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Chapter 3
My name is Lucas Bernard Nill, but I go by Luke. Now, you might ask whether Bernard is a family name – it's not. My dad saw it written on an old and rotten wall of an abandoned house and thought it would suite his newborn son. I will leave it up to you to decide whether it does.
I've never thought about anger management. I guess they just tell you to be calm and stay that way. It must be a spiritual experience. I don't know.
"Last time I gave you the pamphlet," Heather said and folded her arms. She leaned back a bit, waiting like a predator. She was waiting for my move. But I had never been great at chess. Of course, like any person who respected themselves, I thought to be the king of the game. The same went for our lovely sessions – I was a messed up king, and Heather was my right hand man, or in this case woman. She was the Captain of Guard, my most trusted soldier, basically the man who really ran my empire.
She was Richelieu to my Louis.
I drop my head in a lazy attempt of a nod. "Yes, you did." My hair had grown and it was getting annoying. I would let Sam cut it later. "It wasn't very poetic. I wouldn't buy it."
Heather took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In response I narrowed mine. Perhaps she had already taken the course and was using the techniques they taught there – breathe in, breathe out, don't punch anything, smile and the world is brighter.
Yeah, as if your smile could brighten the whole frickin' sky. What a bunch of bullsh*t. What a load of crap. Disgusting.
As if people noticed your smile.
She was probably counting to ten, also. I was trying to count too, but I think we weren't in sync. She spoke at 7. "I wish you'd grow up already," she mumbled. Well, at least that got me almost smirking. Huh, I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. Heather was doing fine. "Anger management, Lucas," she said.
"Luke," I corrected her.
She shook her head slightly. "You were caught in a fight yesterday."
I let out a breath. News really travelled fast. Was I enjoying the spotlight? There's no way of telling. But Sam's friends were giving me more special looks than before. They still hated me, though. Apparently their main argument was that I was 'bad influence'.
"Says who?"
"Well, nobody actually saw it, but there was blood in the parking lot."
"There's no evidence against me. I don't see the problem."
"Something did happen and we can't let it slide."
"He started it."
Heather rested her elbows on the table. "That's not an excuse."
"So I'm supposed to let him bully me mercilessly?" I slammed my foot against the table - an innocent accident, which didn't help me prove that I was not insane, that I didn't need anger management.
"Okay," Heather held her hands up. "Tell me what exactly happened."
I bit the inside of my cheek and refused to look at her. Why was I the bad guy? Why hadn't anyone dragged the bastard here to get lectured how he was delusional and a prick? He had started it. He had made a very disturbing comment, followed by an attempt to make me trip. And I had merely slammed him into the locker. That's it.
(And later at my car he'd come to bother me again and I had punched him in the jaw. I think I broke his tooth. He should thank me – I made him look interesting now.)
"You won't believe me either way," I said. "You're on their side!" I fell back in the chair and nibbled on my thumbnail. I hoped Heather wouldn't look at that wrong, because I was not trying to flirt with her. Then again, I didn't want her to feel bad. God forbid I would become the reason of her low self-esteem. No way.
"At least try it. Give it a week," Heather pleaded. "And if you still hate it, I'll sign you up for drama."
Oh, so she liked to play dirty. That's fine. I knew how to play dirty too. But maybe not in this specific situation.
I rolled my eyes. "Can you seriously imagine me in a play?" How much time did we have left? The clock was ticking and ticking, but time didn't seem to pass. I stared blankly at the table, but Heather refused to answer. She might have been grinning, picturing me in a prince costume. Wow, just imagine how great of an example I would make – from rebel to prince, a fabulous Hollywood story of how one boy changed the course of his life...forever.
Also, I was getting sick from my empty stomach.
"Fine, I'll do it for you," I shrugged and pushed myself up. "Anything else?"
"No, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, fixing the papers on her desk. It was a nasty habit of hers – organizing everything in front of me, and just as I was about to leave – I get it, Heather, you want me to go, no need to be so pushy. I can take a hint.
I opened the door and glanced over my shoulder. "Are we a thing now? You're making me blush." Heather didn't think it was funny, but I bet her heart skipped a beat. "No worries, I know our love's forbidden." I winked and let the door fall shut with a thump.
Sam stood up and handed me my jacket. "What was that all about?" She asked, her red lipstick faded on her chipped lips.
I slung my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Distract me so I won't go back," I joked and she nudged me in the ribs.
"For the record, I think the douche bag deserved it," Sam said and looked up. I smiled crookedly.
"All the good ones do."