The Promise (Neighbor from Hell Book 10)

by R. L. Mathewson

  “I really can’t,” she finally admitted with a heartfelt sigh.

  “That’s it, Jen? No excuses?” he asked, admittedly disappointed, because he’d expected a hell of a lot more from his favorite repeat offender.

  “There’s really no excuse for what I did, Principal Bradford, is there?” she said, giving him a “What are you going to do,” look that had him rolling his eyes because he knew what was coming.

  “I mean, I guess that I could blame it on my broken home, but that should really go without saying. Then, of course, there’s peer pressure,” she said, sighing heavily as if the weight of the world rested solely upon her small shoulders.

  “You were alone,” he pointed out.

  “Which only proves how detrimental peer pressure can be,” she said, reaching over and helping herself to the bowl of hard candy that he kept on his desk.

  “I see,” he murmured, leaning back against his chair as he considered her. “And this is really the best that you can come up with?”

  “With a public education?” she asked before nodding. “I’m afraid so.”

  Reminding himself that smiling would only encourage her, he cleared his throat and tossed the pack of cigarettes on the desk and reached for her folder, noting that it was probably the thickest student file he’d ever come across. He thumbed through it, all while Jen sat there, humming to herself as she waited for him to decide on her punishment.

  If it had been anyone else, he probably would have suspended her for a week, but he couldn’t do that with her, because Jen would view it as a vacation. He could have her volunteer to tutor elementary school children again, but he’d learned his lesson the last time. That left graffiti cleanup and detention. Since he remembered all too well what happened the last time she was on graffiti cleanup, he decided to save himself the trouble and settled on detention.

  “Two weeks,” he said, tossing her folder back on the desk.

  “Of suspension?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

  “Detention.”

  “Detention,” she murmured as though she was contemplating her choices.

  There weren’t any and she knew it, but that wasn’t going to stop her from treating this like a negotiation. “How about one?”

  “Two.”

  “Now is that two consecutive weeks or can we break this thing down so that I don’t have to miss basketball practice?” she suggested with a hopeful smile that had him glaring at her.

  “You’re not on the basketball team,” he pointed out, rubbing his hands down his face and wishing he’d picked a different week to give up caffeine.

  “I could have been,” she murmured softly with a sad shake of her head. “I could have been.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, he shifted his attention to his laptop and brought up the detention schedule. “You can start today,” he said, adding her name to the detention list.

  “Who’s the teacher in charge this week?” she asked as she reached for another piece of candy.

  “Mr. Owens,” he said, adding her name to next week’s list as well.

  “And next week’s?”

  Sighing, he scrolled back to the top and did his best to hide his grimace as he said, “Miss Dawson is on for the next two weeks.”

  “Miss Dawson?” Jen asked, suddenly perking up. “Can I start next week instead?”

  “No,” he said evenly, hitting Save and praying that this would be the only time that she was brought up today because he honestly wasn’t sure that he had the energy to deal with this today.

  “It would make things easier,” Jen said, sounding hopeful.

  “No.”

  “But-”

  “No,” he said firmly, absolutely refusing to do this.

  “Fine,” Jen said, sighing heavily as she grabbed her backpack and stood up. “But just so you know, I’m probably not going to be able to learn my lesson in such an oppressive environment.”

  “Then it should probably help that I plan on calling your mother and asking her to come in for another meeting,” he said, tossing the pack of cigarettes in the bottom left-hand drawer to join the rest of the contraband that he’d taken from students since the start of the year, most of it hers.

  “Call my mom?” she said slowly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not sure that would really help.”

  He wasn’t either, but it was school policy.

  “Do you have another suggestion?” he asked, open to suggestions at this point.

  “Let me off with a warning?” she suggested with the brightest smile that she could manage.

  “No. Anything else?” he asked, getting to his feet as he slid his cellphone into his back pocket and headed for the door.

  “Fine. Then let me complete my detention with Miss Dawson?” she asked with a sigh as her smile disappeared.

  “No,” he said firmly, opening his office door only to find Mrs. Jennings, the head of the English Department, standing in front of his door, wringing her hands together, and looking seconds away from another meltdown.

  Since he already had a pretty good idea why she was here, he simply gestured for her to have a seat in his office. He stepped out of the way as Janice, his secretary, rushed into the room with a bottle of water, a box of tissues, and a small brown paper bag just in case she started hyperventilating again, and handed them all over to Mrs. Jennings, who went for the brown paper bag first.

  Never a good sign, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he asked, “Where?” not bothering to waste any more time than necessary, but honestly, it wasn’t necessary.

  “Upstairs back hall,” she gasped, placing the brown paper bag over her mouth as she began hyperventilating.

  “Great,” he said, sighing as he left the office and gestured for Jen to return to class, but of course she ignored him and decided to tag along.

  “So, what do you think happened?” she asked cheerfully as she did her best to keep up with him as he headed toward the back stairs.

  “Get to class,” he said, trying not to think about all the possibilities that would have had Mrs. Jennings leaving her class to come see him.

