Just as Simon was mentally urging the Goth girls to elaborate,elaborate, they caught sight of him and hurriedly turned back to their dioramas-in-progress.
“So as I was telling you,” Tori said a bit too loudly, “art often serves a crucial societal role when it comes to dissemination of important information.”
“Why, yes,” her friend affirmed. “I remember you saying that very thing only moments ago, as we discussed our class objectives for the day.”
No point in lingering, except for the sheer entertainment value of their faux-conversation. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of them.
Accordingly, he returned to the diorama and studied the booklet containing witness statements, looking for information he hadn’t properly registered the first time. But no new clues stood out to him. Not a surprise, given his lack of—
Poppy gasped loudly, and his head jerked up.
He knew exactly where she was. Of course he did. If she was within sight, part of his attention never, ever left her.
“Ms. Wick, are you—” a tall young man with thick-framed glasses was asking, but she was already striding toward the classroom sink, her forehead pinched in seeming distress.
Simon intercepted her along the way. “What happened?”
“I’m fine, Demetrius. Don’t worry,” she called over her shoulder, and then answered Simon. “Hot-glue-gun burn on the back of my hand. I just need to—”
With a flick of his wrist, the water was running and set to a cool temperature. He guided her right hand beneath the spray, pulse hammering in his ears.
A reddening blotch marked the spot of her injury, visible even through the streaming water, and he scowled at it.
“Simon.” Her voice was low and gentle. “To an art teacher, hot-glue-gun burns are basically badges of honor. They’re inevitable and nothing to be concerned about.”
His scowl only deepened. “You’re in pain. Do you need to see the nurse?”
“No, Simon.” Her hand moved, and suddenly he wasn’t supporting it anymore. Instead, she was holding his, as if comfortinghim. “No. It’s already feeling better. But I’ll cover the spot with a bandage, if that would make you less worried.”
If that would make you less worried.
The utter ridiculousness of his reaction—hisoverreaction—struck him in that moment, and he dropped her hand as if he’d been scorched himself.
Despite her minor injury, she was in complete control of herself and the situation, while he—he—
He wasn’t. He wasn’t in control of himself.
Spinning away from her, he hurried to the classroom door. “I’ll get you a bandage from the nurse’s office.”
“But I—Simon!” She was calling out to him, trying to flag him down, but he pretended not to hear or see. “I already have ban—”
The door shut behind him, and he forced himself to walk, not run, away from her.
When Simon returnedtoward the end of the period, a fresh box of bandages in hand, he found Poppy—no, Ms. Wick—bent over a student project, her burn already covered neatly.
At his arrival, she glanced up at him, but only for a moment before turning back to Amanda’s diorama-in-progress. Which appeared, upon first glance, even more grisly than the murder scene on the table beside him. God help them all.
He settled in his usual spot, beside Ms. Wick’s diorama. His heartbeat no longer echoed in his skull, and his hands were almost steady enough to create his own miniature crime scene. Not that he would ever employ his limited free time in such a disturbing manner.
Yes, fifteen minutes spent locked in his unlit room and mentally multiplying had accomplished wonders, as always. Outside his colleague’s orbit, the impetus behind his urgent concern for her well-being had become clear, clear and comforting.
The rules of professional and gentlemanly conduct required him to assist a colleague in distress. Accordingly, he’d done so.
No need for either panic or anxiety.
In fact, he’d emerged from his classroom certain he could find rational solutions to all the mysteries cluttering his brain. With a little effort, he’d explain Mildred Krackel’s disappearance, solve the miniature murder in Ms. Wick’s diorama, and pinpoint precisely why the woman herself fascinated him so much. To accomplish the latter, he merely needed to determine the precise equation governing her behavior and the workings of her mind.
Then, solution in hand, he’d relegate her to the appropriate slot in his life.
