Big Bad Academy

“What?”

“Put them in the trunk,” I say to Gaston.

“No!” She shrieks. Then Heather frowns and puts her hands on her hips. She bites her lip, but I get the distinct impression she’s weighing her chances of running again.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“Running away.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were.”

“Nu-uh.”

“Children, children,” Gaston breaks into our conversation. “If you don’t mind? The carriers?” He gestures awkwardly because he’s still holding the two cats who, strangely enough, seem to like him. One of them is licking his cheek.

“They’re in my kitchen,” she says.

“I’ll accompany you.”

Together, Heather and I walk silently to her home, fetch the carriers, and bring them back to the car. We make sure each cat gets settled in carefully. We shove everything in the back seat.

“Well?” Gaston asks, jerking his head toward Heather. “What about her?”

“What about me?” She says. She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me. “I don’t want to go in the trunk again.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, writer, we’re about out of room.”

“Stop calling me that.”

I shrug.

“I’ve got it,” Gaston says. “Cats up front. Luggage in the trunk. You two in the back.” He smiles, grinning like he’s thought up the most wonderful scenario for getting her back to the academy, but he’s wrong.

“Fine,” she says. To my surprise, she doesn’t fight it. Heather looks over at me and shakes her head. “I don’t know what your problem is or why you, of all people, wanted to take me away, but here I am. I’m not going anywhere, so we might as well get comfortable.”

I’m shocked when she starts moving things around in the car. I barely have time to hurry over to help before she’s finished and sitting primly in the backseat. Gaston looks like he’s going to erupt in laughter at any moment.

I shove him hard when I walk by him. Without a word, I get in the backseat of the car with Heather, pull on my seatbelt, and wait for Gaston to start driving. He does so silently, which is just as well. None of us has anything to say, really.

“How’d you find my house?” She finally asks.

“Driver’s license.”

“Oh.”

“You did a good job hiding,” I tell her. I’m not sure why I’m complementing her. “We couldn’t find your house since you use a pen name.”

A little smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes.”

“Not really.”

She looks at me sideways.