Mr. Knight scoffs and then shakes his head, clearly not happy with the punishment. He looks over to his son, giving him a wink before turning back to me. His blatant disregard for the rules don’t surprise me, and I can’t help but call him on it.
“I hope from that wink, Mr. Knight, you're not condoning this behavior?” I challenge, cutting him off before he can begin to argue my decision.
“Listen, Mrs. —”
“Miss Turner,” I correct him the same way he did me.
“Miss Turner.” His deep, gravelly voice exaggerates the Miss and I hold back the need to roll my eyes at his insinuation.
“No, I don’t condone violence. I will, however, be proud of my son if he stands up for someone who can’t stand up for themselves.”
“He gave another student a black eye,” I shoot back. “Not to mention disrupted my class.”
Pulling two eleven-year-old boys apart in the middle of the classroom is harder than most would think. For one, they’re almost the same size as me. My five-foot-two frame is no match for two angry boys when they nearly put me on my ass.
“So? He was defending the girl and defending himself. I would have done the same,” Mr. Knight continues to disagree with me. His anger confuses me a little. What does he expect me to say? Sure, it’s fine your son clocked another student and left him with a swollen eye?
“Yes, I don’t doubt that. However, the school board doesn’t see it that way. Using violence against each other gets us nowhere.” I stop myself from saying our school rules are probably different to the rules he follows.
I stand from my chair, trying to end the conversation before I come to blows with him. Something inside of me wants to argue with him, my quick temper often getting me in trouble, but this is more. The thought of pushing him sends a tingle down my spine. I need to stop this. I force myself not to engage with him anymore; the rules are simple, there’s no point arguing. He obviously lives by his own set of rules. Unfortunately for his son, he must abide by the school’s.
“My son has a right to defend himself. Where were you when all this was happening?” He stands, clearly not done with this battle, now questioning me.
“I was dealing with another student.” I find myself on the defensive. “These boys are eleven years old, Mr. Knight. Old enough to be trusted and know violence is no way to handle things. Using your fists does not make you a man. He should have walked away and come and told me,” I tell him, feeling small again under his height and gaze.
He laughs out loud, his eyes flashing with annoyance, evidently not agreeing with me. “Lady, you got no idea what makes a man. Someone puts his hands on me, I sure as hell will respond the same way.”
Knowing I’m not going to get anywhere with this infuriating man, I straighten out my hand to shake his, ready to be out of his presence. My behavior is irrational I know. I’ve gone from feeling a spark to wanting to slap him for arguing with me.
“My decision is final, Mr. Knight. The boys will start their detention tomorrow. I hope I don’t have to take this further next time,” I say, hoping I don’t have to see him again. Something about him gets me riled up. Sure he’s hot, but his arrogant attitude is starting to annoy me. He stands quietly for a moment, not moving, not speaking, his eyes silently assessing me. The tension in the air is electrifying around us. I begin to feel a little uncomfortable with my hand outstretched before he takes it, the heat of his grip wrapping around mine.
“Well, Mrs. —”
“Miss,” I snap at him this time and wince at my tone.
“Yes, of course.” He smiles, like he wanted to hear it again. I try to pull my hand back but he tightens, pulling me forward, my free hand going to my desk as his thumb strokes the inside of my palm. The intimate move is not lost on me. Oh, God, I’m bipolar, now I want to keep my hand here.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Turner.” He leans in close, the warmth of his breath just skimming the side of my ear before he lets go and moves back. I steady myself, unbalanced by the loss. What the hell was that?
Reaching out, he clicks his fingers to get Zayden’s attention. “Come on, Z,” he says, waiting for him to stand. He then follows him out the door without a backward glance.
Following Mr. Knight’s lead, Mr. Hill stands, his expression now somber. For a moment I forgot he was still here, lost in the impulse that was that man.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Turner. I’ll have a word with Tommy about what he thinks he heard.” He nods, not giving me his eyes. At least he has the good sense to look embarrassed.
Grabbing Tommy’s bag, he wishes me a good evening and then turns and leaves, Tommy following close behind.