CHAPTER TEN #2
“Silence!” Mr. Watkins barked, his face gaining and losing a beet-red hue just as fast. He pinned us in place with his glare. “Cutting it close, aren’t we? I have to say, Ms. Walker, you aren’t making the best of impressions, are you?”
“Sorry, sir,” I mumbled, shifting from foot to foot.
Kolton’s grip on my arm tightened briefly before letting go. “We got held up in the hall. Won’t happen again.”
Without waiting for permission, he sauntered to his seat, me rushing to do the same half a beat behind him.
The last thing I wanted was to be left standing alone, facing the teacher’s wrath.
Someone had saved Kolton’s seat in the middle of the room.
Consequently, the last available spot was, of course, at the front.
It could be assigned seating, I reassured myself, even as I cast one wistful glance in Kolton’s direction.
Kolton clocked it, popping up from his chair. “On second thought, can I switch with Willa?” Half his belongings were gathered in his arms when Mr. Watkins answered.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” Kolton argued.
I scooted down, sinking lower in the chair.
“You’ve interrupted enough. One more outburst, and I’ll send you to detention, young man, and you can bet your coach will be hearing about this.”
“But I can’t see,” Kolton asserted.
“You have ears. Use them. This isn’t art class.” That was that.
Begrudgingly, Mr. Watkins started the lesson after giving me a single pointed stare, a stare that declared I was skating on thin ice and dared me to step one toe out of line.
Not if I could help it.
When Watkins turned to write on the board, it felt like I’d been released. I wrestled my computer free and powered it up, relieved I’d plugged it in before the fight with Mom yesterday.
The screen lit up, showing a bright and cheery English countryside.
After inputting my password, the desktop loaded for a split second before the interface blitzed out.
It flashed with a dizzying wash of colors and shapes, audibly and visibly zipping loud enough to make the person behind me jolt, then it sent sparks nipping at my fingers before it powered down.
I winced, sucking on the burned digit while attempting to puzzle out just what the heck had happened.
The guy behind me leaned closer, his desk bumping my backrest. “Dude. What the f—”
“Mr. Montrose!” Mr. Watkins whirled, looking fit to hurl the dry-erase marker at the disturbance. When his brain comprehended my frozen self at the epicenter of the actual disturbance, he homed in on me like a heat-seeking missile. “That’s it. Outside, Ms. Walker. Now.”
Mr. Montrose—ack, Dale, the surname helped my less than stellar memory place him—defended, “But, Mr. Watkins, her computer—”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. She receives no further excuses. She should have charged it.”
“But—” Dale began.
I scrambled to my feet, not wanting another person to argue on my behalf. Mr. Watkins dogged my steps, shouting out some busywork from the book to keep the class occupied until he finished our talk.
“Mr. Watkins, I’m so sorry,” I began the second he closed the door behind him. “My computer showed a full battery, I swear, but I think it fried or something because—”
“Enough.” He stepped closer, looming over me.
“We heard all about your sob story. We were told to show you leniency, that you would be handicapped. Well, guess what? You’re all out of passes, Ms. Walker.
Your golden get-out-of-jail Free card ends now.
I’ll have someone gather your things and bring them to you in the office where you will spend the rest of the class period.
When you decide you want to treat your education like an institution and not your personal stage, then you can return. ”
“But—”
“Go!” he shouted, his face doing its red color burst party trick. He yelled so loudly that one of the neighboring classrooms opened, and a teacher peeked out.
“Everything okay, Bill?”
We must have made quite the picture—the old man, puce red and huffing, crowding in my face while I stood there, not sure this wasn’t all some deranged nightmare.
Watkins’s door opened as well, and Kolton glanced between us with a flinty edge in his jawline. “Were you yelling for someone?”
Watkins pointed at his face. “You, back in your chair, and you, young lady, detention. Today, after school.” He marched into his classroom once more, corralling Kolton inside as he did so.
For his part, Kolton seemed braced to fight, but he eased off at the desperate shake of my head. The relief must have been stark on my face, because the rest of his tension melted away. He gestured for me to text him just before the door closed.
“Sorry about that.” The interloper teacher chuckled uncomfortably, probably while visions of lawsuits danced in his head. “Bill has always had a bit of a hair trigger. Well, best make your way to the office.”
Seriously? That was it?
He’d witnessed one of his colleagues verbally abusing a student, and he planned to play ostrich and stick his head in the sand?
With minimal effort, my eyes scanned the hallway, spotting no less than four cameras. Did he think it could be swept under the rug?
Then again, I’d almost been killed in police custody during a recorded interrogation with the entire department and a team of lawyers as witnesses. A teacher losing his cool with an erstwhile student seemed like child’s play compared to that.
What good would it do to argue?
If I told my parents, Mom would just nod and slide me that therapist’s card.
I squared my shoulders and went, realizing my phone was also in my backpack.
“Sorry, Kolton,” I whispered. “Guess I won’t be texting you back.”
The sad thing though?
At this point, he’d probably keel over in shock if I actually returned his messages.