Iris Boys Box Set Page 5

  "Come on," Erika urged. "Let's go inside, where there's air-conditioning."

  "It's too loud." I pushed her through the glass doors, out into the sweltering heat. She groaned as I led her over to a stone bench, half secluded behind a pillar and under a bit of shade. Erika grumbled a few half-hearted protests as she settled and pulled out her lunch, swinging her legs and enjoying the resulting breeze over her skin.

  "I heard something in gym class," she said as I pulled out a half-sized portion of a deli ham and cheese sandwich from my bag.

  "Uh huh." I flipped the page of Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

  "Are you even paying attention?" Erika's voice grew closer.

  "Uh huh." I marked off a section that I was considering using in my final senior English paper. Something hard hit my shoulder, jerking me forward and I dropped the book in a puddle of rainwater under the bench.

  "Erika!" I reached for the book.

  "What? I'm sorry." I rolled my eyes and picked the book up, shaking out the now soggy pages. "You weren't listening."

  "Listening to what?" When she didn't answer, I looked up and she was giving me her 'I told you so' look. "Okay, I wasn't listening. What were you saying?"

  "I said I heard something in gym class today."

  "Surprise. Surprise," I replied. "I assume it had something to do with how many jumping jacks Coach Davis wanted you to do. Oh, wait, you have selective hearing so it must have been something more gossip worthy."

  "No–well, yes–but that's not what I'm talking about." She leaned in close. "I heard that a certain someone caught the eye of one of the football players."

  "Congrats, Babe, I'm happy for you." I continued to shake out my book, hoping that it wouldn't take too long to dry. I was almost to the end and really needed to start on that paper if it was going to be finished by the deadline.

  "I'm talking about you!"

  In her excitement, Erika jabbed me again and the book fell right back into the puddle. I looked at her, but her expectant face was so enthusiastic, I didn't have the heart to be irritated. I sighed, picked the book back up, and placed it, pages up, on the bench next to me, scooting it as far away from Erika and the puddle as possible.

  "Well?" she prompted.

  "Well, what?" I asked.

  "Who is it? Did he ask you out? I can't believe you didn't tell me."

  "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." I didn't even know any of the football players. "Besides, what would be the point in dating now? Everyone is going off to college in a few months."

  Erika frowned. "You could too, if you wanted. You're smart enough."

  I laughed, smiling at her to defuse some of her solemnity. "I don't have the money. Besides, it's too late to be considered for the fall semester." I stood, and stretched my arms over my head just as the bell rang for our last class of the day.

  “Well, it’s never too late to get a boyfriend,” she informed me with a tilt of her chin. “Having a boyfriend is great.”

  “Speaking of,” I said, “you never told me about him – your boyfriend.”

  Erika’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Harlow. He’s so sweet. I was a little nervous when he started talking to me because he’s a few years older than me, but he is so nice. I’ve been misplacing some of my stuff – I can’t find that necklace my Mom gave me for my sweet sixteen and he offered to get me something even nicer. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?!”

  It sounded odd to me for a new boyfriend to offer to buy her nice jewelry, but I didn’t say anything. “He sounds pretty cool,” I replied.

  “He is,” she gushed on. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

  "We should probably get to class," I suggested as the warning bell rang. Turning, I slung my bag over my shoulder and picked up Chbosky's book. "And don't listen to every rumor you hear."

  Erika pouted as I waved goodbye, and disappeared into the masses of students collecting in the hallways. As the end of the school year drew nearer, more and more students skipped classes, fooled around in hallways, and gave off a general "I don't care" attitude. I managed to squeeze through to my classroom and take my seat well before the late bell rang. I leaned back, cracking my neck and set my drenched paperback to the side. The girl to my left scowled at the wet mark it left on my desk and scooted away.

  Halfway through a dreary PowerPoint and monotonous lecture, a piece of lined paper flicked onto the desk in front of me. I jerked up, looking at it before glancing around to see who had put it there. The same girl shot me a disgusted look.

