something, just get out,” he ordered, his voice muffled by his comforter.
“What? Why?” I asked, a little hurt by his words. What did I do?
He flipped over onto his back and laid a hand across his eyes. “Not like that, Holly. I just don’t want you to get sick too. I’ll feel like it’s my fault.”
A frown slipped onto my face. Now that I was thinking about it, I realized it was probably my fault Mr. Heywood had suddenly gotten sick overnight. He had spent three hours in the cold rain searching for me. “I’m going to stay to take care of you.”
He chuckled. “I don’t need someone to take care of me, Holly. Go on a date with Jeremy or something.”
“We aren’t dating!”
He raised an eyebrow and I quickly looked away. That had come out more defensive than I had meant it to be. But then he chuckled again, ending in a cough. “If you want to help, go get me some cold medicine. It’s behind the mirror in the bathroom.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please.”
I stared at him in amazement. He must be sick, I thought. He never said please. Nodding, I started towards the bathroom, still blown away. As I passed the kitchen again, the burning smell filled my nose and my eyes widened. Crap! I had forgotten to figure out what the burning smell was.