Lessons Learned (26 page)

“She would’ve loved you.”

Curled up in his arms, my back was pressed against his chest as he brushed kisses along my bare shoulder. We’d spent the entire afternoon in bed, which was becoming our favorite weekend activity.

“Who?”

“My grandma.”

Lucas’s arms tightened around me.

“And my
mother . . .
she and my dad had this fairytale marriage. He just adored her, and she’d always told me to never settle for anything less. You would have been my parents’ dream come true.”

Overcome with emotion and needing to see his handsome face, I twisted around in his arms. His expression was soft and sweet as he toyed with a strand of my hair.

“I really love you, Lucas.”

Smiling, he pushed the tendril behind my ear. “I really love you, too.”

I rested my head against his chest.

“I wish I could’ve met your family, Sarah.”

“Me too.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Are you nervous about meeting mine?”

“Nervous is a mild understatement.”

“You shouldn’t be.” His fingers drifted through my hair, soothing my anxiety. “My mother already thinks you walk on water.”

I looked up, surprised. “Why would she think that?”

“Because you make me happier than I’ve ever been,” he said, brushing his knuckles along my cheek. “Don’t stress, please. I want us to enjoy our first Thanksgiving together. And, maybe if it goes well, you won’t mind inviting them back for Christmas.”

“Or we could go to New York,” I suggested, and I was surprised how excited I was by the idea. “I bet the city is really beautiful at Christmastime.”

“Or New Year’s Eve. We could brave Times Square.”

It seemed so natural, the two of us making plans for the holidays. Plans for the future. I hadn’t had the courage to make plans in so long, but somehow, it didn’t feel strange.

It felt hopeful.

Was it okay to feel hopeful?

“Hey,” Lucas whispered gently. “Come back to me.”

He knew me so well. He could tell when I was overanalyzing and looking for trouble where there was none. It was a habit of a lifetime, and one I desperately wanted to break.

I wanted to enjoy these moments.

I wanted to trust these moments.

“I’m here,” I promised him.

To prove it, I crawled into his lap, pressing my chest to his as my arms encircled his neck. I whimpered softly when his hands settled along my hips, tugging me closer. Nose to nose, his warm breath washed over my face.

“I love making plans with you.”

His eyes brightened. “That’s very good to hear, because I have so many plans for us.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

I was just about to ask him to enlighten me, but his lips were suddenly on mine, effectively ending any need for conversation.

At school, the days leading up to Thanksgiving break were a living nightmare. First semester final exams were coming up after the holiday and the basketball season was just getting underway. With our football season ending on a dismal note, everyone was eager to focus on another sport, and Aubrey was glad to have her husband home at night.

Thanks to the comments on the newspaper’s website, Matt’s private life was now a constant topic of conversation among the students, and to my great disappointment, the members of the faculty. There had been multiple reports of harassment several times each day, but the administration seemed unable, and simply unwilling, to get involved.

No one was surprised when Patrick denied posting the derogatory comment to the
Tribune’s
website, but plenty of underclassmen were happy to take the credit. Patrick was considered a hero among many of the students, and his supporters were more than willing to take credit to keep him from having to defend himself. Of course,
so
many kids took the blame it was impossible for the real culprit to be punished.

Regardless, Matt came to school every day, and it was only in his creative writing assignments that I was able to get a true glimpse of the treatment he was receiving by his classmates. Writing was his way of keeping me informed—just as he’d promised—without having to snitch on anyone. Tattling would only make things harder on him, and he knew it.

I read his stories at night—when I was safe in Lucas’s arms—so that I could cry in the privacy of my home. The instances of verbal and emotional abuse he described were worse than any of the physical.

So far.

By the time Wednesday arrived, my nerves were completely shot, which wasn’t good at all considering I was meeting Lucas’s parents the next day. I had to get it together, at least for the long weekend. Their approval was far too important to me, and I refused to embarrass Lucas by being my usual emotional mess.

With only one class left for the day, I thought I was holding myself together pretty well. Then, during my planning period, I overheard Shellie gossiping at the copy machine, and my head nearly exploded.

“They say he has a boyfriend over in Bradley County,” Shellie whispered loudly to a couple of science teachers.

“His poor parents must be horrified,” Mr. Jennings said with a shake of his head.

“I hear they’re going to ask him to leave the church,” Mrs. Crosby muttered softly. “Can they do that?”

I’d heard enough.

“If the three of you are finished gossiping, please move aside so I can make copies for my next class.”

Three heads pivoted in my direction—all of them looking a little too smug for my liking. Only Mrs. Crosby’s eyes softened when she realized it was me.

