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  “Sorry, girl,” Margot says.

  “Hey Margot, what the hell is actually going on in there?” I ask and blow out a frustrated breath. I know Jeremy needs a work permit, and Mr. Beck won’t give him one, but what I don’t understand is why Mr. Beck hasn’t kicked him out of his office yet. Margot wheels around and leans against my desk. Her eyes are wide and excited. I plaster my best friendly smile on my face and wait for the dirt.

  “I thought Sterling would have told you,” she says. We’ve been dancing around the topic of my alleged association with Sterling Grady for a while now. I just shake my head no and try not to fuel her curiosity any further. “Well, anyway. So Jeremy got a job working at Forsaken Custom Cycle. He came to me for a permit and I had to deny him because his grades are too low. He begged me to give him the permit, but I told him to talk to Mr. Beck.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I knew all of that. “But why hasn’t Mr. Beck kicked him out of his office?” I’ve never seen a student be so flat-out disrespectful to Mr. Beck before. It’s not that Mr. Beck is a particularly tough man or that he’s intimidating, but most students have some kind of respect for his position and try not to tick him off. When I went to school here, the only kids that got away with much of anything are now members of Forsaken.

  “After the second time Mr. Beck denied Jeremy’s permit, Jim Stone came in and personally asked Mr. Beck to approve it. He didn’t and Mr. Stone got pretty mad. I think Mr. Beck is scared of getting another visit from the president of the club.”

  It all makes sense now. Mr. Beck is the typical administrator who thinks he knows better than everyone around him. He’s always avoided confrontation with the club as best he can which is why he won’t expel Cheyenne— or Jeremy for that matter— himself, but he pushes both Margot and I to do it for him. If only I had known this before I made the trip out to Grady’s house, I could have saved myself a lot of grief. I didn’t want trouble from the club, either, but I guess Mr. Beck is really only concerned about keeping his own ass out of the fire. That jerk let me chase after Grady for months— even during summer session— and he never once bothered to tell me who he is and what I was walking into.

  “Jeremy’s family could use the money. Mr. Beck can’t help at all?” I ask. Sure, Nic is with one of the guys in the club now, and I’m sure he’s going to take care of her and their baby, but that doesn’t mean anything for Jeremy, I don’t think. I don’t really know anything about how the club members earn their money aside from the rumors that swirl around town. If Jeremy says he needs the job to help his family, then I trust that he does.

  The door to Mr. Beck’s office swings open and Jeremy stalks out. His feet stomp into the linoleum below and he moves so fast that he clips the corner of Margot’s desk on the way out. With a angry push, the main door to the office flies open and he rushes out, letting the door slam behind him. Margot and I jump in place and move back into place to pretend like we’ve been working the entire time.

  It’s just a moment later when Mr. Beck is standing at the end of the hallway. His face is red and in an agitated voice he says, “Holly, can you come in my office, please?”

  With a deep breath, I stand from my seat and cross the room, following behind Mr. Beck and into his office. My head is still pounding, but I try to push my own misery out of my head and just deal with whatever it is the boss man wants. He sits behind his desk and folds his arms over his chest. I’m not terribly happy with him right now and don’t want to be in here any longer than I absolutely need to, so I opt for closing the door and leaning against the nearby wall.

  “Everything okay, Dick?” I say. Richard Beck asks his colleagues to call him Dick, but he’s never once asked me to. Margot calls him Mr. Beck so I assume he hasn’t asked her to, either. The fact that he doesn’t see me as equal to him has never really bothered me until this moment.

  "Holly, where are we at with Cheyenne Grady's expulsion?"

  Mr. Beck knows damn well that I don't intend to file paperwork to have Cheyenne expelled. He and I have had this conversation already. In fact, we have had this conversation several times, and I guess it still hasn't seeped into his thick skull. I never had any trouble with Mr. Beck when I was a student. He was always just the principal – a distant authority figure who let the fact that he was underpaid and overworked be known to just about everybody he came in contact with. But Mr. Beck has shown himself to be a real nitwit. He's far too scared to expel Cheyenne Grady on his own, and he's not compassionate enough to give her a break. No, that's why he sends his staff out to do a job we are not paid to do.

