Текст книги "Pushing the Limits"

Автор книги: Brooke Cumberland

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Studying her pieces over the last couple of weeks, I feel like I’ve grown to know her already. I realize this sounds crazy, considering I have no idea who she is, but it’s obvious by her paintings that she’s a deeply emotional person. Her dark and dramatic pieces are consistent since her freshmen year. Some are bright and bold abstract paintings, some are watercolor portraits, and some are pastel drawings. Then there are some pencil-drawn and heavily shaded with sadness. She’s definitely drawing from some kind of inner turmoil, and I can’t help but be intrigued by the stories she’s telling.

A part of me connects with them, aches in familiarity. The feeling of losing Ryan only months ago feels like bile in my throat and chokes all the air out of me. My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to shed, considering the way things ended between us. It had been five years since I’d seen him, aside from his funeral, of course, but even though he died a hero, I fear I’ll never have any real closure.

Not because of what he did, but who I let come between us.

CHAPTER TWO

ASPEN

After spending the afternoon with Kendall and Zoe, I come home and go straight to my studio. Several hours of staring at the same blank canvas later, I brew myself a pot of coffee. The canvas just sits there on my easel, mocking me as I chastise myself.

I haven’t felt this blocked in months. Everything I start, I end up tossing out or getting so frustrated I throw it across the room. I hate everything I paint or draw, and considering school is starting in less than twelve hours, the pressure to get my shit together is even stronger.

Skinny Love has been playing on repeat, which is usually my go-to song. It helps me escape into a place where I can create the things I see in my mind. But after five unsuccessful attempts, I give up and sit in the middle of the floor—where I ultimately pass out.

The sound of knocking startles me out of my sleep. The achy feeling in my back and the sun beaming through the blinds indicates I’ve slept here all night. The knocking gets louder and more persistent, so I lazily stand up and walk toward the door. “Coming!” I shout.

When I whip it open, I see Kendall with an amused look on the other side. “I hate you,” I hiss.

She grins, eyeing me up and down with a raised brow. “You’re covered in paint.” I look down and see that she’s right. “Fall asleep in the studio again?”

“Looks that way.” I sigh.

“Well, rise and shine. We’re leaving for school in forty-five minutes.”

I groan and open the door wider for her to step in and wait while I shower. After a half-ass attempt at doing my hair and makeup, I quickly dress in jeans and my favorite heels and pack up all my supplies.

“Are you all right?” she asks, her eyes narrowing at my appearance.

“Ask me after a couple cups of coffee.” The half pot I sucked down the night before did nothing for my energy.

She snorts and leads me out the door and down the hallway.

“What’s your first class?” I ask.

“I have a nine a.m. philosophy lecture.”

“With Professor Hennington?”

“Yup.” She sighs. “I plan to stay in the back and sleep.”

I laugh. “You get a B just for showing up.”

“Then I’ll go once a week and aim for a C.” She looks at me and grins as we walk through the parking lot toward her car.

We chat and make plans to meet up for lunch as we drive to school. Once she finds a parking spot, we head off in separate directions to our first classes.

The first day of school always goes like clockwork. Syllabus and a schedule of assignments are handed out, and I soon find myself feeling overwhelmed with five classes and working three to four shifts at the gallery each week. But when you leave home with hardly any money, you do what’s necessary to survive.

Tuesday starts and ends just as uneventfully. I’ve been looking forward to my night class, Advanced Art, ever since I signed up for it last semester. I’ve had a variety of art classes throughout the years, but painting has always been my passion.

Kendall and I meet up for a quick bite to eat before I head to the Lakin Arts and Behavioral—LAB—building. I don’t recognize the professor’s name on my schedule, so I assume he or she is new this semester.

I walk into the classroom and notice all the chairs are arranged in a large half circle. Only a few other students have arrived and look like they’re about to fall asleep already.

I choose a seat in the middle and start rummaging through my bag of supplies. I look up briefly as a guy sits down next to me. He looks to be in his late twenties or perhaps early thirties. I sneak another glance and notice he has brown hair, nicely trimmed all around, but a tad longer on the top. He’s wearing a dark blue V-neck sweater with just the collar of his white button-up showing underneath it.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, accentuating his broad chest and muscular arms. I lower my eyes to his dark wash jeans and admire how well they fit him as if they were custom made just for him. He looks casual but not overdone. I shift my body and lower my eyes just in time to avoid him catching me staring at him.

