She paused, opening her mouth as if to say something. Her fingers curled into fists. Then her gaze flicked to the floor, and she silently led the way to her front door.
Out on her small porch, the night’s autumnal chill transformed their breath to fog. Turning to him, arms wrapped around herself, she spoke before he could take the two steps down to her driveway.
“Simon.” Her brow was puckered. “That first conversation in my classroom.”
He waited. Listened.
“You hurt me,” she finally said, her voice a whisper. “I barely knew you, and you hurt me.”
The rest didn’t need to be stated aloud.
Please don’t hurt me again.
He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t, but he might. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he was terrified too. He wanted to brush a fingertip over that puckered brow and kiss the telltale sign of anxiety away, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he bowed his head, then left her in the cold.
Six
Those same twoscience teachers were whispering to one another in the faculty lounge as Simon gathered his lunch from the refrigerator the next day.
They were veteran educators, near retirement. Respectable enough in reputation, he supposed, although he generally didn’t pay attention to such things. One woman—for reasons he couldn’t explain—wore a large brooch in the shape of an arched, hissing cat, its jeweled eyes glinting with malice. The other appeared half-swallowed by her oversized scarf.
And right now, he wanted both of them to eat that fucking scarf and choke on it.
“Can you believe they replaced Mildred withher?” Murderous Cat Teacher said. “She’s an embarrassment to our school. Have youseenwhat she wears every day?”
Smothering Scarf Teacher shook her head. “Shirts smeared with paint. Jeans. Messy hair. It’s a disgrace.”
“I can’t believe she’s gotten away with it.” Murderous Cat Teacher sniffed loudly. “I knew Principal Dunn wasn’t up to the job. Too soft-hearted, as Mildred and I always said.”
“Have you heard about Ms. Wick’s little side business?” Smothering Scarf Teacher’s lip curled. “Those dioramas are grotesque and—andcreepy.”
Creepy.
Poppy had described herself that way too, chin high, hurt darkening her clear eyes.
He didn’t slam the door of the refrigerator, but he wanted to. Not just because of his rage at Mildred’s cruel cronies, but also because he’d thought—he’dsaid—almost the exact same things such a short time ago, and it shamed him. Gutted him.
You hurt me.
After a fraught, sleepless night, he’d finally solved his problems. He’d found his solutions, unnerving though they might be.
He was done hurting Poppy, and he wasn’t about to let others do it instead.
“Excuse me.” Rising to his full height, he stepped closer to the table, until he was looming over them. Deliberately. “Or, rather, excuseyou.”
They blinked up at him, Murderous Cat Teacher’s eyes wide and magnified behind her glasses.
“Ms. Wick, your colleague, received administrative permission to dress in a manner appropriate to her daily tasks, which involve ably shepherding bloodthirsty teens through a sea of paint and glue and other horrible substances.” His tone was icy enough to freeze them in place. “Furthermore, when I talked to various students this week, I discovered the reason Mrs. Krackel was able to wear formal clothing when she taught.”
He planted both his hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Because, on a daily basis,Mildreddidn’t do a goddamn thing.”
The women gasped, and he was almost certain they’d report him for his word choice. He couldn’t have given less of a fuck.
“She didn’t help students with projects. She didn’t help clean their mess.” He spoke slowly, so they had to take in every word. “Ms. Wick’s dioramas are stunning examples of meticulous, clever artistry, and they accordingly command a high price. In contrast, from my understanding, Mildred’s main talent was collecting a monthly paycheck.”
“How—how dare you?” Smothering Scarf Teacher sputtered. “Mildred—”