  "Her expulsion is on hold. Mr. Grady signed the counseling acknowledgment form and Cheyenne knows that she's expected at Saturday school this weekend." It wasn't easy getting that stupid form signed, but it has been, so the job got done. If I spend too long to think about it, I'll come to the conclusion that Mr. Beck never expected me to get Grady to sign the form, and that is just going to piss me off. So instead, I pretend that he's not that big of a tool, even if I know in my heart that he is.

  "You got Sterling Grady to sign that form? After months of trying, he finally did it? Does this mean that the rumors are true, that you're seeing Sterling Grady? " he asks. His eyes are wide, his mouth has fallen, and his face goes blank. And whatever tiny little bit of hope that I had that Dick isn't actually a dick vanishes. I should have known that with the way Margot dances around the subject that Mr. Beck would eventually hear the rumors.

  "Yes, the form has been signed."

  "Ms. Mercer, I can't tell you how to live your life, but I do want to warn you that Sterling's bike club are not the kind of people you want to associate with. Look at Cheyenne Grady and Jeremy Whelan – both of their dads are part of that gang – neither of them have much of a future. Those people go around having kids they don't discipline, nor do they care about. It's none of my business what you do in your off-time, and I apologize for stepping over the bounds, but I like you, Holly. I don't want to see you get hurt or mixed up in their criminal enterprise."

  I'm silent for a few moments too long, and Mr. Beck starts talking again. He's never been shy about his disapproval of the club and its members, and that’s fine. But it’s not Jeremy Whelan’s fault that he was given the short end of the stick, and it certainly isn’t Cheyenne’s fault, either. They’re just kids, and I don’t really care what Dick thinks of the club. He’s taking it out on a couple of kids, and that’s not fair.

  In the weeks since my visit to the Grady residence, I’ve discovered that there are three other students in this school with worse attendance records, poorer grades, and more difficult temperaments than either Cheyenne or Jeremy have exhibited. Despite the fact that I’ve brought those students to Mr. Beck’s attention, he’s shown little interest in pursuing expulsion for them. I suppose Mr. Beck lets them slide because two of them are athletes and the other one is the child of a local business owner. I’m willing to bet none of their parents have a criminal record, and that’s what this vendetta is really about. Either way, it ends here.

  “Is there a reason you won’t issue Jeremy Whelan a work permit, but you allow Edwin Nielson to continue playing football despite the fact that his GPA is two points below Jeremy’s and he has four more unexcused absences as well?”

  “It’s at my discretion to determine whom I may and may not make exceptions for. Jeremy has exhibited no desire to better himself. Edwin Nielson has been struggling with recovering from his football injury during a practice at defense camp over the summer.”

  “So, because Jeremy doesn’t play football he doesn’t deserve a chance to graduate high school?” I ask. My jaw locks at the end of my sentence and I have to force it loose. Everything I feared about having this conversation with Mr. Beck is coming to fruition. Our football team isn’t even that good, and we haven’t made state in the last decade, but Edwin Nielson is popular and his dad isn’t an outlaw, so I suppose that’s enough for Mr. Beck to show him a little grace.

  “I’m glad yo
u got Mr. Grady to sign the counseling form. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy schedule,” Mr. Beck says by means of dismissal. I exit the room and shut the door behind me as quickly and quietly as possible. I didn’t know it could happen, but my head now feels even worse than it did before I entered Mr. Beck’s office. Now that he’s shown how utterly unfair of a human being he is, I can’t help but rack my brain trying to figure out if there’s anything I can do to help Jeremy, and by extension, help the club. Grady doesn’t need to know that I still feel immense guilt over possibly causing Cheyenne anymore grief. Maybe I can ease some of that if I can help Jeremy.

  I’m barely in my seat when Margot turns around and says, “Tell ya what, just take an extended lunch. I’ll eat something here. Go grab something for your head at the store, take a walk. Do something. Just get out of here for a little bit.”