  “Do you think she dumped tea in the pool again?” Jen asked as he took the stairs two at a time.

  “Or maybe she held another mock trial?” she asked and he barely had time to suppress a shiver of revulsion at the reminder of the last time she’d held a mock trial and the mock execution that had immediately followed, which had led to two weeks of paperwork, a meeting with the school board, and a special assembly that the DA and police department had been forced to put on for the school on lynch mobs.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said just as they reached the second-floor landing and was forced to jump out of the way when a group of students ran past them, releasing blood-curdling screams with their water guns raised high above their heads.

  “Son of a bitch!” he snapped, just as Miss Dawson slowly pushed her walker decked out with the Lone Star flag and yelled as loud as her emphysemic lungs would allow, “Remember the Alamo!” which resulted in him standing there, trying to figure out how he was going to explain this one to the school board while the group of freshmen boys moved as one and yelled “YOLO” as they took down what appeared to be Mrs. Jennings’ abandoned A.P. literature class.

  Chapter 2

  At a university that is probably better left unnamed.

  Philadelphia, PA

  “Perhaps we could talk about this over coffee?” Joey suggested with a hopeful smile, really hoping that the man sitting across from her wasn’t seriously considering following through with any of the suggestions being screamed from the other side of the, hopefully locked, door.

  “Joey…” Dean Anderson said, sighing her name heavily the same way that he had twelve years ago when she’d first been escorted to his office by security after the unfortunate incident that had occurred during freshmen orientation.

  “Perhaps a muffin as well?” she suggested, somewhat desperately when it became painfully clear, mostly by the lo
ud shouts demanding her head on a platter that she was doing her best to ignore at the moment, that she may have gone too far this time.

  Not that she’d done this on purpose, because she hadn’t, and as soon as Dr. Miller regained consciousness she fully planned on telling him that. Until then, she was going to have to rely on the man that had taken her under his wing and kept the rest of the faculty from killing her over the years, not to do anything rash like fire her. So, it was with that in mind that Joey kept that smile on her face even as she discreetly shifted her chair away from the door where half the Science Department was currently expressing their displeasure with the paper that she’d published with shouts, curses, and semi-disturbing threats of violence.

  “What are we going to do, Joey?” he asked with a resigned sigh as he rubbed his hands down his face.

  “Hire more security?” she suggested, which earned her a glare.

  So, she moved on.

  “I can apologize,” she offered, which was normally what she did in situations like this, and unfortunately for her, this hadn’t been the first time that her research had ended someone’s career seconds before she...

  Well, it wasn’t important what she did or how Dr. Miller ended up in the hospital because the doctor assured her that there wasn’t going to be any lasting damage.

  “Was your information correct?” he asked, suddenly looking fifty, which was somewhat concerning since he was only thirty-five.

  “Yes,” she said with a wince when the admission caused him to reach into his desk, grab the industrial sized bottle of Tums that he kept stocked at all times and consumed a handful of large chalky pink tablets, something she’d noticed that he did more and more over the years.

  “Then apologizing’s not really going to help,” he said around another mouthful of Tums.

  “Probably not,” she said absently as she watched him grab a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and finish off half the bottle.

  “Then let’s move onto the reason that I called you today,” he said, pausing for a moment before opening his mouth, closing it, opening it again, closing it again, shaking his head, and then downing the rest of the Pepto-Bismol as she sat there, really hoping that this wasn’t about her teaching assistant, because that one definitely wasn’t her fault. But she still planned to make it up to him when, if, he returned.

  “We’ve decided to approve your sabbatical.”

  “Umm, thank you?” she said, unable to help but frown as she added, “But I didn’t put in for one.”

  “And yet, we approved it,” he said, holding up a fresh bottle of Pepto-Bismol and muttered, “Congratulations,” before tossing another handful of Tums in his mouth.

  “But my classes-” she started to say, only to have him wave off her concerns.

  “Already taken care of,” he said, taking another swig from the bottle of Pepto-Bismol as she sat there, wondering if this was his way of telling her that she was fired.

  “This is a good thing,” he promised, and if he hadn’t followed that up with another mouthful of Tums, she probably would have believed him.

  *-*-*-*

  Bridgewater, MA

  “I guess it all started when I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real,” the little pain in the ass that was trying to get out of detention said from her usual spot.

  “That must have been very traumatic for you,” Reed said absently as he finished reading through the rest of the emails, deleting the ones from parents demanding to know why he’d fired Miss Dawson, others calling him a fucking moron for not firing her sooner, and a few wrote just to let him know that he was an asshole.

  “It was,” Jen said with a sniffle, “It really was.”

  “And when did this life-altering event take place?” he asked, not bothering to read the next email when he saw the word asshole in capital letters.

  “Last week,” Jen answered with a forlorn sigh that had Reed’s lips twitching.

  “I see,” Reed murmured, closing his laptop as he leaned back in his chair. “And this is why you couldn’t go to detention?”

