The Bad Boy with a Heart of Gold

✖ Chapter 6 ✖

Mr. Davies' amused smile did not go unnoticed.

"What happened after that?" the Principal asked, his eyes also glinting in a way that said he was thinking of exactly the same thing. That I was one heck of a stubborn person. The sky was blue and the grass was green.

I shrugged. "I opened the door and saw them both all worse for wear. It was clear they'd been fighting." Then I stopped and looked at both of them pointedly. "Didn't you interview both of them?"

Mr. Davies was the one who sighed and responded, "We did, but they're tight lipped. We were hoping you could help us shed some light on whatever caused this riff. Otherwise how can we fix it?"

I pursed my lips. They couldn't fix it even if they tried. The cause of the fight was Lexie Cooper, or to be more accurate, the fact that she broke up with Taylor last summer, cold turkey, and rounded all the figurative baseball bases with Sawyer at a party. And even though Sawyer didn't seem like he wanted more of Lexie, she definitely did, considering that she was there like his shadow everywhere he went nowadays.

She'd even shown up at the car shop once. That had been awkward.

But not any more awkward than if I had to tell these two men this story.

I summarized it. "I know they've had friction because of a girl they're both interested in, but if that's what caused this episode I couldn't tell. I ran to get Mr. Davies pretty quick as soon as I saw their state."

Correction, I said in my head, I ran as soon as Sawyer got Taylor off of me.

Given their solemn faces I said, "Am I in trouble?"

"What? Of course not," Mr. Jones said. He sighed and leaned back. "We've very thankful that you helped us prevent this from reaching bigger proportions, which is why we were hoping you could help us."

I sat up straighter. "How can I be of service?"

"Well," the way Mr. Davies dragged the word on told me everything I needed to know. My eyes widened at his sheepish grin. "It's really more imperative now that we help Sawyer through the school year."

"No," I whispered, too low for any of them to hear. But the intent must have been obvious, because Mr. Jones spoke the key words.

"I'll speak very frankly with you, Miss Martinez. You've been an excellent student these years. Just as you get measured by your grades, the school is measured by the rate at which its students graduate." He paused and pursed his lips. "At this rate, Mr. Logan is not on track for graduation, and this will put a negative mark on our institution. This affects our standing in the community, and unfortunately will not be the kind of reputation we want to follow our students to their next level."

I blinked. In other words, the school's bad reputation was my bad reputation too. And this was why they wanted me to help get Sawyer Logan on stage on graduation, receiving a high school diploma from Mr. Jones.

"We're not trying to be unfair by twisting your arm," Mr. Davies said, even though that was exactly how it was coming across to me. "It's just that we've tried everything from our side. We've even forced him to attend regular counseling meetings with me, and he blows through them. None of us in the teaching staff have been able to reach through to him."

Impulsively I asked, "Why don't you expel him?"

They both startled, as if this notion hadn't even occurred to them. I'd been about to give myself a pat in the back when Mr. Jones' disappointed face hit me even harder than the sink had, earlier.

"We don't make it a habit to give up on any of our kids, Miss Martinez."

I sank into my chair, and I was sure my tomato face was back.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I guess it's a valid question," Mr. Davies said, trying to be diplomatic but I could see I'd disappointed him too. It was in the way his eyebrows creased and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "But we really believe Sawyer is a good kid, deep down. We just need somebody to reach down and bring that good kid to the surface."

"And you think I can do this?" I asked them, raising my eyebrows. Hadn't I just proved I didn't have an iota of the empathy necessary for the task?

"We think a peer stands a better chance," Mr. Davies said. Again, with all the diplomacy of a politician. He was totally in the wrong career.

"And we know that you have an interest to bolster your college applications," Mr. Jones added. "I'd look upon you very favorable if you can help us with this task."

Crap, crappity crap. They got me. And they knew it.

I tried one more recourse. "Um, but couldn't I help Taylor Banks instead? Lately he doesn't seem to be as focused on school, what with all the drama."

Mr. Jones waved his hand. "Coach O'Hare has agreed to take care of Mr. Banks."

I pursed my lips and stared off into the distance, to the wall behind the Principal. They were hoping to apply the principle of scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, and in a way it was exactly what I'd asked Mr. Davies. Except that I hadn't liked his idea back then and I also didn't like it now. I didn't trust Sawyer as far as I could throw him and he had the touch of the stomach. Everything he touched turned to crap. What guaranteed that he wouldn't touch me and turn me into a turd? This was why I didn't hang out with him, ever. Not when our fathers used to bring us to the car shop while they worked, and Sawyer and I sat alone, separate and bored. Not now that he was an apprentice and hung out with Manny, who had been my friend first, and who desperately wanted to turn the three of us into a thing—but even better if that included Toni. And I definitely didn't hang out with him at school, where I was the best student in our year while he'd been caught smoking under the bleachers once, or half clothed with a girl in an empty lab room another time, or asleep in class, or in more fights in his entire student career than I could remember to count. Or holding the top record for the most detentions, without apparently knowing that they wouldn't kick him out no matter what he did.

And then I saw the plate that Mr. Jones had about last year's baseball golden team, the one they'd made themselves so that they could include Peyton O'Hare's name. That gave me my answer.

I let out the longest sigh in history and said, "Fine. How do we do this?"

our poor petty queen is like

it's gonna be fun, Rory. trust me 😌