“That, too.”
I decided to sit behind her today, flopping down and stretching my legs out on either side of her desk. I like watching her from behind. I can see her shoulders tense and relax. The curve of her neck sometimes appears when she bends over. The little knots of her spine have somehow become the cutest thing. I’d like to take a big ol’ bite there.
I shift as my uniform trousers grow tight.
“Where’s Ella?” Hartley twists around to look at me, gesturing to Ella’s empty desk.
“She’s got the day off. She and my dad are meeting our lawyers in the city.”
Hartley’s expression fills with sympathy. “Will she really have to testify at her father’s trial?”
I nod. I’m grateful to focus on something other than Hartley’s way too pretty neck. And really? Necks? That’s what I’m hot for these days?
“Yeah. She was there when Steve confessed to everything.”
“That sucks.”
I don’t particularly want to rehash Steve’s actions, so I change the subject. “Better question is—where’s Ms. Mann?”
Two rows over, Tonya Harrison pipes up. “She was down in Beringer’s office. That’s twice this week.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” my teammate Owen sings.
A bunch of kids turn and look in my direction. I glare at Owen, but either he really is confused or he’s a far better actor than I knew. I make a tiny slicing motion across my throat to indicate he better keep his lips shut tight. His response is to wrinkle his forehead.
Suddenly the door bursts open.
“Oh my God. Someone’s getting busted today!” exclaims Glory Burke, the captain of the girls’ field hockey team.
A chorus of questions arises from my classmates.
“What do you mean?” Tonya asks.
“Beringer and Officer Neff are looking through someone’s locker,” Glory answers.
“Can they do that?”
“What about student rights?”
“The honor code says that if there’s a reasonable suspicion a crime has been committed, the lockers can be searched,” Rebecca Lockhart explains. She would know. She’s our class president.
Worried whispers spread as the debates begin over who’s in trouble. There are few angels here. Some kids are taking uppers. Some are sleeping around. Some are drinking. Some are doing all of the above.
Only one has screwed around with his teacher.
This time it’s my blazer that feels tight and itchy, as guilt starts pouring through my veins. Dammit. Why’d I ever give in to the temptation of Ms. Mann in the first place? It was stupid. So stupid. And for what? So I could have a five-minute feel-good experience? I’m such an idiot.
I cross my arms and slide lower in my chair. Over her shoulder, Hartley casts a sympathetic glance, which I avoid by staring at my desk.
I know what she’s thinking. Easton Royal’s the dumbest ass I know. Why am I even with him?
But she’s not really with me, is she? She kissed me at the top of the Ferris wheel. What does that even mean? Probably nothing.
Halfway into my fit of self-pity, I straighten up. Because, screw this. What do I care what Hartley, an outcast that her family doesn’t even talk to, thinks about me? What do I care what anybody here at Astor thinks? I didn’t even bone Ms. Mann. If I’m going to be crucified for having sex with a teacher, I should actually get to have sex with her.
I give myself a fierce shake and drawl, “What? There’s someone being naughty besides me? Stand up and show yourself. There’s only room for one asshole here at Astor, and I’m currently occupying that slot.”
A nervous laugh spreads among the gossipy whispers.
“Actually, I think it’s her locker they’re searching.” Glory awkwardly points to Hartley.
“Me?” Hartley blurts out.
“You’re four sixty-five, right?”
Hartley nods warily.
“Pretty sure it was yours.”
The whispers rise to a dull roar as everyone starts speculating what Hartley could’ve done. She’s a mystery to most of the students here, having appeared out of nowhere after three years of absence. She’s not involved in any activities. Her Astor Park-mandated elective is music and she spends her study periods in the private music rooms, away from the rest of the student body.
Except for the couple of football games she attended where she sat with Ella and Val, Hartley’s been mostly absent from the Astor scene.
I hear snatches of conversation.
“…she’s been hanging around Ella. Bet she’s one of her stripper friends.”
“…didn’t her father have to drop out of the mayor race because of a scandal?”
“…rumor is she and Royal were having sex in the music room.”
If I can hear them, Hartley can, too. I reach over and give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She freezes when I touch her and then I feel a tiny flinch, a shrug of sorts, a silent brushoff.
Stung, I let my hand drop to the desk.
The door opens again. Everyone’s heads swivel toward it.
When Ms. Mann enters, I brace myself for another pitiful expression. But her chin is up and she’s surveying all of us as if she’s the queen and we’re her worthless minions. Then she moves aside and Headmaster Beringer appears.
The entire room falls silent.
“Ms. Wright,” the headmaster barks, “if you would gather your materials and follow us.” He crooks his hand in Hartley’s direction.
She doesn’t move immediately.
Beringer clears his throat.
With a soft sound of dismay, Hartley pops to her feet, grabs her stuff, and walks to the door, books clutched to her chest, spine as stiff and straight as a steel pole. Beringer holds the door open until Hartley passes him. The two exit, leaving Ms. Mann inside the room.
“Open your books to chapter four and read The Chain Rule,” she announces. “I want you to do problems one through twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two?” Owen balks. “It’ll take ten minutes to do one of these equations.”
“Then you best get started or you’ll get to do fifty problems before tomorrow,” Ms. Mann snaps.
“Yes, ma’am.”
We all apply ourselves, because clearly Ms. Mann isn’t messing around today.
I barely get all the problems done before the bell rings. My attention kept straying to the door, wondering when Hartley would return. She never does.
Pash pounces on me the minute I step into the hall. He’d been waiting outside the classroom. “Dude, Owen just texted and said Hartley Wright got arrested.”
I sigh. “She didn’t get arrested. Her locker was searched.”
“Seriously? Why?”
“No clue.” I stalk over to my locker and shove my books in.
“She doing something illegal?”
“Not that I know of.” When a few papers spill out, I bend down to pick them up. They’re my calc notes, I realize.
The toe of a navy-blue pump presses down on the papers.
“What are these, Mr. Royal?”
I peer up at Ms. Mann. “Notes.”