He turns toward me as if he wants to say something, but before he can, Ellie, a girl I’ve had classes with previously, sits down on the other side of me. “Hey, Aspen! Back to the grind.”

“Yup…another class, another semester closer to graduation!” I say happily.

“What’s with the get-up? You going out after class?” Her eyes scan up and down my body.

“Uh, no.”

Her brows rise. “You look like you’re going on a manhunt while I’m here looking like a poor art student.”

“You are a poor art student.” I deadpan, ignoring her comments about my outfit.

“That’s beside the point.” She laughs.

I shrug. “I just like wearing them. They make me feel good, I guess.” It’s not a lie, but not exactly the full truth.

Ari didn’t like wearing dresses. She was all about the adventure and getting dirty, but I loved dressing up and wearing Mom’s high heels. After her death, my mom and I struggled to find a common ground that connected us. I found any excuse to be out of the house just to get a little bit of clarity.

Once I found my first babysitting job, I saved up enough money to buy my first pair of designer shoes. A whole summer of babysitting toddlers for one pair of heels.

My parents weren’t pleased with me at all, but for the first time in years, I felt good about myself. I had earned something for myself and they couldn’t take that away from me. They’d already taken so much. It represented my independence, something I had fought so hard for—something I still fight for.

“Well, good news for you then, because I hear our professor is a hot piece of ass,” she says with a giddy smile.

I laugh and shake my head at her blunt words. “What? It’s like the university’s way of apologizing for this god awful class.”

I hear a choke of laughter next to me. The guy overheard everything.

“Jesus, Ellie…” I bite my lower lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“Oh, come on…” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Wouldn’t you agree with me?” She leans forward and directs the question to the guy next to me on the other side. “A little eye candy never hurts, am I right?”

Directing my attention toward him, he responds, “Can’t say it would.” He smiles and shifts his eyes to mine. “However, I’d be more for the female eye candy proximity.” He winks.

“Oh!” Her eyes light up as if that surprises her. “Well, the campus has plenty of that.” She smiles and twirls her blonde hair around a finger, batting her eyelashes like a love-struck schoolgirl, but his eyes are fixed on mine.

“This class isn’t going to be so bad,” I defend. “I mean, I guess if the professor has a nice, squeezable ass, then, yeah, it’s a bonus. But most of us—” I scowl. “—are here to learn.”

She snorts and sits back in her chair. “But it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.” She smirks. “Either way, he’ll be off limits anyway,” she says matter-of-factly. “Which is really a tragedy. Hot guys shouldn’t be teachers. It’s a distraction.”

Now I’m the one that snorts. “A distraction? You sound like a cat in heat.”

I notice the other chairs have filled up by now and my anxiety heightens. Professors are usually early, especially for night classes. But I don’t see anyone in the front of the class yet. If they’re late, students take that as a pass and leave class early.

“Well, whatever gives me something to look at for the next four months. I mean, seriously! Night classes are brutal.”

“Remind me to partner up with you on team projects,” I mock, exaggerating my tone as I smile at her scowl. “Unless you want to rescue me and be my partner?” I turn and ask the guy next to me, my eyes glassy as I take in his deep stare. Now that I’m really looking at him, I notice he has deep dimples in both cheeks when he smiles and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. One of his brows arches as he stares amusingly at me.

“As flattering as that is, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He flashes a knowing grin and stands up, walking straight toward the front of the classroom.

My heart sinks into my stomach as the realization hits me.

“Good evening, everyone,” he begins, and I pray to God that I vanish into thin air or something. “I’m Professor Hampton and this is Advanced Art 3. We’ll be meeting every Tuesday and Thursday from six to eight for the next sixteen weeks. If you cannot commit to coming to every class, you should leave now. This isn’t an easy A, and if that’s your hope, you’re in the wrong class.”

I swallow hard as he gives a side glance to Ellie and me. Oh my God.

“Oh, fuck my titties,” Ellie leans over and whispers.

I sink lower into my seat and whisper back, “What the hell just happened?”

