“Cheyenne called me the B word,” she says. I scoff before I can stop myself and earn a disapproving look from both Ms. Mercer and Mr. Beck.
“She called you a bitch,” I say. Ms. Mercer’s lips form a straight line, and her eyes narrow. Yeah, she’s uptight all right. Uptight as all fucking hell. I wonder when the last time she got laid was. I have half a mind to bend her over the desk and show her how to let loose. It’d be a fucking public service. I bet she’s so tightly wound that she’s never even jaywalked before.
“Yes,” she says in a clipped tone.
“Why?” I ask.
“Excuse me?” she says, like she suddenly can’t speak English. I raise my eyebrows and gesture to Chey.
“Why,” I repeat.
“Mr. Grady,” she says then shuts her mouth quickly. From my other side, I hear a sharp intake of breath. I look to Chey, who is glaring across the room.
“Ms. Mercer thinks I’m being abused or neglected,” Chey says with serious attitude. She started this shit a few years back, and it’s only gotten worse with time.
“Cheyenne,” Ms. Mercer pleads in a soft voice. “I’ve apologized. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”
“Holly,” Chey says with more venom in her tone than a fucking rattlesnake has in its entire body. “I thought you were cool. I thought we were friends!”
“I am cool, but I will not ignore a situation that concerns me,” Ms. Mercer says. There’s obviously more going on between these two than I’m aware of.
“That why you called her a bitch?” I ask Chey, who nods. Her mood’s picking up now that she thinks she has something on Ms. Mercer. She doesn’t, because the second I get her ass home, she’s grounded. But I’ll let the little princess think she’s snowed me for now. I just don’t want to give Mercer the satisfaction of knowing I don’t exactly have everything under control.
“Okay then, we’re gonna go,” I say to Mr. Beck.
“No, you cannot,” Ms. Mercer says as she stands in objection. “You daughter cannot run around speaking like that to adults, especially adults at her school, and expect no consequence. This is what I was concerned about.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna tell me how to parent my kid,” I say loudly and stand from my seat. Ms. Mercer takes a step closer to me and places her hands on her hips.
“You are a very troubled man,” she spits out with such anger I think she might melt the fucking floor around us. “Time and time again, you refuse to accept responsibility for your daughter’s poor behavior. Further, you have done her no favors by demonstrating to her that she can ignore consequences for mistreating others and that she is without fault. Cheyenne is an awesome kid, but she needs discipline. I’m not telling you how to parent. I am telling you that I won’t stand to be treated so poorly by a student or her parent.”
“Is that so?” I ask, rage boiling in my veins and my heart. I know I’ve been fucking up and it just pisses me off that this stupid bitch has the nerve to call me on it.
“Yes,” she says in a firm voice. I take a step closer to her, but she doesn’t budge. If I could think clearly, I could examine the scowl on her face and see that she’s more than fuckable—she’s actually kind of pretty. Not the kind of pretty I’m used to at the clubhouse with the whores who hang around at a dime a dozen, but a natural kind of pretty. The kind of pretty that a person wakes up with. Too bad she’s such a cunt.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, leaning in. She closes the distance between us and glares up at me.
“Yes,” she says with a slight quiver to her lip that’s kind of attractive. She almost looks like a scared little deer who’s just seen a hunter with a rifle. And I think she’s finally going to back down and show me that she’s smarter than she looks. But she doesn’t. “And I don’t care.”
Chapter 4
Holly
AN ELECTRIFIED CRACK sounds and is followed by the low buzz and fizzle of the overhead light bulb burning out. Without manufactured light, the room is basked in shadows and feels somewhat cooler. Still, beads of sweat sneak down my back, curve down my spine, and then are absorbed in the thin cotton blend tee shirt that sticks to my overheated skin. It’s never very hot here, along the Northern California coastline, but the exertion from a move will get even those in the Arctic working up a sweat.
I peer up at the encroaching darkness and sigh. My eyes are strained from the setting sun and the encroaching darkness. It figures that my new apartment needs repairs already. We barely got the sofa into the living room an hour ago, and now this. The light bulb, though a small issue, is another reminder of how messed up my life is. First went my job, then my roommate/boyfriend/whatever he was, then my apartment, and finally my pride. Now the light bulb.