  “You’re right.” I should get out of here for a bit. It’s past the time I normally take lunch, and I’ve been cooped up at my desk for weeks now. Actually, I’ve kept myself cooped up at home as well. After leaving the Grady residence I started noticing that someone was following me. At first I figured I was just plain paranoid, but the chances of seeing the same exact person following a few car lengths behind me every single day is probably pretty small. It wasn’t until I saw him in a beige sedan parked in the school parking lot when I came out of work one day last week that I knew for sure that the club had somebody watching me. I can only hope the guy hasn’t told Grady that I know he’s following me because I let my temper get the better of me and I gave him a one-finger wave. It was not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit.

  I’m leaving the office when I spot my favorite student leaning against a row of lockers. She’s got her back to me and her head tilted up as she listens to Jeremy Whelan grouching about Mr. Beck no doubt.

  He lets out a heavy sigh. I pull my cell out of my purse and peek at the time— and sure enough, just as I thought— they’re both supposed to be in class right now. Jeremy spots my approach before Cheyenne does, but I’m quick to side up to Cheyenne and put on my best smile. I’ve never seen them talk before, but I’m not surprised they know one another considering their connections to Forsaken.

  “Going to see Dad?” Cheyenne asks with a wiggle of her brows as she jerks her chin at my purse on my shoulder. She’s good at this— trying to distract people from the task at hand. It worked the first few times we’d met, but I’m onto her game now.

  “Heh,” I say and try to stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head at the suggestion of seeing her father. “No, pharmacy. I have a killer headache, and I wonder why.”

  “The more difficult you are, the more he talks about you,” she says wistfully.

  “That’s great, but really,” I say in exasperation. “You two are going to be the death of me. Do either of you realize how much Mr. Beck wants you both kicked out of this school? Do you?”

  Cheyenne bites her lip and her eyes shift to Jeremy’s. He folds his arms over his chest and scowls down at me. I hate it when the students get taller than me, which unfortunately, happens a lot with the boys. It makes it difficult to feel like I’m really an authority figure when I have to look up to scold them.

  “We’re just talking. Chill,” Jeremy says. His eyes cut to Cheyenne briefly and she gives him a soft smile. Oh, hell. She’s got that look on her face that all teenage girls get when they have a crush on somebody. I wonder if her dad knows about this development. Speaking of her dad, I might be able to use the club to diffuse the attitude and get their asses to class before someone else realizes they’re just lingering around campus.

  “Hey,” I say and raise my finger to Jeremy. “Close your mouth and get to class.” He doesn’t move, but he does smirk down at me and roll his eyes. Okay, he’s more hard-headed than I gave him credit for. He knows I work here, but apparently he doesn’t care. Either that or he’s just trying to show off in front of Cheyenne. I’m betting it’s the latter. So I go with my old standby when a student doesn’t listen. I pull my cell from my purse and nod my head. “Wilcox, right? Joshua Wilcox? That’s the name of your sister’s boyfriend?”

  Joshua Wilcox was a year behind me in school, but he and his two buddies, Ian Buckley and Ryan Stone were legendary around campus. Josh now goes by Duke— for a reason I’m not aware of— and like his felonious friends, he’s a member of the club.

  Jeremy’s face falls and his arms drop to his sides. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. Silently, I thank Mindy for gabbing about work so often. Apparently Nic used to have a hard time with Jeremy, but since she started seeing Josh, the boy has straightened up a lot. Mindy says all Josh has to do is give him a look and the kid behaves.

  “That’s what I thought,” I say and put my phone away. Thankfully, Jeremy doesn’t call my bluff. I don’t have Josh’s phone number, but even if I did, I’d never call it. I only know him by proxy and what I know of him tells me that I’m better off not getting to knowing him. “Class. Now.”

  Jeremy gives Cheyenne “the nod”, pulls a cell out of his pocket, and quickly sends a text message. Just as he shoves the phone back into his pocket he disappears in the direction of his class. Now that I know mentioning Josh really does work as well as Mindy says, I’m going to use it liberally. Cheyenne tries to step away and sneak off down the hallway, but I’m not having that. I’ve gone to bat for her— I’m still going to bat for her— and she’s ditching class.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I say and snap my fingers. She stops in place, turns around, and walks back to me.