She looks over at me and grins. “Now that he knows we both have a hard on for him, maybe he’ll give us both an A.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I mumble back, covering my face with one hand. I can’t believe that just happened. I sink as low as I can into my seat, hoping to make myself invisible, but then he announces we’re going around the room to introduce ourselves.

I’m not sure this class could get any worse.

“Aspen Evans…” I hear him say as if he’s reading from the attendance list. Perhaps it can. I look up and he’s looking right at me, directing everyone else’s eyes to me. I feel my cheeks heat and reddening to the color of a tomato, I’m sure.

I swallow and answer, “Yes?”

“Would you like to begin? Tell us a bit about yourself. Something interesting. Something embarrassing, perhaps.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his feet parted shoulder-length. He looks highly amused with his lips curled up in a smart-ass smirk.

I want to die.

Literally die.

I clear my throat and stand up. “Um, sure,” I respond with a fake smile plastered on my face. “My name’s Aspen. I’m a third-year student double majoring in art history and studio arts. I started drawing and painting in high school. So um…basically, I just focus on art.” I smile nervously. I want to kick myself in the shin for sounding so stupid.

“It’s nice to have you in class, Aspen,” Professor Hampton responds, flashing me a knowing grin. He then nods his head to Ellie, motioning for her to begin.

“Hi, y’all! I’m Ellie. I’m from Louisiana. I’m a theater major with a minor in art, hence having to take this god-awful night class.” She laughs, getting a few of the other students to chuckle right along with her. “I’m just messing with you, Professor H.” She winks before leaning back into the chair.

His shoulders cave in as he rubs his eye, hiding his amusement by Ellie’s too honest response. I find it mildly entertaining, but I try to hold it in. I need this class to graduate and at least a 3.5 GPA to continue getting my scholarship. I wouldn’t be surprised if he flunks me based on my first impression alone.

“Thanks, Ellie,” he breathes out, motioning to the next student.

“I can’t believe you said that,” I whisper, leaning into her.

She shrugs unapologetically as the rest of the students continued their introductions. I try to sneak glances at Professor Hampton, but he isn’t making it easy. He catches me every time I look up to see if he’s looking at me.

Shit, I mutter to myself. I was so looking forward to this class, but now I can’t even look my professor in the eye. Every time he turns his head toward me, my traitorous body shivers in return. I pull my lower lip in between my teeth to hide my smile, but I feel the nerves and tension all over my body.

Professor Hampton is looking at me like he wants to do more than just look at me…

Once introductions are over, he hands out the syllabus and supplies sheet. He instructs us to look over it closely.

It’s fifteen pages.

“The next sixteen weeks are going to be fast-paced. You want to pass my class, you better make sure you pay attention and get your assignments completed on time. For most of you, this class is required for graduation. So I expect full participation.”

“I’d like to participate in takin’ off his pants…” Ellie whispers into my ear, making me choke on my own tongue as I try to hold in a laugh.

“Do you have a question, ladies?” My eyes widen as I hear Professor Hampton’s stern voice and see him looking straight at us.

“Well, not an appropriate one…” Ellie giggles, and I blush crimson. I’ve got to find a new place to sit.

“Perhaps we should separate into groups now,” he responds, rubbing a hand along his jawline and shaking his head. Ellie’s over the top teasing makes me feel just as flustered and flushed as he looks.

Between the stress of a new class and the added attention from Ellie’s outrageous comments, I can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside me. My hands are shaky and my chest feels tight. It always starts this way and there’s nothing I can do but ride it out.

Professor Hampton is on the other side of the classroom, grouping students together, so I take the opportunity to slip out before he can stop me.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can barely catch my breath. I need to find a bathroom and fast before I have a complete anxiety attack in front of everyone.

As soon as I push the door open, I race to the sink and splash water on my face. I place my hands flat on the counter and slouch down, regaining my focus. I breathe slowly through my nose and exhale out through my mouth several times before the tightness in my chest starts to ease. Several moments later, my heart rate evens out and I’m over the worst.

I hear the door crack open, and I immediately jump upright. “Ms. Evans?”

Oh my God. It’s Professor Hampton.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Uh, yes. I just needed a moment.”

I hear the door open wider, and soon, his entire body is within view. “Are you feeling ill?”

I clear my throat and wipe my face. “No.”

