Defiant (Blaze Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  When I finally reached English and pushed open the door to the classroom, I very nearly groaned aloud to see that Poppy was indeed sitting in the seat next to mine. She smiled at me and lifted her hand in a sly wave as I came in. I pretended not to notice, but I saw the hurt look that flashed across her face as I took my seat next to her. Mr Adams glared at me from his perching place on his desk, and I stared back blankly, waiting. The classroom was cold without the sunlight burning through the blinds. I tugged down the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands and bunched the fabric between my fingers.

  “Mr McLeod, how nice of you to join us. Would you care to tell me where you’ve been in the fifteen minutes you should have been in my class?” Mr Adams tone was scathing.

  He was unusually crabbit, but then again, so was I. Maybe I wasn’t done being a brat after all.

  I just couldn’t help myself as I retorted in an even voice, “I was enjoying the company of a young lady in the men’s bathrooms. Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean it to take so long, but she wanted a second round.” Teachers—Nil. Anson—Two. I was on a roll, but it hardly felt good. If I got sent back to Mr Fraser’s office ten minutes after leaving it, I was sure to get suspended, but I just couldn’t help it. Sometimes, I just needed to say the lines that were in my head, and they weren’t always poetry.

  There were snickers around the class, and Mr Adams turned a very unattractive shade of red. Whether in embarrassment on my behalf due to my comment, or in anger, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter. I was skating on thin ice—tap-dancing on it really. It was already cracking, and my next comment would decide whether I got to shore before it shattered and sucked me into the icy depths.

  Next to me, I thought I heard Poppy make an unhappy noise, but when I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hiding a smile behind her curtain of hair. I noticed her hair was down, and when she caught me looking at her, she shyly tucked it behind her ear, releasing some of that scent that seemed to cling to her. I swallowed, feeling my stomach squeeze. I think I’d forgotten how pretty she was.

  Dammit. She has a boyfriend, remember? Don’t even go there. But I wanted to go there anyway. Looking at her cute smile and blue eyes, I really wanted to go there.

  “Anson McLeod. You will not talk that like in my class or you will be sent to the headmaster’s office. Now, where were you when you should have been in my class?” Mr Adams growled, putting one hand flat down on his desk. It reminded me of the way Mr Fraser had slapped his hands down on his desk, so much so that I immediately answered truthfully.

  “I was in Mr Fraser’s office,” I told him. I shrugged casually, but I watched the agitated English teacher closely. There was a calculating look in his eye, deciding how prudent it would be to send me back where I’d just come from in the hopes of getting me suspended. Maybe I should have just bitten my tongue instead of being a smart-arse. Being an impulsive teenager could be hazardous sometimes.

  Sighing, Mr Adams turned away from me, dismissing me with a flip of his wrist. I was safe, but I was probably going to have to answer a lot of questions about Romeo and Juliet for the next thirty-one minutes.

  “Don’t be late for my class again, Mr McLeod. You had better tell me you’ve done the reading I assigned you?”

  I nodded miserably, knowing what was coming next.

  “Good. In that case, you can tell us all what you think Romeo means when he talks about misgivings and the stars.”

  Oh, whoopee. Next time, I was definitely keeping my mouth shut.

  Biting back another groan, I spent nine minutes answering stupid questions and analysing stupid Romeo and his stupid Juliet, and by the time I was done, I was seriously contemplating just how bad it would be if I did get suspended again. Surely, it couldn’t be a worse punishment than this. Nothing could be worse than this.

  At last, Mr Adams moved onto questioning one of the girls in the row behind, but I suspected he’d have continued on at me if she hadn’t popped her bubble-gum alarmingly loudly in the middle of his talking about Romeo’s fickleness. We all knew Romeo was fickle; he was a hormonal boy for Christ’s sake. It didn’t make a difference which century we were in, boys would be boys. But while Mr Adams grilled the bubble-gum girl, Poppy took the chance to talk to me.

  “Hey,” she whispered, nudging my arm with her elbow. “Why were you at the headmaster’s office? Another stunt with paint balloons?”

