“Yes, Mr. Kramer,” Flanders says, gritting his teeth.
“Is Beowulf the only hero in this piece?”
Flanders starts to stutter, “Uh . . . yes, I mean, no. He’s . . . uh.” He wipes his palms on his jeans.
Kramer rolls his eyes. “Mr. Flanders, you have managed to look more incompetent than you did yesterday. I think congratulations are in order.” His gaze leaves Flanders and lands on me.
Shit. Not today. I was supposed to be dead by now. I’m not supposed to be here. I kind of loathe Beowulf. I glare at him for picking me today.
“Ms. Stevens, what do you think the author is trying to say about Grendel in this passage?”
I sigh and bite on my lip. I feel something bubbling up and I know I’m going to get in trouble. “I don’t know, Mr. Kramer, that he’s sick of Beowulf? That maybe he’s a freak? I don’t really care, to be honest.” I cringe a little at my words.
Kramer regards me carefully, spinning his red pen in his fingers. “Care to try that again without the attitude?”
I roll my eyes. I’m fed up. Kramer’s a jerk and I’m in a rotten mood. “Care to stop being an asshole?”
Groans and oooos fill the room. Kramer’s expression can only be described as amused anger. He slowly stands up and walks over to my desk. My heart is thrashing in my chest and the sweat I’ve collected drips down my back.
He leans down so his bright blue eyes are even with mine while his coffee breath wafts toward me. “You’re right. I am an asshole.” He grins. “But you’re the one that’s going to be in detention this week. Hope it was worth it, Ms. Stevens.”
I sigh again and sink back into my chair as Kramer walks back to his desk, his red pen swirling in the air.
I’m just so damn tired of fighting my own life.
The bell rings at the end of the hour. I’m anxious to get out of my seat. The room has been closing in on me the entire class like I’m in a trash compactor. Life has become a trash compactor, pushing and crushing me into its folds. It won’t release me. And now I have a week of detention. I should care about that, but I don’t. The look on Kramer’s face was worth it all.
I hurry to the door when I feel someone behind me, close.
“Ellery?”
It’s Colter’s voice. Damn.
I whip around and give him my best Happy Ellery fake smile. “Tom Sawyer? Is that you?”
He gets that look on his face again, the stern authoritative one I bring out in everyone, it seems. “Very funny. We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” I turn and walk toward my locker across the hall. The air buzzes as students file in and out of class, lockers bang, people yell. I want to cover my ears. Every sound is magnified.
His body heat radiates behind me. I wish he’d just leave me alone.
“Ellery,” he says close to my ear.
I turn around again and clench my fists, my patience waning with every breath I take. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I have since seen the error of my ways under your expert tutelage of security guarding.” I grin.
He rolls his eyes, then his expression becomes concerned. It makes me pace in place. “Nice job in there. What? Do you have a death wish?”
A nervous chuckle escapes me. “Something like that.”
He shoves his hand through his hair, breaking up the stiffness of the strands, and leans against the locker beside me. “Why’d you have a gun last night?”
Someone bumps into me and I almost topple into him. “Seriously? We’re going to do this again? Why do you care?” My voice sounds froggy, like something’s stuck in it. Nerves bounce around my body as if in a pinball machine. I can’t get them to stop. The little coiled shooter just keeps knocking them into me.
“I just find it kind of weird, you showing up with a gun at a store that doesn’t sell guns.” He arches an eyebrow.
“It was an honest mistake. Both stores have the same crap in them—easy to confuse.” I fold my arms across my chest and glance away from him briefly.
He scrutinizes me and shakes his head. “You’re lying.”
“Why do you care? I don’t know you. Just leave me alone,” I snap, lifting my chin up to look him straight in the eyes.
He sighs again. “You’re right. Why do I care? Clearly, you don’t.” He runs a hand through his hair again and gives me that pitiful look I hate. The so sorry about your crap life, I’d like to help if you’ll just let me in look.
It’s so condescending.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Just go off to whatever practice you have and be the dutiful athlete we both know you are.”
He jerks upright from the locker. “You should think before you judge.” His lips purse and it looks like he’s going to say something else, but instead he storms off, mumbling something about why he even tries.