“You ran out like you were going to be sick. So…I just wanted to make sure.”

“Oh…no. Just your typical anxiety attack.” I try and shrug it off with a pathetic laugh, but his soft eyes turn intense as he continues to stare at me. “I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling better,” I lie with a fake smile, trying to make light of the situation.

He pauses a moment before responding, “Take your time. Come back when you’re ready.” I nod in return and watch as he walks out.

If I was embarrassed before I knew he was my professor, now I’m completely mortified. I hate when people see this side of me. It makes me look vulnerable, which makes them pity me. I don’t like anyone knowing this secret of mine, but especially someone I want to impress with my art skills.

I collect myself and head back into the classroom where students are chatting in their groups already. I stagger a moment, wondering which group I’m supposed to be in. Ellie eyes me and then moves them to Professor Hampton. Her lips spread into a wide grin, and I roll my eyes at her ridiculous assumption.

“Aspen…” His smooth voice catches my attention to the front where he’s leaning up against his desk. “You’re in group two, over there.” He nods his head in their direction and flashes me a small concerned smile.

I walk over to a group with four other students. They give me the handout with a list of conversation questions.

“What are these for?” I ask softly.

“He wants us to get to know each other on a more personal level,” one of the guys answers, adding in quotes around personal.

“He thinks it’ll make us more comfortable to be creative during class,” Lauren adds with a much better explanation. I grab the sheet and read over the questions. I hate this part of school. I don’t understand why teachers always want us to share so much all the time. It’s like they think we all need to be friends, but in doing so, it feels like I’m being forced to reveal things I never would under normal circumstances. It’s like exposing layers of ourselves we aren’t ready to give up yet, layers we intentionally keep up.

“Name your favorite memory,” the same guy reads from the sheet. He answers right away. “My favorite memory is when my family all flew to Florida from Ohio, and I swam in the ocean for the first time. I was thirteen and it was the best vacation we’d ever had.”

Next to him, Lauren gives her response. “Mine would be when I won an art contest in high school. I went all the way to state and won first place. I remember how proud my parents were and it was really the first time they accepted that I was going to make art my career.”

The other guy in our group tells us his, and then they all look at me, waiting for my answer. I swallow, trying to think of something. “Um…” I try to clear my throat, mentally preparing myself to share intimate details of my past. My birthday had always been my favorite day before the incident, but the last six years I hadn’t brought myself to celebrate it.

“That’s okay, we can go to another one until you think of something,” Lauren cuts into my thoughts. I smile in thanks back, relieved I didn’t have to give a response.

We continue the rest of the questions. There’s five total, but with five people, it took us a half hour to get through. I’m able to answer the other four questions, as they were all quite basic, but no one mentions the first one I missed, so I definitely don’t bring it up.

Once all the groups are finished, Professor Hampton directs us back to our seats.

“Before we begin the very first assignment, I have a short exercise. I want you to draw or paint one of your answers from the questionnaire. Make it brief, it’s only a draft. But do the best you can.” He looks up at the clock on the wall and continues, “I’ll give you about thirty minutes and then we have to move on.”

Students immediately fly out of their chairs to grab the easels and sort through their supplies. Soon we’re all back in our half circle, silently working. I prefer to work standing up, so I move my chair back and get into position.

The peace and quiet only broken up by soft chatter is comforting and reminds me of all the times in high school I’d draw for hours in silence. My thoughts would stay focused on the paper, making me feel free to create whatever I wanted.

I decide to do the one I never answered—my favorite memory.

Which also happens to be my worst memory.

I start the outline of the tree’s trunk and then move upward to the branches. I add in some shading and little twig pieces. Since this is a brief assignment, I can’t get too detailed. I attach some leaves, knowing in mid-April the trees weren’t entirely blossomed yet in Illinois. I extend the branch Ariel and I always sat on or hung from. It was the thickest and sturdiest on the tree. Thinking back to it now, I’m actually surprised it held the both of us from all the climbing, hanging, and bouncing around on it.

She loved challenging herself to climb higher and higher. She was always fearless. That was what I loved about her. She made me feel brave enough to take risks, to try new things. Now I felt more scared than ever.