  She grinned at me, and just for a moment, I had the wild impulse to kiss her. It was harder to be petty and bitter with her sitting right there, looking so damn happy. Then I imagined her kissing that guy she’d been with on the street and the impulse went away.

  I scowled. “Punched Jake Clark and Mark Lansford,” I muttered, turning my gaze to the clock above the door again. Fifteen minutes left. Then fifty-five minutes of Art. Could I keep this attitude up for that long? If she smiled at me like that again, I doubted it. I clenched the cuffs of my hoodie in my fists, but I suddenly wasn’t so cold anymore. It was as if she radiated warmth and sunshine. It was ridiculous that anyone should be that attractive.

  Poppy paused, and I thought she’d picked up on my tone and was going to leave me alone. The thought made me want to go to Jake and ask him to punch me in the face.

  Then she asked softly, “Those the guys that were obstructing your path out of Physics last week?”

  I nodded mutely, and she made a harsh sound, something like scoff and a chuckle. I couldn’t resist shooting her a look with one eyebrow raised.

  “They’re a couple of prize tossers,” she observed, then grinned. “They deserved what they got.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But now I have to avoid getting detention for the next two weeks or I get suspended.” That meant I had to do every homework assignment and hand it on time, I had to be on time to school every morning, and I would have to keep my Creative Compulsive Disorder under wraps. No creative stunts with paint, chalk, or any other materials I could use to deface school property. It was safe to say I wasn’t looking forward to the next two weeks.

  Still grinning, Poppy bumped her shoulder against mine, sending goosebumps rushing down my arm even through the quadruple layers of her shirt, her hoodie, my hoodie, and my shirt. Once again, ridiculous.

  “Don’t worry, sunshine, I’ll be here to keep you straight.”

  Sunshine? Did she just call me sunshine? I didn’t feel like sunshine, I felt like a thundercloud. She was the one who was glowing like a friggin’ sunset on a summer evening.

  I felt a helpless smile tug at the corners of my lips despite my mood. Her smile was contagious. “Sunshine?” I said it boldly, like a question, propping my chin on my fist. I don’t think anyone had ever called me sunshine before. Son, or m’boy, or sweetie, sure. But never sunshine.

  Poppy nodded. “Yeah. I was just thinking, Anson…son…sun…sunshine. So I’ve decided to nickname you sunshine. Is that okay?” She spelled out the difference between ‘son’ and ‘sun’ on the air with her finger. Her eyes followed her fingertip as she did it.

  It was backwards to me, but I got the message anyway. I smiled, just a little, and she rewarded me by biting her lip gently. Sweet shivers ran down my ribs and I had to look away. Yeah, it really wasn’t cold in there at all. Not anymore, anyway.

  To distract myself, I asked, “So, you’re feeling better?” I did kind of want to know if she had really been ill all the days she was off the last week, or if she’d been skipping school to hang out with her boyfriend. Not that she’d tell me the truth if the latter was the case, but it was worth it to try anyway.

  Mr Adams was now questioning one of the guys on the other side of the classroom. A guy I thought was named something weird like Milo or Mitchel. He was another target of Jake and Mark. I wondered if he’d take satisfaction in knowing they were both currently missing this class because at least one of them had a broken nose. I’d distinctly felt the cartilage in Jake’s nose crack when my fist had connected with it.

  “Huh?” Poppy said
, blinking at me as if she didn’t know what I was talking about. Then her eyes widened and she nodded emphatically, “Oh, yeah. Yeah. I just had a touch of heat stroke. I’m fine now, though. I just had to rest and, you know, stay out the sun for a bit. It wasn’t fun being cooped up at home. I’d have rather been in Art with you.”

  I tried not to let her words get me, but something inside me wriggled in delight.

  “My dad finally let me out of the house on Saturday, since I felt better and there was no sun.”

  The wriggly thing inside me turned into a knot of worms in my stomach, and I deliberately looked out the window so she wouldn’t see my expression darken.

