“What Kensi’s saying is that we sum people up based on a small set of facts, and we use those facts and apply them to every action, every case, every word a person says,” he says. I tuck my chin low, trying to hide the smile he’s building on my face. “And when you’re so quick to convict someone, you run the risk of ignoring their innocence.”
There’s a quiet over the room, and Cal spends a few seconds looking at Owen, hard. His focus shifts to me and then to our teacher, then back to Owen, and it’s when he’s chewing his bottom lip, sawing on it, his thoughts right on the tip of his tongue, that I know he’s going to fire a bullet.
“You mean like the way we all just assume you’re a piece of shit because you stole a car, robbed a store at gunpoint, and then held that same gun to your own head later that night just to prove you’re nuts just like your old man?”
Cal only has enough time to find his balance and get to his feet before Owen is in front of him, his hand gripping the fabric of his shirt collar, his weight pushing him backward until his body hits the wall with a heavy thud. Owen forces him into the wall twice, just to make sure the air completely clears his lungs, then twists his hand around Cal’s shirt, choking him before finally releasing.
Mr. Chessman’s hand is on Owen’s back within seconds, and Owen lets the crumpled shirt fall back in place along Cal’s chest. Before he steps away, he stares long and hard, his nose practically touching Cal’s, he’s so close. “Exactly,” he says, his eyes dark, his breathing ragged—and his fingers flexing, wanting to destroy.
“That’s enough, Owen. You know where to go,” he says, his head tilted slightly to one side, his expression caught somewhere between pride and disappointment.
“Yeah, I know,” Owen says, turning to leave the class. As he passes me, he drags one finger along the length of my desk, brushing my fingertips as he passes. But he never looks down at me. The door swings open wildly, banging into the hallway wall.
“Cal?” Mr. Chessman says, his eyes falling on the smug blonde asshole still straightening his shirt at the front of the classroom.
“What, me? Are you serious? He attacked me!” Cal defends.
“Yes, but you also broke the rules…and what was it you said?” Mr. Chessman’s smile shows again. “Ah, yes…they’re black and white. Case done. Piece. Of. Cake.”
He pushes a pink slip into Cal’s chest at his last word, then motions for him to leave the room. Cal grumbles a few swear words as he leaves, and when he reaches my desk, he gives me a look that proves he’s already summed me up, too, just by my relationship with Owen. I’m pretty sure I can sleep at night knowing I don’t have Cal Russell in my corner. Maybe I’m making my own snap judgments, but I’m pretty sure he’s the dark side in this one.
“Well…” Mr. Chessman says, leaning back to sit along the edge of his desk. His arms folded in front of him. “Kensi brings up a very good point, despite the debate we had just a few minutes ago. I’d like you all to think about that as you finish the next three chapters, and come prepared to discuss—without fisticuffs—tomorrow.”
The bell rings only minutes later, and the rest of the class quickly goes back to their routine, everyone chatting about lunch plans, weekend dates, parties. I wait for the classroom to clear before gathering my things and heading for the door.
“For the record, Miss Worth,” Mr. Chessman says, stopping me just before I open the door. “I think you made a very valid point.”
My breathing suddenly feels easier, and I let my smile respond for me, then open the door and move into the crowded hallway. It’s lunch, and I know Willow, Jess, Elise and Ryan will be wondering where I am, but I have to make sure Owen is okay. I dodge backpacks and elbows through the busy hallway until I see the glass door of the principal’s office swing open, Owen stepping through, his own pink slip crumpled in his hand, his eyes still dark, angry.
“Are you okay?” I ask, walking up to him, my steps coming quicker. He grabs my hand fast, his grip on my fingers tight, almost painful, and pulls me behind him through the thick crowd in the hall until we reach the back door, near the loading zone for the cafeteria. He pushes down hard, forcing the door open, then pulls my arm, leading me around a corner to a line of recycling bins.
“I’m so sorry…” I start, but Owen’s hands find me fast, his fingers wrapping around my shoulders, his force moving me back until I’m flush with the wall, and then his lips crash down on me.