  "Just read it," she mouthed before rolling her eyes and turning away. I unfolded the note.

  I thought you were pretty cool yesterday. We should hang out sometime. –G

  Beneath the scribbled sentence was a phone number. I looked up, even more confused. I saw him, the guy who was among the football team party that had sat in my section at the diner – the one the others had all deferred to. He smiled my way and tilted his head, indicating that the note in my hands was, in fact, from him. I blinked. He couldn't mean me. This note was obviously meant for someone else. I felt so embarrassed. I had read someone else's note. I turned to hand it to the person on my right, but the seat was empty. I forgot that it had sat empty since the last change of seating arrangements. I stared ahead, because the only other girl in my immediate area had been the one to shove it on my desk.

  I stared at the note and when the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I jumped because football boy was standing right there. He hovered at the front of my desk, smiling down at me.

  "Hey." He had a great smile with impeccably white, straight teeth. Most people didn't have teeth that perfect.

  "Hi." I tried to swallow around my dry throat.

  "You got my note." He shifted as a couple of students in my row passed him on their way out the door, a couple stopping to slap him on the shoulder. I needed to leave as well or I would miss my bus.

  "Yeah, I did." I stood and hesitated for a second, my right hand lingering over the note. "Here." I handed the note back and brushed past him. "I'm sorry, but I'm busy."

  I scurried to the classroom door, hoping to make it out and away before he could stop me. Unfortunately, I hit a block just outside the doorway. A crowd of students all congregated, some yelling and screaming as two guys broke into a fight. An elbow jabbed into my side and I gasped as I toppled over – right back into football guy.

  "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Students jeered and cawed at each other, waving their arms in the air and shaking their heads as they watched.

  I frowned as the smaller of the two boys, a freshman with a crop of curly, blond hair was shoved, face first, into the hall lockers. Blood spurted from his nose.

  "Well, if you won't take my number, can I have yours?" Football guy asked. “Name’s Grayson, by the way.”

  My head pivoted in his direction. I had forgotten that he was the only thing holding me off the ground. He didn't seem to mind because his smile hadn't faded.

  "Um..."

  "Come on! Take him down, Thomas!" someone yelled.

  I flinched when the freshman's face came away from the lockers only to be slammed back into the metal door repeatedly. Where is the teacher? The crowd of students propagated, breeding unrest and hormone fueled anger. Do they even know the kid they are condemning? I wondered.

  "If you give me your number, then there's no pressure for you to call me, now is there?" Football boy tilted his head. "It's all on me to call you."

  What was he talking about? Couldn't he see that a poor kid was being hurt?

  "Aren't you going to do something about this?" I gestured to the fight.

  He was a football player, a jock. Despite what TV shows might have people believe, they were fairly nice guys from what I had experienced. A little rowdy, like some had been last night, but they left good tips. Acting juvenile didn't make them bad. He looked up, surveying the circle of angry and yelling students, the fight, as if it was the fir
st time he had noticed it, and back down at me. "Why?"

  "Why?" I blinked. "What do you mean, why? Because that poor kid is getting the crap beat out of him. That's why."

  He looked back to the fight again. "If I stop it, will you give me your number?"

  I shook my head. "You're bargaining with me?"

  The freshman's face made it to the floor as the other, much larger, guy–Thomas–jerked the kid down and began pounding into him. The freshman curled inward, trying to escape the blows.

  "Get him! Come on, you can do better than that!"

  I couldn't take it anymore. Someone had to do something. I twisted away from football guy, dropping my backpack at his feet, and dove for the freshman. Many students froze the moment I broke the circle as if I had just disturbed a very powerful spell.

  The yells and the taunts grew quiet until the guy beating up the freshman looked up, blood on his knuckles. Confusion covered his face as though he didn't understand why no one was cheering him on anymore. I stood over him, panting in anger.

  "Get off!" I grabbed the back of his shirt, my hands closing around the neckline, and jerked. He frowned as his shirt stretched, but he didn't move. He batted my hand away as though I were a pesky fly. I glared at him as the freshman peeked at me through his arms.