  “He’s cute, right?” she says. Her eyes are big and dreamy and her cheeks are a dark pink. Crap. She doesn’t just kind of like him, she’s got full-blown love-face going on.

  “Adorable,” I grumble. “But seriously, do you have any idea how hard I’m trying to keep your butt from getting expelled? I thought we talked about this, Cheyenne.”

  “We did and I am being good. I was on my way back to class from the bathroom and Jeremy was standing here. He was really upset and I didn’t want him going to class like that! He just needed a friend to listen to him.”

  “Mr. Beck is not going to give a rat’s patootie why you weren’t in class if he catches you out here,” I say. I mentally kick myself once the words are out of my mouth.

  “Did you just say rat’s patootie?” Cheyenne asks. Her eyes are wild like I’m some kind of alien or something. Mindy and her damn phrases are rubbing off on me and making me sound like an imbecile.

  “Not the point, girly,” I say in an attempt to redirect.

  “You’re not going to tell my dad, are you?” she asks. I’ve tried twice now—unsuccessfully—to “break up” with him, but somehow, despite my attempts, Cheyenne says he’s told her that we’re still together. I think she’s starting to realize that something is rotten in Denmark, but she’s still asking these kinds of questions. I have no clue if I’m lying to say we’re still in a relationship or if it’s ended, and things are just messy. When asked, I try to play aloof and act like he’s in the doghouse—and really, if I could shove his ass in one, I would.

  “You gonna behave?” I ask. She’s not my kid so I don’t want to be the one to tell her that nothing is going on between her dad and I, but eventually I’m going to have to draw a line in the sand with this stuff.

  “You gonna tell him?” she asks with her eyebrows raised. She’s getting a little too high and mighty for my taste so I mean mug her until she backs down and sighs in defeat. “You know, my dad’s dated a lot of women, and I mean a lot, but they usually try to suck up to me so I’ll like them. I’m just saying.”

  A slow smile spreads across my face and I point in the direction of the English class she’s supposed to be in right now. “Careful, kid. You’re starting to sound like an extortionist. Now go to class before you get in trouble.”

  “Dad’s right. You are a ball-buster,” she says. The smile on her face is blinding when she says, “You’re awesome, Holly!”
She throws her hands up in the air and backs away towards her class. When I’m confident that she’s actually going to class now, I head for my car with my own huge smile on my face. Her father may be a Grade-A asshole, and he’s certainly a very troubled human being, but I was most definitely wrong about at least one thing about him: he’s loves his daughter. I might not like him very much, but I can definitely respect a guy who manages to raise such an awesome kid.

  IT’S ENTIRELY POSSIBLE that my headache has disappeared because I’m no longer hearing Mr. Beck’s voice. The last I remember the dull thumping in my brain was before I walked out of the office and saw Cheyenne and Jeremy talking at the lockers. Even both of them giving me attitude didn’t bug me, and by the time I was in my car on the way to the pharmacy, my shoulders had relaxed and I was able to take a deep breath without regretting it from the pressure in my skull.

  Still, while I’m here, I pick up some ibuprofen, just in case. After my conversation with Mr. Beck today, I foresee many more headaches in my future. I’m not entirely sure what it is about Cheyenne Grady, but after the talk we just had, I’m more determined than ever before to help her succeed in school. I just have to figure out how to do that without taking Grady’s money, and that means avoiding him and his guys as best I can. It’s not been easy these past few weeks, but I’ve successfully ditched the two guys who, in addition to Grady, have tried to hand me a thick manila envelope. I know Lisa Grady told me to just take the money, but it’s just not something I’m comfortable with. I mean, they can’t chase after me forever, right?

  After I grab the extra strength 60-count bottle of ibuprofen from the shelf, I head straight for the refrigerated foods. I'm overdue for lunch, exhausted, and willing to try anything that I don't have to make myself. The pharmacy isn't very big, but it's grown in the last few years in order to keep up with the national drugstore chain that moved into town. I know for fact that the 24-hour chain pharmacy has better prices, and probably better food judging by the selection that they have here, but I like my money to go to local businesses whenever possible.