A Proscriptive Relationship

A Proscriptive Relationship: 12

The air had become considerably colder after two more go around on the Ferris wheel. Now that I had become use to the height the Ferris wheel went up to, I was enjoying the ride. Mr. Heywood sat beside me, keeping silent after spilling part of his past. The ride suddenly came to a halt, stopping us at the very top. I moved close to the side of the compartment so I could look down. Mr. Heywood moved as well, shaking the compartment. A startled gasp escaped my lips and I jerked away from the edge, smashing my head against Mr. Heywood’s.

“Ow,” I complained, bring a hand to the back of my head.

Mr. Heywood grinned at me. “You have a hard head.”

“No, you do,” I responded, frowning.

Mr. Heywood rolled his eyes, nodding to the left. “Aren’t those your friends?”

Following his finger, I located a few familiar faces that sent of a jolt of surprise through me. Lance and Casey were standing in line for the Ferris wheel along with Sam and Danielle. Panicked gripped me, and I looked back at Mr. Heywood— who looked seemingly unconcerned.

“They are going to see us!” I told Mr. Heywood in a frantic whisper.

“Why does it matter?” he responded, vaguely bemused.

“Because,” I started, ducking my head, “Casey has it in her head that something might be going on with us, or will be, so if she sees us together she’ll think she’s right. And Lance… ugh, I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do. I ditched him to follow you and didn’t even leave him a note or anything so he probably hates me.”

Mr. Heywood chuckled. “You seem to have dug yourself a pretty deep grave.”

I glared at him. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Anytime,” he responded with a wink.

Rolling my eyes, I dropped my head into my hands, thinking hard. How would I be able to get us out of this situation? It was impossible. I quickly counted the groups of people in like, and then the number of compartments ahead of ours. Just our luck. They got to have our car. That meant they’d definitely see us.

            “Put your head down,” Mr. Heywood ordered, motioning to his chest. “Face into my chest, and wrap your arms around my neck.”

            “What? Why?”

            “Just do it,” Mr. Heywood ordered, taking the back of my head and forcing it into his chest.

            A muffled cry escaped my lips and I felt Mr. Heywood’s chest reverberate with quiet laughter. Mr. Heywood then grabbed my arms and wrapped them around his neck. A few seconds later I felt him pulling my hair over the bit of my face that was showing. I kept my face pressed into his chest, sitting as still as possible.

            “Can we go once more around?” I heard Mr. Heywood ask in a very persuasive voice.

            “Sure,” another voice, I presumed the worker’s, responded, and the compartment kept moving.

            “Hey Mr. Heywood!” I heard Casey cry and felt Mr. Heywood nod in response.

            I bit my lip in anxiety, silently begging for Casey not to notice me. After a minute I felt Mr. Heywood pulling away from me, and I quickly tightened my arms around his neck.

            “Holly,” Mr. Heywood started, prying his hands off me. “It’s all clear. They got on a few compartments below us.”

            My face blazed and I quickly pushed myself away from them. “Um, thanks.”