“But—” I protest.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris says. He angles past me and kneels next to Rudy, who’s still curled into the fetal position, his hands jammed between his thighs. “C’mon, Rudy.” He sighs, reaching for Rudy’s arm to help him up.
“Mr. Garrison—” I start.
Mr. Garrison looks up from Rudy and points at me. “I don’t want another word out of you, Tully, unless you want to go off tools for the rest of the month.”
I snap my mouth closed and glare at him.
He waits to make sure I’m actually shutting up before he speaks again. “Chris was a part of this,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll make sure Mr. Wallace knows he didn’t hurt anybody. But he was still involved. Now go.”
He turns on his heel and stalks back down the aisle, yelling at everyone to get back to work unless they want to visit Mr. Wallace, too. The room is immediately filled with hammering, sanding, and the whiz of metal files on wood.
Rudy curses. I want to kick his ass across the quad and into the street. But Chris just walks forward, holding Rudy’s arm over his shoulders as he limps along. I bring up the rear, seething. As we shuffle out of the room and across the courtyard. Rudy’s still leaning heavily on Chris, but he’s recovered enough to huff words through the pain.
“That was cold, bitch,” he says.
Chris lets Rudy take his own weight for a second. Rudy stumbles and curses again. Chris grabs him before he tumbles to the pavement. But I can tell by the twitching in his jaw that he’s livid.
“You talk to her with respect, or I’ll castrate you myself,” Chris says.
Rudy swears again, but I notice he doesn’t fight back. I glare at Chris over Rudy’s head.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I say darkly as we near the main building.
His lips twitch. “I can see that.”
We reach the big double doors. I step ahead to pull the door open and help them through. “I’m serious, Chris.”
“So am I.” He gestures at Rudy with a wince. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
I slap his shoulder, but it’s playful.
“Aren’t you two cute?” Rudy sneers.
I can’t help myself. I stick out my foot and hook Rudy’s ankle. This time, Chris lets him fall.
Chapter 15
I sit in a vinyl chair in Mr. Wallace’s office, while Chris loiters on a bench outside, awaiting his turn. Mr. Wallace’s walls are a dingy cream, the carpet moth-eaten and brown. He regards me from behind a metal desk that I’m guessing was standard government-issue in the Nixon days, surrounded by equally ancient filing cabinets.
The only personal items in view are a bobblehead on the desk, and a poster on the wall of a man in a suit putting his hand on the shoulder of a dejectedly slumped teenager.
Both carry the caption “Princi-PAL.”
It’s depressing for me. No wonder Mr. Wallace walks around like someone inserted a hot poker up his nether regions.
The resident Princi-pal of Riverside High sits on the other side of his desk, legs crossed at the knee, tipped slightly back in his chair. He’s staring at me as if he’s about to pull out a shotgun and it’s a toss-up whether he’ll use it on himself or me.
Bring it on, asshole.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” I insist for the third time. “But Chris didn’t do anything.”
Mr. Wallace shakes his head and sits up. “Perhaps the point you’re missing, Miss Harden, is that we aren’t here to talk about Mister Douglas. We’re here to talk about why you resorted to violence in dealings with another student.”
I close my eyes so he can’t see them rolling.
“Rudy was the one who got in my face. He said . . . things about me and Chris. Then tried to pick a fight. I resorted to violence because if I hadn’t he wouldn’t have stopped.”
“Mr. Garrison was there. He could have helped,” Mr. Wallace says.
“No offense, Mr. Wallace, but Rudy wouldn’t give a . . .” I catch myself. “He wouldn’t care what Garrison said. I had to set him down.”
Mr. Wallace rubs his hand over his face. His fingers are long and slim. Piano player’s hands. When he leans forward, it occurs to me he’s younger than I thought. Because he insists on calling all of us Miss and Mister, I’ve always pegged him for being old-fashioned. Out of touch. But as he blinks at me, red lines peppering his otherwise clear eyes, I realize he’s probably barely forty. His reddish-brown hair is still thick, though severely cut. And he moves easily. Not like someone who’s begun to ache simply because they exist.
“Can you give me any reason why Mister Koswalscki would be so insistent on making your lives difficult?”
“Because I used to have sex with him all the time and now I’m not,” I say flatly. I learned a while back with teachers it’s got to be either brutal honesty or lying like your life depends on it. There is no gray area.
To his credit, Mr. Wallace barely blinks. He lets his expression tell me how unimpressed he is with my attempt to shock him and moves on. “And Mister Douglas . . . ?”
“Rudy thinks I’m having sex with him now.” It’s fun to see if I can poke a hole in that pompous exterior. “I’m not, if it matters.”
“Apparently it does to Mister Koswalscki,” Mr. Wallace mutters. “But I’m more concerned with how we avoid any future incidents of this nature. I’ll admit, Miss Harden, I’m not impressed that you’ve dragged Mister Douglas into this. His school record is exemplary, and he’s proven himself to be a top-notch student since arriving at Riverside.”
“I didn’t drag Chris into anything,” I argue. “Rudy started it.”
