I'll Protect You (Re-Edit #2, 2016)

Don't turn your gym coach's hair pink--it's bad luck

Dedicated to Eunice because she's one of my closest friends on this site and I love her very very much for sticking with me all the way through

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Everyone was dressed in the standard P.E. uniform and lined up along the bleachers in alphabetical order. No one moved. No one spoke. We all stood incredibly still, shoulder to shoulder, as Coach Woodson moved down the line, his eyes staring deep into our souls with an angry fire blazing in them. 

However, it was hard for me to keep a straight face since his normally spiky black hair was now a delicious shade of bubblegum pink. 

"Someone's going to fess up for this," Woodson snarled, his gravel-like tenor tones mashing together in an inharmonious tune. "By the time this class is over, I want a full confession from the person who did this--if not, then everyone gets detention."

No on dared to groan, but I knew that every single one of my classmates felt a pit of burning rage inside their stomachs. If there was a teacher that everyone unanimously hated in Cross Academy, it was Coach Woodson. 

"The detentions start today," he added with a spiteful sneer. At this, an outburst escaped my lips and I broke the statue-like formation by stepping forward, my fists clenched at my side. My amusement was gone, and the irritated spark in my chest was now flaring. 

Today, my father would be back in town to introduce me to my new bodyguard. Since I was returning to Cimeria for the first time in two years in the summer, my father had insisted on me getting a bodyguard in order to increase my safety. I hadn't seen him in months and I was not going to be late to the little introductory party just become some idiot had turned Coach Woodson's hair into a pink porcupine. 

"You can't do that!" I cried out. 

"Get back in line, Finch!" Woodson roared, a temple threatening to burst on his head as his face flamed into an atrocious shade of candy apple. 

"I'll get back in line when you start thinking logically," I protested, standing my ground. Woodson stalked to the spot in front of me, the vein in his temple now bulging as a look of utter offense crossed his features. 

"What did you say?" he said in a deadly whisper. 

"Anyone could've snuck in at lunch and replaced your hair spray with pink dye. You don't have any proof whatsoever that someone in this class did the crime. All of us are innocent until proven guilty, and no charges can be held against us without proof. Therefore, you cannot keep us confined without firm ground that one of us in this class is a suspect."

I crossed my arms and glared back at him defiantly. Normally, I showed a healthy amount of respect for my professors. However, all I wanted to show to Coach Woodson was the view of the world before I pushed him off Mount Everest. 

I'm not a violent person, I promise. 

Suddenly, the bell echoed throughout the vast gymnasium. The insulted glower on Woodson's face melted into a malicious smile. "Everyone is dismissed," he barked to the line behind me, "except for Finch. I'm keeping you behind for detention."

"What?!"

"Finch is getting detention for talking back to a professor and showing blatant disrespect to a higher authority." Coach Woodson had on the most self-satisfied smile, as though he was thinking haha-I'm-a-teacher-and-you-can't-touch-me. 

"Fine!" I grumbled, throwing my hands up in the air. I watched my classmates begin to leave, though a lot of them threw me sympathetic looks over their shoulders. "What is today, Woodson? Mop the bleachers? Clean the bathrooms?" Organize your ten-thousand hair products in alphabetical order?