  "This ain't got nothing to do with you, bitch," Thomas snapped, twisting back to his target. The freshman whimpered and covered himself up again.

  "Stop it!" I snapped, pulling my arm back.

  My punch landed on Thomas' shoulder and I gasped in pain when my thumb crunched under the rest of my fingers. It was tight and I curled and uncurled my fist, trying to relieve the pain. Thomas bent his head back and looked at me again.

  He stared. I gritted my teeth and decided that the best course of action was to brazen my way through. The air in the circle was no longer charged with the threat of anger. It was finally empty of noise.

  I straightened my shoulders, cradling my wounded fist. "Get off of him," I repeated.

  When people began to back up as he stood, I realized just how large this guy really was – or maybe I had always been two feet tall. At least, it felt like I was as I stood next to him. The freshman got to his knees, taking the opportunity to scamper out between the legs of the onlookers.

  "What's going on here?" The authoritative voice that sounded nearby caused many of the students in the circle to dash away.

  I almost groaned – half in relief, half in frustration. After all of the action had ended and the victim had disappeared, someone finally showed up. Life wasn't fair. I glanced over my shoulder to see who it was.

  No. The world could not possibly be that cruel. Bellamy held his position, his back straight, shoulders back, eyes intent on me and Thomas, as he stood next to Principal Wiggins.

  "I asked you students a question." Principal Wiggins stopped in front of me, and Thomas shifted back as if he was getting ready to run.

  The rest of the remaining students – save for football guy, who watched on with mild interest as he leaned against the doorway of a classroom – dispersed quickly. "Thomas, is that blood on your hands? What happened?"

  "Nothing." Thomas rubbed his knuckles up and down the side of his jeans, smudging the obvious evidence.

  "I would say it's not nothing." Principal Wiggins glanced back at me, recognizing me as one of his previous students when he had been a Biology teacher my freshman year. "What happened here, Miss Hampton? I expect the truth."

  The real problem with breaking up a fight is that it always led to this. In the spirit of a twisted, Shakespeare, angsty prince, to snitch or not to snitch, that was the question. I stood there, with my lips slightly parted, contemplating how to settle this.

  I glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of my eye, who raised a brow my way. No help there, then. I sighed. I needed to tell the truth. I didn't care if that meant I was a snitch. It meant that Thomas would get what he deserved for beating up a poor freshman.

  "Thomas thought it'd be funny to use Jimmy Dawson as a punching bag. He ran off before you got here, when Harlow stepped in."

  My mouth hung open and every head in the vicinity slowly twisted towards football guy.

  "Is that so, Mr. Caruso?" Principal Wiggins glanced back at Thomas who glared at the floor.

  "He doesn't know what he's talking about," Thomas snapped.

  Football guy – Grayson, I reminded myself – shrugged. "Bet if someone tested the blood on your knuckles – now on your jeans too, by the way – they'd be able to prove it." Thomas rubbed his knuckles on his jeans again, trying to wipe the blood off as fast as he could. "Still on your jeans, genius," he said with a sigh.

  "Alright, Miss Hampton, Mr. Caruso, please go to the front office and wait for me to meet with you. Thomas, you come with me." I wondered if Principal Wiggins would grab Thomas by the ear like teachers and principals did in old movies. He looked just angry enough.

  I picked up my fallen backpack and followed behind Principal Wiggins who had Thomas walk in front of him. Bellamy continued to glance my way. Hot fire licked along my cheeks and I knew, without a doubt, that I was blushing.

  "So, about that phone number." Football guy – Grayson or Mr. Caruso or whatever – walked backwards as we strode through the nearly empty halls of the high school, eyes watching me in their peripheral like they had the night before when his friends had catcalled to me.

  I did the same thing as I had before, I ignored him. Instead, I thought of the complicated mess I had now gotten myself into. I would definitely need to call Erika and see if she or her dad could give me a lift home. My bus was likely long gone. I hoped my mom wouldn't notice my extended absence.