“Yes, yes. I have no doubt Mister Koswalscki made a nuisance of himself,” Mr. Wallace says, flapping a hand in the air as if he can shoo the problem away. He examines me silently. It’s as if a curtain has fallen away and for the first time I’m a little nervous.
Mr. Wallace gets to his feet. “Okay, Tully,” he says. “I’m going to take a risk. Do you want to know what it is?”
I don’t. But he tells me anyway.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” he says, his brown eyes glinting in the afternoon light.
“O-kay.” I keep my expression blank, but squeeze my hands together in my lap.
He sticks his chin forward, looking not unlike a turtle, hunched over his desk. “I think Rudy got what he deserved.”
What? “I’m sorry, did you say—”
“But, I also think that I can’t let you be the one dispensing discipline in my school.”
“I—”
He raises a hand. “Hear me out. Let me tell you what should have happened here. What should have happened is that Rudy should have left you alone. Failing that, what should have happened is that you should have involved Mr. Garrison to help you. Had you done that, I doubt you’d be sitting here.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me a glare and I close it again.
Go, Mr. Wallace.
“I also doubt that Rudy pulled any verbal punches in his attempts to garner your attention. I don’t need to be informed of the details, I promise you, I’ve spent enough time with him to imagine. I hope he’s learned his lesson when it comes to baiting you,” he says dryly. “All of that said, I can’t allow other students to believe I support the action you’ve taken. Because—let me make myself crystal clear here—I do not. Am I understood?”
I press my lips together to keep the words in, and nod.
“Good.” He sits down, pulls a drawer open, and riffles through it. “Now, since I believe Rudy probably dug his own grave in this instance, and I believe you when you tell me you won’t do it again—you are telling me that, aren’t you?” he asks firmly. I nod again. “Then instead of suspending you, I’ll give you detention for a week—”
“But—”
“—W
ith Ms. Pine. I believe the two of you are already acquainted?”
Oh, brilliant. I slump. “Yes.”
“Excellent. Every day after school you’ll spend an hour with Ms. Pine during which time I’m sure she’ll get to the bottom of why you’re suddenly trying to emasculate former, er, friends, and how we can be of help in ensuring you aren’t successful in the future.”
He pulls a blue card out of the desk, scribbles on it for a moment, then hands it to me.
Reluctantly, I get to my feet to take it from him with a sigh.
“It could be worse, Tully. Believe me.” He sits back. “Go back to class. I’ll tell Ms. Pine to expect you after the final bell.”
“Yes, sir,” I grind out, then turn on my heel and head out the door, casting an apologetic glance at Chris as I pass.
“You’re welcome, Tully,” Mr. Wallace calls after me.
Chapter 16
“So you and Chris are dating now?” Ms. Pine asks sweetly.
It’s official. I want to kill myself. There’s some weird tribal fertility god on a low table next to my chair. It has a pointy head. I consider picking it up and plunging it into my eye.
Ms. Pine is the student counselor. She’s in her forties, with glossy, ash-blonde hair and perfect makeup. There are a dozen wooden bracelets stacked halfway up her forearm that clack every time she moves. She usually wears floaty dresses and skirts, but I’ve also seen her in overalls. It’s like a hippie mated with a newscaster. The woman defies categorization. Which normally wouldn’t bother me. But I’m being forced to spend five hours with her this week, and I need an angle.
We’re in her “sitting room,” a space off her office that’s decorated like a mini living room. There are four small but plump chairs, a colorful rug, a near-black coffee table covered in magazines, and shelves full of decorative knickknacks from every corner of the globe. She told me once that she was aiming for a room that would tell anyone who visited where she came from.
She missed.
“Tully?”
“Yes?”
“You and Chris?”
“That’s none of your business,” I say sullenly, because if she’s going to talk to me like I’m twelve, I’m going to act like it.
Ms. Pine tips her head. “I suppose you’re right. But the state of your love life does seem to be at the root of what happened today. So can you tell me what you are comfortable discussing?”
I consider that for a moment. “Chris shouldn’t be in trouble.”
“I was under the impression that Chris was only given a warning.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He shouldn’t have even had to go to Mr. Wallace in the first place.”
“Why not? He was clearly involved.”
I lean forward. “Just because someone stands next to me when I’m dealing with an ass like Rudy doesn’t mean they’re involved.”
She opens a hand toward me. “But you said yourself, Rudy tried to pick a fight with him. So clearly—”
“Clearly, nothing. You teachers are so damned stubborn. Can’t you see he’s a good guy? He shouldn’t be punished for sharing my breathing space.”
Like the good psychologist she is, Ms. Pine has a notebook on her lap and every so often she’ll nod at something I say, then scribble on her pad. This is one of those times. I roll my eyes while she isn’t looking.
“You’re very concerned about whether or not Chris gets in trouble. Mr. Wallace mentioned that, too. Why is it such a worry for you?”
I scoff. “Perhaps it wounds my sense of justice when an innocent person is dragged into my sh—”
Ms. Pine raises her eyebrows a hair and I bite the word back. She has weird curse boundaries. I can say dick and ass. I can’t say anything they’ll bleep on network television. I know this because there’s a poster on the wall behind her that lists the words. I can’t decide if this is incredibly subversive, or just plain stupid.
