Chapter 56 Chapter Fifty Six
“Alright, everyone, settle down.” Mrs Sinatra stood at the front of the classroom, tapping her copy of The Catcher in the Rye against her desk. “I hope you all remembered your analytical reports were due today. So let’s see those papers.”
The familiar sound of rustling filled the room as students dug through backpacks and folders, a few of them groaning and whining as they did it.
I pulled out my own report, the pages slightly crumpled from being shoved hastily into my bag this morning before getting in the car with Noah.
It wasn’t my best work, not even close.
I’d written it hastily at two in the morning, exhausted and distracted, my mind replaying the events of the last day over and over in my head, feeling more and more anxious with every minute that passed.
Tap tap tap.
I straightened in my seat, trying very hard to ignore the rhythmic tapping coming from directly behind me.
Tap tap tap.
My jaw clenched, and I knew exactly who it was without even having to look.
Mrs Sinatra walked up and down the aisles, collecting papers. “Mr Rodriguez, thank you. Ms Kim, excellent. Mr…”
A sharp tug on my hair made me gasp softly.
I whipped my head around to glare at Jace, who sat there with the most infuriating smirk on his face, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers before letting it drop.
“Stop it,” I mouthed. “This isn’t kindergarten.”
He just raised an eyebrow at me, completely unbothered.
“Mr Dawson.” Mrs Sinatra stopped beside his desk, her tone dripping with scepticism, clearly not expecting much from him. “I don’t suppose you actually completed the assignment this time?”
Jace reached into his bag without breaking eye contact with me and pulled out several neatly stapled pages.
Mrs Sinatra’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Well. This is… unexpected.”
She took the papers, flipping through them quickly, her expression shifting from surprise to shock.
“Your analysis of Holden’s use of idiomatic expressions…”
She looked up at him. “Mr Dawson, this is actually quite good. The way you broke down the difference between his internal monologue and his spoken dialogue, how he uses slang and colloquialisms to distance himself from genuine emotion…” She shook her head slowly. “I’m impressed.”
A few students turned to stare in disbelief. Even Marcus, sitting two rows over, looked genuinely surprised; meanwhile, Jace leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed, looking up confidently at Mrs Sinatra.
“At this rate,” Mrs Sinatra continued, “you’ll have no trouble keeping that captain position. Well done.”
“I had a good teacher.”
His voice was quiet, but it felt golden reaching my ears. I had always been a sucker for praise.
I kept my eyes forward, staring hard at the chalkboard, but my skin prickled with awareness. I knew without looking that he was staring at me.
Then I felt something, the lightest brush of his fingers against mine where my hand rested on the edge of my desk.
It was barely contact at all, just his fingertips grazing my knuckles from behind, but it sent electricity shooting up my arm all the same.
I pulled my hand away quickly and tucked it into my lap.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at my lips despite everything.
Finally, I felt like all of this was somehow paying off, all that time spent convincing him to actually learn something wasn’t a huge, humiliating waste of my time.
He’d learned that from me. The idiomatic expressions, the analysis techniques, from that time when he was being particularly stubborn and said “You can force the horse to the water, but you can't force him to drink.”
Then I spent the next thirty minutes happily explaining to him what sort of statement that was… And then he started to call my father names… Then call me names…
Then I slapped him.
Yikes, let’s not think about that.
That was irrelevant anyway, the important thing was that my hard work was finally paying off.
He was improving because of me, and that felt like such a big victory.
The thought made a warm feeling bloom in my chest, but as soon as I realised what was happening, I immediately tried to squash it down.
I wasn’t supposed to care, nor was I supposed to feel proud of his progress, especially when he’d made it beyond clear to me that we were nothing to each other outside that house.
Better to keep my professional distance, that was for the best.
Mrs Sinatra arrived at my desk, and her expression changed to concern as she scanned through my paper.
She frowned, flipping to the second page, then back to the first.
“Miss Hartwell.” Her voice was gentle but disappointed. “I expected far better from you.”
Heat flooded my face while I stared down at my table, feeling embarrassed beyond words.
She was right. Somehow because of the constant drama, I was no longer keeping up with the pressure the way I usually did in the past.
I was slipping.
“You’re capable of much more than this.” She tapped the paper. “Your report lacks depth, your supporting arguments feel rushed… In fact, I believe this reads much like you wrote it the night before it was due.”
Try two hours before it was due, I thought miserably.
“Is everything alright?” Mrs Sinatra leaned down slightly, lowering her voice. “Have you been experiencing any distractions lately? Anything affecting your focus?”
“No, ma’am. I’m fine.”
Tap tap tap
Jace’s foot knocked against the leg of my chair from behind.
“I’m just fine, everything’s great” I repeated, my voice tight.
Mrs Sinatra didn’t look convinced, but she gave me one encouraging head pat and then said, “Don’t worry, you can always make a fresh report for extra credit. Bring it to my office by Monday next week, alright?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.” I muttered. If I survived that long.
Satisfied with my answer, Mrs Sinatra moved on to the next student, grilling them on their lack of citations.
The moment her back was turned, something landed on my desk.
It was a folded piece of paper.
I didn’t need to look back to know who’d thrown it. I could practically feel Jace’s smug satisfaction radiating from behind me.
I sighed, then unfolded it under my desk.
WE NEED TO TALK.