“If I recall, you were just written up and put on garden duty for the rest of the semester, Mr. Grandam. It's senior year; I'd hate to have to write you up again.” Instead of his usual soft, sweet smile, Mr. Murphy looks resigned, like actually writing someone up might set off an anxiety attack or something. At least he looks like he’d actually do it—it’d be his first time, by the way, ever writing a student up.
With a scowl, Mark takes off down the hall just as my boys come around the corner. Spencer's eyes go wide at the sight of our friend ‘Adam’ standing in front of me, and he exchanges a look with the twins. Church doesn't seem particularly surprised, but Ranger is pissed.
“What the fuck was Mark up to?” he asks, storming over to stand beside us, and then turning his glare on Mr. Murphy himself. “And how about you, Adam? Huh? You want to explain some shit to us?”
Lionel Murphy stares at Ranger for a long, quiet moment, and then hangs his head, almost in shame.
“Meet me after class in my office,” he says, lifting his head, a deep sort of sadness resting in his pale blue gaze.
“Why? So you can admit what you've done?” Ranger continues, refusing to let up. He takes a step forward, but Mr. Murphy is already turning away and heading back into his classroom. Meanwhile, Mark’s wasted most of my break, so instead of getting a snack, the bell rings, signaling that it's time to head for third period.
Surreptitiously, Ranger leans over and pushes one of his homemade granola bars into my hand, carefully wrapped in that reusable beeswax food covering he likes so much, and tied with a dainty pink ribbon. My cheeks turn about that same color as I clutch it to my chest. Church, meanwhile, hands over one of the two white chocolate mochas in his hands, the kind that Merinda only makes for him. I just barely resist the urge to hop up and down. Church can tell, I’m sure, and he smiles in that way only he can—like a smile means everything.
“What do you think that was all about?” the twins ask absently, watching the door of the classroom like some clue might jump out at them.
“I have no idea,” Church replies, voice as smooth and stoic as always. “But I suppose we're going to soon find out.”After school, the six of us meet up outside the door to Mr. Murphy's office. He's already waiting for us, welcoming us in before he closes and locks the door, and lowers the shades on the window that faces the hallway.
While we stand there, in various states of awkwardness (me), anger (Ranger), and curiosity (everyone else), Mr. Murphy takes his sweet time preparing a cup of tea and then sitting down behind his desk. He looks exhausted, and like, ten years older than he did this morning.
“You ready to confess or what?” Ranger asks, pausing only when Church gives him a look that very clearly says calm down, my friend. Mr. Murphy cringes slightly, his cheeks turning a funny pink color, the way mine do when the boys tease me about sex stuff, or how Ranger's do when he sees a fluffy kitten.
“You asked me about Jenica before,” Mr. Murphy begins, and very quickly, the room goes silent. Ranger's entire body tenses up as he curls his hands around the chair in front of him and leans forward, sapphire eyes glittering like the night sky. Our English teacher looks up with tears in his eyes, and Ranger rears back like he's been slapped, clenching his jaw in anger. Without thinking about it, I reach down and grab hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze. Almost immediately, I see a change in him, and a little flower of gladness opens up inside of me.
…
Flower of gladness?
Jesus, it's no wonder I'm no poet.
“You said you thought it looked like we might've dated …” Mr. Murphy pulls a manila envelope from the top drawer of his desk and very carefully slides it over to us. He lets go, and the object sits enticingly between us and him. “You weren't wrong about that.”
“Hah!” The word bursts out of my mouth, and my cheeks flush with the inappropriateness of my outburst. I'm not meaning to be disrespectful to Jenica or anything. But when Ranger glances my way, there's at least the ghost of a smile on his lips. It doesn't last long though. As soon as he turns back to Mr. Murphy, he's frowning again.
“She was afraid of Rick, and as much as it pains me to admit it, so was I. We started seeing each other in private,” he admits, a smile lighting his lips that's pretty damn similar to the one Ranger just gave me. Oh my god, they totally did it! I think, but I clamp my lips shut on the revelation. Hell, I could be wrong anyway, right? Ranger and I haven't done it … yet. Ahem. Cough. That time in his room when the tip slipped just barely inside doesn't count. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. “We also …” He trails off again as Ranger grabs the envelope and carefully, with his black painted fingernails, opens it up. What he slides out changes everything.