“I mean, stuff,” I amend. “He shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.”
“How is it your mistake that Rudy decided to bait you today?” she asks.
“Because I was the one who hooked up with him in the first place. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t be jealous now and acting like a dick.”
She purses her lips. “What changed in the past few days? I know you and Rudy hung out. You always seemed to trust him. In your way.”
In my way? I only trusted him to help me escape. “Over the weekend he proved to be untrustworthy.” I snap my mouth closed. It’s already more than I planned to say. And Ms. Pine just lit up. Shit.
“How?”
“Does it matter? The point is, it’s not Chris’s fault that Rudy and I had a fight. So he shouldn’t have to deal with all this.”
Ms. Pine makes another note. “Chris seems fine. He accepted his warning from Mr. Wallace graciously and there will be no further discipline.”
“That’s not the point!” I know I’m raising my voice, but I can’t seem to stop. “You people! None of you listen!”
Ms. Pine’s eyes sharpen on me. I drop my hands into my lap and turn away. Whatever. So she’ll send me to real detention. I can live with that.
“Are you worried about Chris because you don’t want him blaming you for any trouble he’s in?” she asks quietly.
“Yep. Sure. That’s it. Well done,” I spit out sarcastically.
“Don’t be defensive, Tully,” she says, making another mark on her pad. “I’m trying to help you. I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but I understand enough about your situation to know things haven’t been easy.”
There’s an understatement for you.
“I know you’ve been sent here against your will, but perhaps instead of seeing this as punishment, you could consider it an . . . opportunity? An open door of sorts,” she says.
I scowl at the poster on the wall. Not likely.
“Tully, I have no doubt Rudy hurt you today. I also have no doubt Chris came to your defense. He’s a nice guy. He’ll be good for you. I just wonder if I can help you . . . understand a guy like that?”
“You want to give me advice on guys?” She’s done it. She’s shocked me.
She shrugs. “Not guys in general. But maybe some insight into a guy who’s different from what you’re used to.”
This should be stunning. “Wow. Okay, Ms. Pine. Lay it on me. What do I need to know?”
She pins me with a frown. She knows I’m being sarcastic but she answers anyway.
“I suspect Chris can be trusted,” she says, watching me.
This is supposed to be insight? “So?”
She gives me a dry look. “Okay, Tully, I’ll put this out there. Most of your life you’ve been neglected, abused, and exploited. I get that. And I get that that would lead you to believe no one but you will take care of you. And in the case of people like Rudy, that’s true. I hope that you’ll see the risk he poses to you now, and avoid him. But regardless, people like Chris are a lot less likely to harm you. You need more people like that in your life, because they’re good. They can be trusted with things—especially the smaller things. Which means you don’t need to be constantly watching for the moment you’ll be let down.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’ve already got this covered, but she raises a hand and keeps going.
“Chris is a good choice, Tully. Go there. Build a relationship that doesn’t revolve around sex. Because you need to see that not every guy will use you. And I think maybe Chris is the kind of guy who could prove that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a kid. He’ll make mistakes. He’ll hurt you. But I want you to consider that the difference between someone like Chris and someone like Rudy is that Chris will care about whether or not he’s hurt you. And I imagine he’ll try to make up for it. Rudy will simply take what he wants and leave you to deal with the fall
out.”
I stare, uncertain how to respond to this.
She folds her hands into her lap and purses her lips. “And if you ever tell anyone I said that about two specific students in our school, I’ll deny it,” she says brightly. “Because as you know, it’s my job to value each of our students equally.”
We watch each other for a few seconds.
“Now, you’ve got something on me, Tully,” she says. “Now I have to trust you.”
I scan the room, then back to her. Was that supposed to impress me?
“My point is, trust is something you give. When you put it in the right place, it makes your life better. Easier. When you put it in the wrong place you’re the one who gets hurt.”
Uneasiness bubbles behind my navel as I mull over her words.
I do trust Chris.
I trust him to be a nice guy.
I trust him to give in one day and sleep with me.
I trust him to listen to his parents because that’s what people like him do.
I trust him to walk away when we hit that wall. Whatever it is, it will change the way he sees me.
I trust that.
“Can I go now?” I say.
I have the distinct impression she’d throw her hands in the air if she wasn’t playing the authority figure. “Yes, I guess. But before you do . . .” She reaches into her pocket and draws out a little card that she scribbles on for a second. “Here.” She thrusts the card toward me. I eye it uneasily. “It’s my cell phone number.”
I hesitate, then reach for it, careful to make sure our fingers don’t touch as I take it. Ms. Pine sits back. “I want you to have that. If you ever need help, or . . . if there’s ever something you can’t deal with on your own, call me. Anytime. That phone is always on, even in the middle of the night.”
I know what she’s doing and it’s pissing me off. She wants me to purge all my secrets. Confide. She wants to save me. But in spite of myself, I’m also touched.
“Great,” I say, tamping down my embarrassment as I bury the card in the pocket of my bag.
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