I resisted flipping to the last page to check my grade. “Yes, sir.” I knew I should stand up, thank him, and scramble out of his office while I was still on his good side. I couldn’t do it. “And Lucas? Is he in trouble? Will he… will he lose his job?”
He shook his head. “There doesn’t appear to have been any real harm done, although I’ve reminded Landon—er, Lucas—that sometimes, how a situation is perceived carries more weight than the reality of the matter. With that in mind, I suggested that he limit himself to appropriate tutoring interactions for the duration of the semester.”
Lucas hadn’t mentioned any possibility of future interactions. His answer to whether or not it was over had been conclusive, and he hadn’t emailed or texted me to contradict it, nor had he looked my way in class today that I knew of.
“Thank you, Dr. Heller.” I waited until I was outside to check the grade I’d received—a 94. Unquestionably better than I would have done on the midterm, had I been present for it.
***
I ignored Lucas on my way to my seat before class on Wednesday and Friday, and ignored him again as I left, especially as I found Kennedy waiting in the aisle to walk me out both days. On Wednesday, my ex asked me how the tutoring was going.
“What?” I stumbled on the next step and he caught my elbow.
“Was it two eighth-graders or two ninth-graders who had massive crushes on you?” He laughed, turning the heads of two girls we passed on the way outside; per typical Kennedy, he didn’t seem to notice. “Or do they all have a crush on you by now?”
Ah—bass lessons, not economics tutoring. I tucked my chin into my fuzzy scarf and pulled my coat’s zipper to my throat when we rounded the corner of the building and a blast of frigid air hit us, and he turned up his collar and shoved his bare hands into his coat pockets.
“I have no idea what they’re thinking, most of the time. They’re all a little surly.”
He glanced at me and smiled, that dimple riveting my attention as it had since the first time I saw it, and from there, his beautiful green eyes. He bumped me lightly with his elbow. “Surliness is sound evidence that they’re all crushing on you.”
Scowling, I faced forward and picked up the pace. I couldn’t imagine where he was going with that, but I wasn’t following. “I’ll see you later, Kennedy. I have to get to Spanish.”
He caught my arm. “Maggie said you were coming to the Bash on Saturday?”
I nodded. Erin and I spent four hours shopping for dresses and shoes Tuesday night. She was going all out in her intention to make Chaz regret any decision he’d made that didn’t include worshipping at her feet.
“What happened to ‘I love the hunt’?” I’d asked as she discarded the tenth or eleventh not-quite-perfect cocktail dress before shimmying into a bit of silver fabric with a thigh-high split.
Smiling into the mirror with predatory resolve, she’d waited for me to zip her up and examined her body in the reflective dress that set off her red hair like she was on fire. “Oh, I’m hunting all right,” she’d purred.
I split away from Kennedy without a backward glance, and he called, “See you later, Jacqueline.”
I considered and rejected every excuse I could cook up for why I needed to bow out, belatedly wishing that I had never agreed to accompany Erin to the annual Bash. My normally sane roommate was determined to make her ex-boyfriend’s life a living hell for at least one night. At dinner Friday, she said, “I have to do this. For closure.” Maggie arched a brow at me from across the table. Between the Erin/Chaz drama, Kennedy’s attempts to reverse our breakup, and the likely presence of Buck, Saturday night couldn’t be over soon enough for me.
***
Avoiding eye contact during the self-defense class Saturday morning proved more difficult than dodging each other during economics, but Lucas and I managed it for the first hour. The oddest part of the past week was the worksheets he continued to send, but without any note beyond. The entire email consisted of: New worksheet attached, LM.
“Where a kick is more likely to be miscalculated by the victim or evaded by the perp, a knee-strike is close-range and more easily executed, so we’re going to focus on this defense first.” Ralph’s voice brought me back to the self-defense class. “And I assume you ladies know what you’re aimin’ for with that knee.”
Dividing into two groups as we had two weeks ago, I went to stand in Don’s group and Erin followed. He held a thick pad with straps for his muscular forearm to hold it in place, explaining knee-strike basics and asking for a volunteer to help demonstrate, which Erin readily answered. I was proud of her resounding No! as she grabbed Don’s shoulders and slammed her knee into the pad. I recognized the move from Lucas having used it on Buck—though he’d struck him under the chin rather than the groin. Buck had gone straight to the ground. And stayed there.
When it was my turn, my self-conscious hesitation disappeared with my group’s vocal encouragement and Don’s “Again!” between each strike. Exhilarated, I walked back to Erin wide-eyed and shaking with adrenaline. She laughed and said, “I know, right?”
We progressed to kicks, and every time I landed one and heard Don’s gratifying grunt, my fear that I could never replicate these in real life lessened. Vickie—the white-haired woman who’d unknowingly given me the courage to remain in the class two weeks ago—asked how, even if we hit the right place with enough force, we could win against a man his size.