Losing Hope (Hopeless #2)(10)
“Dean Holder,” he says as soon as he reaches his desk. “I’m still waiting for your research paper that was due last week. I hope you have it with you, because we’re presenting today.”
Shit. I haven’t even thought about what I might have had due over the past two weeks.
“No, I don’t have it with me.”
He looks up from whatever it is he’s looking at on his desk and eyes me. “See me after class, then.”
I nod and maybe even roll my eyes a little. Eye rolling is inevitable in his class. He’s a douchebag who gets off on the control he thinks he has over a classroom. It’s obvious he was bullied as a kid and anyone not wearing a pocket-protector is the recipient of his misguided revenge.
I ignore the presentations during the rest of the period and try to make a list of what assignments I might have due. Les was the organized one of the two of us. She always let me know what was due and when it was due and which class it was due in.
After what seems like hours, the bell finally rings. I remain seated until the class clears out so that Mr. Mulligan can practice his retaliation on me. Once the classroom is occupied by just the two of us, he walks to the front of his desk and leans against it, folding his arms over his chest.
“I know your family has been through quite the ordeal and I’m sorry for your loss.” Here we go. “I just hope you understand that unfortunate things like this are going to happen throughout your life, but that doesn’t give you the excuse to not live up to what’s expected of you.”
Jesus Christ. It’s a f**king research paper. It’s not like I’m rewriting the Constitution. I know I should just nod and agree with him, but he picked the wrong day to play preacher.
“Mr. Mulligan, Les was the only sibling I had, so I actually don’t foresee this happening again. As much as it seems like it happens repeatedly, she can only kill herself once.”
The way his eyebrows crease together and his lips tighten into a firm line make it apparent that he doesn’t find me amusing at all. Which is good, because I wasn’t trying to be amusing.
“Some situations should remain off-limits to your sarcasm,” he says flatly. “I would hope you would have a little more respect for your sister than that.”
As much as I hate that I can’t hit girls today, I hate the fact that I can’t punch teachers even more. I immediately stand up and walk swiftly to where he’s standing, stopping just inches from him, my fists down at my sides. My proximity causes his body to go rigid and I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing I’ve scared him. I look him directly in the eyes, clench my teeth, and lower my voice.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re a teacher, a student, or a goddamned priest. Don’t you ever mention my sister again.” I stare at him for several more seconds, seething, waiting on his reaction. When he fails to say anything, I turn around and grab my backpack. “You’ll get your report tomorrow,” I say, exiting the classroom.
I’ve been convinced I was minutes away from being expelled. However, Mr. Mulligan apparently chose not to report our little interaction, because nothing has been said or done and it’s now lunch break.
Moving along.
“Holder,” someone says from behind me in the hallway. I turn around to find Amy catching up to me.
“Hey, Amy.” I wish her presence gave me even the slightest hint of comfort, but it doesn’t. Seeing her standing here just reminds me of two weeks ago, then that reminds me of the pictures she was at my house for, then that reminds me of Les, then that reminds me of Hope. Then of course I’m consumed with guilt again.
“How are you?” she asks hesitantly. “I haven’t heard from you since . . .” Her voice trails off, so I answer her quickly, not wanting her to feel she has to go into more detail.
“I’m okay,” I reply, feeling guilty that she seems disappointed I didn’t call her. I thought she was pretty clear with what happened between us. I hope she is, anyway. “Did you um . . .” I look down at my feet and sigh, unsure how to bring it up without sounding like a complete ass**le. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and look back up at her. “Did you want me to call you? Because I thought what happened . . .”
“No,” she says quickly. “No. You thought right. I just . . . I don’t know.” She shrugs and looks as though she already regrets this conversation. “Holder, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve been hearing rumors and I’d be lying if I didn’t say they have me worried. I felt like I made that day at your house all about me, and I never even thought to ask you how you were holding up at all.”
She looks guilty for even bringing up the rumors, but she shouldn’t feel that way. She’s the only person all day to actually make an active effort to ensure the rumors aren’t true. “I’m okay,” I assure her. “Rumors are rumors, Amy.”
She smiles, but doesn’t seem to believe the words coming out of my mouth. The last thing I want her to do is worry about me. I wrap my arms around her and whisper in her ear. “I promise, Amy. You don’t need to worry about me, okay?”
She nods, then pulls away from me, looking nervously down the hall to her left, then to her right. “Thomas,” she whispers, excusing the fact that she pulled away from me. I smile at her reassuringly.