  Not that it helped much, because my tone said it all. “Yeah, I saw you and your boyfriend.” God, I really was being a douche today. Why? Because she had a boyfriend. It was hardly something I could hold against her. It wasn’t her fault she was fascinating, she was just born that way. I needed to get a grip.

  Poppy was quiet for a moment, so I snuck a look at her. She looked confused.

  “My…Oh.” Her eyes widened again, and I noticed how very sparkly they were. “Oh, you thought— No, no, no. That was Lyle. He’s my brother,” she explained, her mouth pressed into a funny line.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say to that, but it didn’t matter because the bell rang and it was time for Art.

  It didn’t seem like quite such a bleak prospect anymore. Chairs clattered and voices rose in volume as everyone filed out of the classroom and moved briskly down the hallway to their next classes. Poppy waited for me again at the door. Kevin Roberts, the member of Jake’s pack of cronies that I hadn’t punched, leered at her as he brushed past intentionally too close.

  To her credit, Poppy didn’t as much as flinch. She did, however, very slyly, point a sharp pencil at his family jewels as he tried to rub up against her. Kevin got the message and shuffled off, giving her a sleazy grin over his shoulder. I wanted to send him to the nurse’s office with his buddies, but I managed to restrain myself.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I started down the hall with Poppy at my side. Out of nowhere, she linked her arm through mine and grinned up at me like a playful child. More goosebumps broke out along my arm, all the way across the back of my hand in my pocket, and I let her skip along next to me. I had the feeling Art was going to be good today after all. My second piece of good luck of the day—or maybe it was my third, after hearing that Pretty Poppy was single after all. Things were looking up.

  Art on Tuesday was a blast. If it hadn’t already been my favourite class, I would’ve bumped it up to first place. Even after my half-hour lunchtime detention, I all but skipped into the class in a brilliant mood as soon as the bell rang. Poppy was already there, waiting for me in her usual seat, with her drawing in front of her.

  I grabbed my folder from the cupboard, dropped onto my stool, shoving my bag under the table, and pulled out a clean A3 sheet of sturdy, white paper. Alistair arrived just as I put the tip of my charcoal pencil to paper, and he raised a hand in a gesture somewhere between a wave and a salute. I saluted back and he grinned.

  “Hey, now the party can get started,” I joked, aiming an eraser in Alistair’s direction as he got his work and sat down.

  He held up a hand in defence, and then chucked it back at me. Poppy beamed at our amicable banter, looking up from her work.

  After five minutes of messing about and playfully mocking each other, we settled down to work for real, though I kept an eye on Poppy as I sketched. She had her head bowed over her paper, her hand flying over the page without hesitation as she darkened lines and smudged the pencil to get the right shading.

  Her hair, which had been down when I’d come into the class, was now pulled up in a sloppy ponytail that hung down one side of her face. She kept flipping it back, sending a whiff of that perfume in my direction. The exposed back of her neck looked soft and pale, the tufts of darker hairs at the base of her hairline sticking out.

  My fingertips itched to stroke the light skin there, just to see what it felt like, to see if she’d shiver or if she’d slap me for the attempt. I didn’t have the guts, so I settled for watching the fascinating way she worked. There was an intense look on her face, her brows pitched down over her eyes and the tip of her tongue caught in the corner of her mouth. It was clear she was lost to this world, completely focussed on her art. I had to admire her concentration.

  When the final bell rang, I packed up my stuff hastily and waited for Poppy.

  Alistair noticed me lingering by the door with my eyes on her and hung back to talk to me. “Dude, is there something going on between you and her?” he asked, his grey eyes following mine to where Poppy was bent over, putting her pencil case into her schoolbag.

  “I don’t know. Maybe” I said cautiously, shrugging.

  Alistair chuckled under his breath and nudged my ribs with his elbow. “With a girl like that, you got to work it out fast, man, or you’ll lose your chance. Just go for it.”

  The advice surprised me, more because of its selflessness than the content. I wasn’t used to people giving me advice, and I’d thought Alistair had wanted Poppy for himself.

  “Thanks for the advice, but I’d have thought you’d be trying to sabotage my chances or something. Aren’t you interested in her, too?”