  “I just don’t think I’m ready to be around all that joy,” Jen whispered. “Not yet,” she said with a sniffle and a forlorn sigh that had him nodding sympathetically.

  “It’s too soon,” Reed agreed, matching her sigh with one of his own as he grabbed a pen and started writing a note.

  “It is,” Jen whispered as she helped herself to the dish of hard candy on his desk.

  “You don’t belong in detention,” Reed said with an understanding smile as he held the note out to the little con artist.

  “Bless you, Principal. Bradford,” Jen said with a watery smile and a sniffle as she stood up and took the note. “Bless you.”

  “I can only hope that this will help ease the pain,” Reed said as he put his laptop in his bag and stood up, more than ready to call it a day.

  “It will, Principal Bradford. It will,” Jen said with another little sniffle as she headed for the door, only to stop dead in her tracks with a horrified gasp when she looked down at the note.

  “If you hurry, you should be able to make it to the library before it closes,” Reed said, heading for the door.

  “How could you after I shared my pain?” she asked before adding, “How?”

  “Easily,” he said, locking his office before walking past the little pain in the ass that should probably be heading to the library if she wanted to avoid another two weeks of detention.

  “Ten pages?” the little deviant asked, catching up with him in the main lobby.

  “Not enough?” he asked, reaching for the note only to have her jump back with a startled gasp and a, “No! It’s more than enough!”

  “Good, then I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, once again heading for the front door and freedom.

  “Did I mention that my gerbil died?” his little shadow asked, once again catching up with him.

  “No,” he said, heading for his truck.

  “He did. It was tragic. Very tragic,” she murmured with a sniffle that had his lips twitching.

  “When did he die?” he asked, opening his truck door and carefully tossing his bag on the passenger seat.

  “Ten years ago, but the pain is still fresh,” Jen said as she stood there, hugging herself and giving him a sad little smile that had him sighing in defeat.

  “Fine,” he said, plucking the note out of her hand and crossed out the ten-page paper that he’d assigned her and made another quick note before handing it back.

  “Bless you, Principal-No!” she gasped in horror.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, gesturing toward the large hall that housed the library.

  “That’s just so wrong,” she said in mock horror as she turned around and headed to the library where she would probably spend the next hour conning some poor unsuspecting freshmen into doing her paper for her, but that was a problem for another day.

  Right now, the only thing he cared about was going home, grabbing an ice-cold beer, throwing a steak on the grill, and catching up on some paperwork while he did his best to forget about all the bullshit that could wait until tomorrow. That all changed when he looked down at his phone and saw the text message that was waiting for him.

  Chapter 3

  “This isn’t so bad,” Joey mumbled to herself, backing up that lie with a nod as she tightened her hold on her grandfather’s old work ladder and gave it a good yank to free it from the mass of briars that had at some point in the last twelve years decided to accept it as one of its own.

  It took a few minutes, several curses, and a few mishaps that ended with her sprawled out in the large puddle that she’d been trying to avoid, but finally after several tugs, prayers, and a mishap with her grandmother’s old bird bath, she finally managed to pull the ladder free only to realize that at some point in the last ten minutes, that her only means of getting inside the house had fallen apart. Letting the pieces fall to the ground, Joey turned around and tried to make out the old imposing h
ouse that she hadn’t seen since she was twelve, through the freezing, pouring rain.

  Maybe she should go find a hotel for the night and come back in the morning, she thought only to immediately dismiss the idea since her car was currently stuck in the mud and her keys were in one of five puddles that she’d fallen into when she’d tried to navigate the front yard full of weeds, rocks, and the occasional garden gnome. After an extensive search for her old hide-a-key that had ended with her discovering that there was a raccoon living under her front step, she’d realized that she didn’t have any choice but to pick the lock.

  That had ended with her making a mental note to pick up a new lock in the morning. After a ten-minute break, which had resulted in her locking herself out of her car, she’d decided to try her luck with the second-floor bathroom window, praying that Jackson hadn’t fixed it since she’d moved out. That had resulted in her traversing the huge backyard with the hopes of finding her grandfather’s old ladder, which the briars had already reclaimed.

  Still, things could be worse, she reminded herself with a shrug as she headed back to the old house that her grandparents had given them with the hopes that one of them would pick up where her grandfather had left off. This old house had been her grandfather’s dream. Since he was a kid, he’d dreamed of getting his hands on one of these old houses and fixing it up, but the war, his parents dying unexpectantly and leaving him to raise his little brother, marriage, kids, and life had gotten in the way.

  Every day when he’d forced himself to punch in at the old-time clock to do a job that he’d hated, he’d dreamed of the day when he would be able to buy an old house and restore it. He’d waited over fifty years for his chance, and when he got it, he’d suddenly found himself with two small children to raise when his daughter died in a car crash, and their father decided that leaving them on their grandparents’ doorstep in the middle of the night was for the best.

  But he never complained. He’d simply rolled up his sleeves and did his best. He’d taught Jackson how to be a man, how to do the right thing, and how to work hard to get what he wanted, and with her…