Mr. Francis turned to inspect it, but Wolf scoffed and brushed his long bangs from his face. The movement was so infuriatingly handsome on him I forgot who I was for a second. And then I remembered. And gagged.
"The fact you think you know anything about what we're doing in here is hilarious," Wolf said.
"Oh," Mr. Francis said softly. He straightened and smiled at me. "You were right, Beatrix. The muffler was a little loose and knocking against the pan - that's where the sound was coming from."
"Ha ha!" I pointed accusatorily at Wolf. He didn't even blink.
"You got lucky."
"Lucky or not; Shall I heat your own words up in the microwave so you can digest them better, your highness? After all, you've got a ton of them to eat."
"I'll be fine, thanks," He snidely shot, then turned to Mr. Francis. "Keep it here for me, would you Carl? I'll come pick it up after school. Or whenever this loudmouth brat decides to leave.”
"Hey! This loudmouth brat solved your bike issues!" I protested. Wolf stormed past me, his eyes blazing with irritation, cutting a huge swathe of burning ground around me. He was under the garage door and gone before I could throw out one last knife-in-the-back insult.
"Sorry about that," Mr. Francis said. "The Blackthorns can be a little...."
"Evil?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of...eccentric," He corrects. "Anyway, did you need something from me?"
"Uh, yeah, actually. Do you think you have one last spot in your auto shop class?"
"Which one?"
"Whichever one Wolf is in."
Mr. Francis pondered this. "Wanna show him up that badly, huh?"
"Call it a personal desire. A compulsion, a genie's duty. A geass, so to speak."
"Well I can't just let you in, that's an advanced class."
I proceed to tell him everything I learned, nearly verbatim, from the motorcycle magazine I read last night. Have I mentioned I sure know how to buckle down and study when I want to? Hand signals, engine caps, oil changes - I let him know it all. When I was done, Mr. Francis looked more than a little winded.
"Well alright then. Seems I underestimated you, Beatrix. You're in. Consider your sixth periods mine."
I did a little fist pump. "Yes! Thank you Mr. Francis! You won’t regret this! Unless I screw up horribly and get us all killed via battery acid! But that's, like, just a wild hypothetical, you know."
"Sure," He eyed me. "Don't you have another class to be getting to?"
I left the auto shop feeling considerably better. I managed to successfully invade one of Wolf Blackthorn's spaces by going around him, instead of through him. Now if I could just keep that trend up for the rest of eternity, until he decided to stop being a dick to me, whichever came first even though neither would come first because 'eternity' and 'hating me' were the same things for him, that'd be great. Wolf might hate me more for what I've done, but at this point he hates me for simply breathing, so. I'll take my chances.
If Burn is the hard target and Wolf is the impossible target, then Fitz is the easy target. He spent most of the last class of the day sleeping as he always does - his blonde head on his desk and his arms as his pillow. Mr. Blackthorn underestimated Fitz's apathy - I was pretty sure a few wrong answers and me asking him to tutor me wouldn't be enough. I had to make it convincing. I had to take it one step further. Mr. Brant's history class was my favorite, and Mr. Brant was my favorite - dry, witty, yet serious. And now I had to let him down.
I raised my hand to offer an answer.
"Elizabeth I," I said proudly. Mr. Brant furrowed his brows.
"I'm sorry, Beatrix, but that isn't the answer I'm looking for. In fact, that's two centuries too late. She wasn't even close to this time period."
A clump of shame started burning in my stomach, my cheeks heating. It's one thing to not be paying attention like the other day, but getting an answer wrong? Wrong answers weren't my thing, and the whole class turned to look at me. They knew that. Whispers went around the room. Laughter. Fitz lifted his head off the desk to look at me, his eyes not in the least bit sleepy. Bewilderment lingered in them, and I caught his gaze only for a moment before looking away.
Mr. Brant changed the subject eventually, but the damage was done. The fake damage. Or so I thought, until Mr. Brant asked me to stay behind after class. Fitz was the last one to leave, and his steps were so slow and deliberate I could swear he was doing it on purpose.
Mr. Brant waited until everyone had filtered out before turning to me.
"How's everything with you lately, Beatrix?" He asked. I looked at my feet, unable to meet his eyes.
"Fine."
"You seem distracted, lately. Is there anything you don't understand in the material? I can help clarify -"
"It's not that -" I blurted. "I'm just - tired. That's all."
He gazed at me, neither judging nor suspicious. "Alright. I hope you rest up soon. We need your bright brain in this class - otherwise, who will answer all my questions? I'd be talking to a silent room."
I laughed a little, and said goodbye to him. I had a hunch Fitz was waiting for me outside the room, so when my name was called I was ready for it. Sure enough, Fitz caught up with me in the hall.
"There you are, scholarshipper."
"I thought I told you to stay away," I grumbled. I couldn't become friendly with him all of a sudden, not after my outburst the other morning. If I did, he'd be suspicious. He's smart, but not Wolf-wary.
He smiled. "Let's just say I can't resist a sob-story. You haven't been on your game. You're slipping up. And I find that irresistibly tragic."
"I can take care of myself, thanks," I snorted.
"Oh, I know you can take care of yourself. But how will you find time for that when you're too busy taking care of everybody else, is my question."
"What?"
"Oh, c’mon, don't play dumb. Eric. And then that big, hard-steroid-popping freshman. You stood up for both of them. Naively, of course. But you still did it. You put yourself right in the middle of Wolf's warpath for them. You're either brave, or stupid. Or both."