  I cut my eyes toward him, and he gave me a look that said, Do you want her or not? I did. Watching the way the bright light shimmered across her hair and the lilt of her hips as she walked toward us, I wanted her more than any girl I’d ever met before.

  It didn’t matter that it started raining on the way home, because Poppy was walking next to me, tipping her face up to the clouds as if she were catching invisible rays of sunlight. Her hair fell around her face in dark ropes, dripping water onto the shoulders of her hoodie. With her chin tilted back, raindrops ran in clear rivulets over her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, and disappeared under the soaked collar of her shirt.

  My red hair, turned almost black by the rain, fell into my eyes and I pushed it back, grinning. A cool summer wind made my wet clothes stick to me, and I worried a little about the state of the Maths textbook in my sodden schoolbag. I couldn’t take my eyes off Poppy as she skipped ahead of me to the street corner and waited there, unsure which way to turn.

  “Come on, hurry up! I’m going to drown in this weather!” she called to me, laughing.

  An old woman across the street, carrying a huge umbrella waved at me. I waved back before breaking into a run, my trainers kicking up shallow pools of water on the pavement. When I reached the corner where Poppy was bopping up and down impatiently, she jumped backwards into a massive puddle I hadn’t seen, throwing up a wave of dirty water over my legs. The puddle had to be at least three or four inches deep because it came almost up to Poppy’s ankles, over the top of her low canvas trainers, but she didn’t seem to care. If she was cold, she didn’t let on.

  Grinning, I lunged for her. She skipped neatly aside, and I ended up standing in the puddle too. Freezing, gritty water flooded into my already-soggy trainers, and I made a noise of disgust. Giggling, Poppy kicked more water at me, and I raised my arm over my face in self-defence.

  “You evil girl! Stop trying to drown me!” I growled, turning narrowed blue eyes on her. I got revenge by kicking water over her. With a squeal, she hopped back out of the water and stared down at her murky jeans and grit-covered shoes.

  She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I’m starting to think playing in the rain was a bad idea. There’s no way this stuff will be dry for school tomorrow,” she observed.

  I laughed because I knew she was right. “You just worked that out? You should have thought about that before you decided to soak me!” I said, stepping out of the puddle. My trainers made a squelching noise, and my cold feet sank into the padded lining of the shoes. “Ugh, that feels funky.” My mum was going to kill me if I dragged half a gallon of water into the house with me. Plus, I was pretty sure I’d just com
pletely wrecked my trainers.

  Shaking her head like a mad thing and splattering me with water, Poppy laughed again and I was surprised the sound didn’t clear the clouds and bring out the sun.

  “You were already soaked,” she commented, flinging her hair back over her shoulder.

  “Yes, I was,” I admitted, “but you made it worse.”

  She shrugged, not denying it. We resumed walking, my every step releasing a fresh wave of puddle water over my toes. As we walked, we talked about homework, TV shows, and colours, but it was all fascinating to me.

  Then we arrived at the small, wrought iron gate to my garden, the little stone walkway leading up to the simple, brown front door. Bright yellow daffodils and nodding red tulips hugged the low stone wall around the garden. I paused with one hand on the cold metal of the gate, the peeling black paint crumbling under my hand and sticking to my damp palm. The windows of the house were dark, thankfully, meaning my mother was either in her study or out at the University, so she wouldn’t catch me standing in the rain with the new girl.

  Shifting my weight from foot to foot awkwardly, I ducked my head and looked Poppy from under the streaming red hair falling into my eyes. “Um, do you…I mean, would you like to, you know, come in for a while? To dry off until the rain stops? I could, uh, make hot chocolate…if you want.”

  Careful Anson, careful. Don’t push too hard. The thought of Poppy sitting in my cosy little living room, dripping wet and sipping hot chocolate, took my mind down all sorts of avenues it should not have gone down. I swallowed, feeling heat touch my cheeks and hoping she didn’t notice. I ran my finger along the top of the little gate, nervously tracing the cracks in the paint.