A Proscriptive Relationship

A Proscriptive Relationship: o5

“No way,” Casey gasped, staring at me with wide eyes. “He ate dinner at your house? With you?”

“Shh!” I hushed her, looking around the cafeteria warily for anyone who might have heard. “You can’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t!” Casey responded, making an X over her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

I sighed and kicked the trashcan we were standing next to. It became a habit to have private conversations near the trashcan for Casey and I, so everyone knew when we were there not to come throw their trash away. Casey grinned to herself, glancing at Mr. Heywood, who had just entered the lunchroom.

“There’s your dinner guest,” Casey commented, nudging me in the shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And be beaten to death? I think not,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “I don’t trust that guy. He’s got a split personality.”

Casey laughed, shaking her head at me. “I don’t know what you are talking about. From what I know of him, that guy was about as mean as a nun.”

“That didn’t make sense at all.”

“Shut up,” Casey responded quickly.

I laughed. “Well believe what you want. You weren’t the one that was basically forced to make him a dozen cups of coffee and dinner.”

She snorted. “I would have done it willingly anyways.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Oh, what do you know? …Here comes your boyfriend. I’m going to leave you two to talk.”

Casey blew a raspberry at me. “Okay. But tell me if anything happens between you and Mr. Heywood!”

“There’s nothing going to happen between us!” I hissed at her, giving her one last warning look before turning my back on her.

I looked around for Mr. Heywood quickly; I didn’t want to run into him when getting in line for lunch. To my luck, it seemed like he had left the cafeteria already. I walked to a la carte and stood in line, shoving my hand into my pocket to get my lunch money, and letting out a sigh.

“Why the sigh?”

I jumped and twisted around to see Mr. Heywood standing behind me. He smiled pleasantly at me, looking innocent. I eyed him suspiciously.

“Well?”

“Just thinking,” I responded slowly, “about you.”

“Falling for my good looks already? I thought you were different from most of the girls here…”

“No,” I snapped, frowning at him. “About your split personality.”

“Shh!”

“Why?”

Mr. Heywood lowered his voice, giving me an urgent look. “If anyone finds out how I used to be, I’ll be fired, and I really need the money right now. So shut up about it. Please,” he added, trying to cover up for his rudeness.

I blinked at him. He said please? Maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought he was… Well, as long as I ignored the “shut up” in his last sentence.

When we made it to the front of the line I noticed there was chicken soup on the soup list. My favorite. Mr. Heywood cut in front of me and I frowned, but he was a teacher and you had to let teachers cut, so I couldn’t protest. He ordered chicken soup, just like I was about to.

“What would you like dear?” the cafeteria lady asked when Mr. Heywood got his soup.

“Chicken soup,” I responded.