As I’m tilting my head, shading in the rest of the tree trunk, I feel cold air blow past me. Goose bumps rise on my skin, making a shiver ripple through me. I feel his presence behind me before I see or hear him. I know he’s behind me, watching my every move. It feels intimate, the way he’s silently studying me. I slowly turn my head and shift my eyes down to his feet.

“Don’t stop,” he says sincerely. “I’m enjoying watching you.”

“Being watched makes me nervous,” I admit.

“Just pretend I’m not here.” I hear the humor in his tone, but I keep the smile from forming on my face.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I whisper softly. Not a guy like him anyway. My body shivers, heat centering right in between my thighs as I feel how close he is to me.

“That’s a shame. You have a beautiful craft.” My eyes move up his body and land on his eyes. He’s watching me intently, his lips in a crooked, satisfying smile.

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. The way your eyes glide over the paper as your hand moves is a perfect blend of focus and creativity. I can see the thoughts running through your head as your body takes the lead.”

His words are so honest that I’m not even sure how to respond. My lips form a small, pleased smile. “Years of practice.” I shrug casually. “I preferred to draw alone for a really long time,” I explain without giving away too much.

“And now?” he prompts, his voice somehow smooth and rough at the same time.

“Now…I’m still getting used to an audience, I suppose. But it’s getting easier and easier with each class I have.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ve seen some of your portfolios from your other classes. You have a lot of talent, Aspen.” My body hums at the way his voice sounds when he says my name—deep, hoarse.

I swallow, trying to hide the anxiousness and fear that he’s seen my other drawings before. Painting is very personal for me and even though it’s meant to be shared with the world, I tend to be over-critical of myself. Most of them are somber, intense pieces. Even the brighter colored ones have a darkness surrounding them.

“Thank you.”

“You have a unique style. I’m looking forward to seeing what you create this semester.”

I rub my teeth along my lower lip, sucking it in as I stare intently at him. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you teach this semester.” His lips curl up into a satisfying grin as he shoves his hands in his pockets and begins walking toward the next student.

I turn back around and continue working, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. I associate drawing and art with many things, but most significantly, Ariel. Every time I get my head into a creative mindset, my heart goes with it.

MORGAN

I never should’ve sat down next to her, but once I saw her, I couldn’t help myself.

I recognized her facial profile the moment I walked into the classroom from the few self-portraits I studied in her portfolio. So detailed, so emotional.

I had only meant to introduce myself and get a few minutes alone with her to discuss the pieces in her portfolio. However, that plan derailed as soon as her friend sat down next to her.

The moment I hear the sweet hum of her laughter, I’m even more intrigued than before. For someone who draws such passionate pieces, I assumed she’d be covered in black clothing, wear heavy eyeliner, and be plastered with a permanent scowl on her face. But she’s nothing like that at all. In fact, she’s the complete opposite.

Her laughter is infectious. Her golden blonde hair lies in loose waves against her shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how tight her purple shirt hugs her breasts and waistline. I lower my eyes and smirk at the leopard print fuck-me heels she’s wearing with her dark skinny jeans.

Not what I imagined at all.

The moment I hear the girl next to her call me a hot piece of ass, I nearly choke on my tongue. She finally turns and we make eye contact, but it doesn’t last for long before her friend continues with her inappropriate string of comments. I smile and laugh in return at her antics.

Aspen confesses that she’s thrilled about class and for some reason it makes me weirdly giddy inside.

Fuck.

Scratch that last part. I haven’t felt giddy in over five years, not since I’ve lived in this god-forsaken state.

However, the tinge of panic doesn’t go unnoticed as I see Aspen’s expression as I stand up and walk to the front of the classroom. Her eyes go wide and cheeks flush pink. A small part of me feels guilty she’s so embarrassed, but I find it freaking adorable. Ellie’s whispering in her ear and Aspen looks like she’s about to die.

I really should leave the poor girl alone. Clearly she’s not a social person, but I just can’t help myself.

“Aspen Evans…” I call out because I want an excuse to look at her again. And hear her voice.

That voice.

It’s so small and smooth that I’m afraid she’d float up to the ceiling if her six-inch heels weren’t weighing her down. I hadn’t expected her to stand up, but she does. I should tell her we don’t have to be so formal in this class, but I can’t deny getting the opportunity to get a better look at her.

