decipher. Then his grip loosens as he quietly says, “Okay.”
Placing one foot in front of the other, I begin to walk. I’m both terrified and relieved that English is in the same wing, on the same floor as the cafeteria, since I don’t think I could manage stairs in my present state. As we enter the hall, Mr. Creepy’s classroom looms at the end of it like a gaping black hole.
Gabriel gives me my space, but his fingertips press sharply into my spine. His free hand fists tautly at his side. As we move, he whispers, “Let’s not sit up front for this one, okay?” Again I wonder what he knows and how, but I’m too preoccupied to confront him.
Later… after…
Dipping my head in agreement, I try not to imagine the trials of the upcoming hour. I don’t glance at Mr. Creepy as we enter, but I feel his halo, his sickening attention, as Gabriel guides me to the far left seat of the third row. “Scoot closer to the wall,” he whispers.
I obey, looking down to watch Gabriel’s faded jeans settle next to me. Below the din of the class, I hear the gentle scrape of the desk as Gabriel draws himself to me until our knees touch. Staring at the expertly frayed white ends of his expensive jeans as they flop haphazardly about his tan suede boots, I concentrate on counting the individual fibers that make up each twisted end. And I wait.
Off to my right, I hear a boy complain, “Hey that’s my seat, dude.”
Dismissively, Gabriel replies, “Not anymore, dude . Go sit somewhere else.”
The class is called to order. As it gets quiet, I raise my head to see Mr. Creepy eyeing me critically from behind his desk. His halo—while as dark and disgusting as the previous day—doesn’t have quite the same impact. When he contemplates the boy beside me, his face pinches.
“Mr. Kustosz, I presume.”
Gabriel regards him impassively. Stoically. “Yes, sir.”
“You missed my class yesterday, Mr. Kustosz. Why?”
“I got delayed.”
“Coming from where?”
“Los Angeles.”
He calculates. “Hmmm.”
Around us, the class whispers about the golden boy from the Golden State. In the distraction, Mr. Creepy’s cunning eyes slide sideways to bore down on me. “Alexia, please come sit up front.”
Gabriel’s hand seeks mine under my desk becoming my anchor.
“Now Alexia.” The teacher’s voice holds a faint whine as he indicates the far corner seat in the empty front row. “Up here, please.”
I squeeze Gabriel’s hand and he reciprocates so hard I’m afraid one of us will break. I bite my lip against the pain, but when I glance to him, his face appears untroubled.
Mr. Creepy continues to stare at me, his arms crossed disapprovingly.
Although I’m trembling with fear, I don’t move. Not that Gabriel would let me go even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jonah leaning in, paying rapt attention to our interaction.
When Gabriel speaks for me, his voice is deceptively smooth and doesn’t betray the iron grip he has on my body. “ Alex is fine, Mr. Abernathy. Please continue with today’s lesson.”
Gabriel’s halo has grown bigger, brighter than before. Seeming to encompass both of us, it’s nearly white and visibly bristling. All I can think of is righteous anger, but it makes no sense to me even though I’m seeing it with my own two eyes. Inexplicably, I feel safe—nearly at peace—inside the protection of Gabriel’s burning halo.
Unaccustomed to being challenged, Mr. Creepy continues to stare Gabriel down. After a few seconds, his eyes narrow into snake-like slits as he opens his mouth to speak. Then he seems to change his mind. His nonexistent lips snap shut as he changes tactics. Mr. Creepy stands and makes a big show of strolling around his desk, stopping to casually lean against it with his hip.
“Well I certainly cannot teach to an empty first row.” He throws his hands up acting baffled, as if he has reached an impasse. Slowly he searches the class for a