“Becca is… missing,” I said, and watched as his smarmy face turned to concern. “I was wondering if you’d heard from her.”
“Why would I have heard from Becca?”
I crossed my arms. “You know why.”
Mr. Harrison frowned. “Now, Cassie, that’s no way to talk to a teacher,” he said sternly. “You better watch your attitude—you know what happens to citizens with bad attitudes.”
I froze, my eyes wide.
“They go away for a mood-adjust,” he said smugly.
I actually felt the blood draining from my face. “Don’t you talk about my ma,” I said in a low, shaking voice. Something inside me came undone and I went on, not sounding like myself at all. “You’re not the only one who can make threats. Remember when you pushed me into the supply closet? Remember shoving your tongue down my throat?”
Mr. Harrison got red, his eyes narrowing.
“I’m sure you do, because I bit the heck out of it,” I went on. “But Becca wasn’t so lucky, was she? No, you actually got her alone that time. And you forced yourself on her! You’re just a rapist! Not any kind of teacher.”
“You listen here,” Mr. Harrison began, striding toward me angrily. “That girl had it coming to her! Just like you!” He was reaching out to grab me when pure, adrenaline-laced fear shot me into autopilot. As if from a distance I saw myself take a step back to grab my backpack from my desk. This new, braver Cassie took another step back and swung the bag as hard as I could. It connected, snapping Mr. Harrison’s head sideways. Arms flailing, eyes rolling up into his head, he staggered backward and fell over several desks, where he lay, out cold.
Panting, I stared at him in horror. What had I done? Had I killed a teacher?
The classroom door burst open, and who should come in but Nathaniel. He took in my pale face, my white-knuckle grip on my backpack, and then Mr. Harrison lying like a lox on the floor.
He was standing by Mr. Harrison when two more teachers rushed in.
“What in the world happened?” Ms. Jenkins gasped.
“We heard a crash,” said Mr. Moore. “Oh, my goodness, is that Harrison?”
They looked back and forth between me and Nathaniel, and I waited for him to turn me in, like the bullying jerk he was.
“Mr. Harrison fell,” Nathaniel said. “I saw him. I think he fainted. Maybe he had a heart attack.”
My eyes widened as Ms. Jenkins and Mr. Moore ran off to call a cell ambulance.
“Why did you do that?” I asked. “You know I clobbered him.”
“I doubt he’ll admit that to anyone,” Nathaniel said. “But I really do need to talk to you.”
We heard the sounds of running feet, and a far-off siren.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, and for once I listened to him.
32
“LOOK,” NATHANIEL SAID AS WE walked quickly to the school parking lot. “I need to show you something. I promise if you come see it, I’ll never bother you again. After you see this, if you tell me to never talk to you again, I won’t.”
I stopped by my moped. “See what?”
“I can’t talk about it here,” he said quietly. “But please, it’s important.”
“Why should I trust you?” I asked, thinking of the hundreds of times he’d been a jerk to me or Becca.
He paused for a moment, and finally said, “Well, I can’t think of any reason you should.”
Oddly, that made me trust him—a tiny bit.
“Okay, I’ll go see this whatever,” I said. “But if this is a double cross, I will hunt you down like a rabid raccoon and put you out of my misery.”