  "Let's make a deal, you give me your phone number and I promise to wait twenty-four hours before I call," Grayson grinned.

  "I don't have a freaking phone, so no, you can't have my number," I snapped.

  The last few steps to the door of the front office were the longest. I reached it and threw it open, ahead of everyone else. Despite my extreme desire to slam it shut behind me, I held it open until they had all passed through.

  "Hmm, that is a problem," Grayson mused, sidling up next to me again. "I guess I'll just have to take you home, so I can drop you off, and you can accept my offer to take you on a date." He nodded as if that idea somehow solved all his problems.

  "Are you messing with me? Am I on a new edition of Practical Jokers?" I honestly could not fathom his interest. I sank down into one of the front office chairs and he sat next to me.

  He shrugged, those wide shoulders of his taking up more space than what his cushioned visitor's seat offered. I slid over a little bit. Mrs. Donovan watched us from her perch, eyes curious as if we were acting out her favorite soap opera.

  "I'm not messing with you," he assured me. "I like you. I think you're cute and we should go on a date." He smiled. "And you should let me drive you home today."

  "Thanks, but I can get a ride myself." Maybe. Hopefully.

  "Do you not like me?" If he was offended by my responses, it didn't show. He merely asked as though truly curious to know the answer.

  "You didn't step in to help that kid," I replied.

  "Who? Jimmy? He would have been fine. Besides, no one else was stepping in either. You don't seem angry at them."

  "I am," I said. I was absolutely, blood boiling, furious. "It's not okay to just let someone get hurt and it's disgusting that they not only let him get hurt, they encouraged it. Thomas could have seriously injured him, and everyone was shouting as if it were a professional wrestling match. So, yes, I'm angry at them!"

  I hadn't realized that my voice had risen until Mrs. Donovan coughed quietly in reprimand. I sighed and counted the threads of the chair covers to calm myself.

  "Well, I did step up for you with the Wig."

  "I don't like that name."

  "Why? Everyone knows he's bald as a naked mole rat under that horrid wig of his. It's ironic that his name is Wiggins, isn't it?"

  I d
idn't answer. Sure, Principal Wiggins had a reputation of being harsh in punishments and lazy in everything else, especially since he had forgone teaching for his administrative role, but I'm sure if he heard anyone call him "The Wig" his feelings would be hurt. He had been a fair teacher when I had him.

  "I just don't like it."

  "Okay, I won't say it." Silence stretched until Mrs. Donovan went back to her typing. Those clicking keys were the only sound aside from the low hum of jazz music in the background.

  "Harlow?" Principal Wiggins stood at the door with a red-faced Thomas in tow. "If you will please follow me back." He turned to Thomas. "You," he snapped, pointing to a chair. "Sit and don't move."

  I left my backpack on a chair next to Grayson. When we bypassed Principal Wiggins' office and continued on to the conference room where I had met Bellamy the first time, I wavered. Bellamy sat in the conference room, in the very same seat he had before. I chose a seat a moderate but sufficient distance away.

  "Am I in trouble?" Did they think that I had anything to do with the fight? What had Thomas said?

  "No, you're not in trouble, Harlow." Bellamy's strong baritone was soothing to my nerves and that knowledge only caused them to tense once more.

  "Miss Hampton," Principal Wiggins began, "I actually brought you here because I was on my way to grab you before you made it out of class. I assure you, Thomas will be dealt with, but I was coming to retrieve you because I know you've had a meeting with Mr. Woodstone here. He's very excited to accept you into a pre-college program."

  "A pre-college program?" I turned to him. "I thought you weren't a recruiter?"

  "Well, um..." Principal Wiggins continued to blunder, going through many more ‘ums’ and ‘wells’ before Bellamy leaned forward, stopping him.

  "I never said I wasn't a recruiter," he said. "The program I have suggested for you is similar to a technical degree. You will receive training outside of a classroom. If you would like to attend a few classes, I'm sure we can arrange that as well. Unfortunately, I can't tell you much more until you agree to it first. We will then have you sign a nondisclosure agreement."