Once introductions are over, I hand out the syllabus and repeat my typical mantra. Look over the syllabus carefully. Don’t skip my class. Don’t be a lazy participator.

I make sure to look around at all the students so I don’t get caught staring at her. Although that’s where my eyes are directed since Ellie’s once again whispering over to Aspen.

“Do you have a question, ladies?” I really don’t appreciate students talking when I’m talking, so I make sure I’m firm just so the rest of the class knows I’m not to be taken advantage of.

Ellie’s quick-witted response takes me off guard, and I really have to fight to hide the smile that wants to spread wide across my face.

I need a second to breathe, so I put the students in groups for their first exercise. I start numbering students off into groups of five, but when I come across Aspen’s seat, she’s gone. I look around and catch her just as she’s running out the door.

I finish grouping everyone and hand out the worksheet I want them to start on. I wait a few minutes to see if she returns but worry I’ve embarrassed her. When she doesn’t return, I decide to go after her.

I’m not exactly sure what I expected to see when I found Aspen, but it wasn’t this. I know an anxiety attack when I see one. I’ve experienced them myself, but she’s…she’s a mess. It seems unfair that such a beautiful and talented woman has to suffer this way. From the outside, I never would’ve guessed she held this kind of pain.

I don’t believe her in the least when she says she’ll be fine. I want to comfort her, wrap my arms around her so she doesn’t have to handle it alone. But I barely know her and it’d be highly inappropriate given I’m her professor. I tell her to take her time and wait anxiously in the classroom for her to come back.

When the groups finishes, and everyone is seated again, I discuss what I want them to do next. Although I was able to look at their portfolios beforehand, I want to see how well they each do with a shortly timed assignment. They all grab their supplies and sit back in their seats except Aspen. She stays standing.

It’s hard to not notice her as it is, but now I’m able to watch her while she draws. She moves her hand so effortlessly as her eyes follow every stroke her pencil is making. I walk around the classroom silently watching, but I stop just behind her as she begins to shade in her outline of a tree trunk. I can’t tell which number from the questionnaire she’s drawing from, but just the intensity of her focus tells me how important it is to her.

She grabs her putty rubber to lighten an area near a branch when she finally senses my presence behind her, but I tell her not to stop. I could watch her draw for hours. Just the simple act of watching her eyes and body captivates my attention to the point that I forget we aren’t alone.

Students begin filing out at exactly eight p.m. They have plenty of time left to work on their project before it’s due, but that doesn’t stop the wave of sadness that overcomes me as I watch Aspen pack up her supplies and leave. Her portfolio is so somber, but in person, she radiates light. She’s friendly and gives off that carefree vibe on the surface, but when she’s lost in her work, her persona changes into something completely different.

I’m just not sure what that is yet.

I pick Natalia up from school every day in between my classes. She was able to continue attending the same school after she moved in with me, but it hasn’t been an easy transition. She’s been getting into trouble for talking back, pushing girls in the locker room, and even throwing food in the cafeteria.

They’ve been pretty sympathetic given her situation, but she’s still had to do detention after school multiple times. I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll help her feel better or give back what’s been taken from her. I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll change it either. And that guts me.

“Hey, Short Stuff,” I say as she hops into the passenger side. “What number?” I ask her every day after school. It’s a rating system from one to ten that I came up with to so she’d talk about her day.

She tosses her backpack into the backseat and scowls at me.

“If you’re expecting me to read your mind, this could take a while.”

She huffs at me. “It was an eight…” Which means her day was going quite well. “Until Cooper Turner spit on me.” So much for that.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh, for fucks sake.

I turn and angle my body toward her. “What happened?”

She hands me a piece of paper that was concealed in her palm. “Here.”

I take it and pull it open. My eyes move quickly over the note, and I gasp.

“Natalia Hampton!” I’m biting my lip to avoid bursting out in laughter. “You said what?”

“I said he had an itty, bitty penis and that must be why he’s such an obnoxious airhead.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s compensating for having a small—”

“Not that! Why did you say that?”

“Well, it’s not a lie.”

“I don’t think talking about those body parts in school is appropriate.”

“Whatever.”

“So now what? You have another week of detention?”

“I guess. I don’t know why Mrs. Fields got so upset. He’s the one who spit on me!”

“Before or after?”