“Oh, Sarah, this must be upsetting . . . what with everything that happened to you in Memphis.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want a repeat of
that
,” Mr. Jennings grunted. “Our little town is supposed to be immune from . . .”

Rage flooded me. “Hatred? No, Mr. Jennings, I’m sorry to say you can find it just about anywhere. Even at the copy machine!”

“Is there a problem?”

Tommy and Principal Mullins were both standing at the door, looking between the three of us with shocked expressions. I’m sure they were surprised. I wasn’t normally a screamer.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath to control my voice.

“Yes, there is a problem,” I replied stiffly, looking him straight in the eye. “Our faculty and staff are quite capable of standing around the copier and gossiping about Matt Stuart, but no one seems to want to do anything to protect him.”

Principal Mullins glanced at Shellie and the other teachers who were standing there with their mouths agape.

“Miss Bray, why don’t we discuss this in my office?”

I was fuming.

“Gladly.”

The secretary watched us with wide eyes as we followed each other into the office. Tommy closed the door and the principal offered me a chair.

“Sarah, we’re doing everything we can,” Tommy said quietly.

I eyed him curiously. “Really? What are
we
doing?”

“Well, I’ve asked Howie to keep an eye on him while they’re at school.”

“It’s not Howie’s job to protect a student!”

“Miss Bray.” Principal Mullins looked bored and fiddled with the pen in his hand. “We are truly doing everything possible, but I’m afraid our hands are tied.”

That was such bullshit.

“Matt Stuart is being bullied every day in this school. Every single day! Either verbally or physically . . .”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because he tells me.”

His smile was indulgent as he leaned back in his chair. “And you believe him?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Why would he lie?”

He shrugged. “Attention?”

“Do you think he
asked
someone to slash his tires?” My voice harsher than it should be when talking to the boss. “Did he beg the defensive line to knock his books out of his hands on the way to class every single day this week?” My eyes shot to Tommy. “
Your
players, by the way.”

“Sarah, we can’t prove any of those things have happened,” Tommy said resignedly. “Until we have evidence . . .”

My blood ran cold.

“What kind of evidence do you want? Does someone have to get killed before anything gets done? Tommy Bryant, do you even
know
who you’re talking to?”

“I know about Memphis . . .” he whispered.

“I know you do. Is that what you want to happen here?”

“You know I don’t.”

His voice was tired and hopeless, and it made my skin crawl.

“How many touchdowns has Matt Stuart scored for you?”

“Over the course of his career? One hundred twenty-five,” he answered automatically.

“Did he attend every practice?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love that kid?”

“You know I do, Sarah.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you doing more to protect him?”

Tommy bowed his head, and I knew he was ashamed.

Good.

“Miss Bray,” the principal said quietly, “Matthew Stuart is a gay, eighteen-year-old boy living in Sycamore Falls. If you expect this administration to protect him just because he wants to bring his boyfriend to the prom, then I’m afraid you and he are both going to be very disappointed.”

And that’s when I realized why the principal was doing nothing to protect this boy.

He simply didn’t care.

Tommy raised his head, and his eyes were tortured.

“How he’s living is wrong, Sarah,” he whispered.

“So this is what he deserves?”

“I didn’t say that!”

I closed my eyes and took a long, steadying breath.

“I am not debating whether being gay is right or wrong. That is not the issue here.”

“Then what is the issue, Miss Bray?” The principal’s voice was vaguely amused, as if there was anything about this situation even remotely funny. The fact I was a rookie teacher flashed through my mind, but I didn’t care. I’d deal with the consequences.

“The issue is an eighteen-year-old boy—a young man who was this school’s pride and joy—when he was scoring touchdowns. This is a
student
. It is this school’s responsibility to protect the students within its walls.”

The bell rang, signaling an end to my planning period. Both men watched with stunned expressions as I rose to my feet.

“With all due respect, Mr. Mullins, I believe how Matt is being treated by his classmates, faculty, and the administration is a far more urgent issue than who he may or may not bring to the prom.”

I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

Without bothering to make my copies, I raced down the hallway, wiping away my tears. I was so pissed, and words couldn’t describe how disappointed I was in Tommy, but I had to get a grip because I had a class waiting for me.

When I reached my door, Lucas was standing there. His eyes were half-crazed.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?”

He reached for me, but I shook my head. We were at school, and I knew if he touched me, I’d completely fall apart. Not trusting myself to speak, I walked past him and headed straight to my desk. Grabbing a blue dry-erase marker, I shakily wrote FREE PERIOD across my whiteboard.

The cheers were immediate and loud.

I slumped in my chair and ignored the delighted faces of my seniors as they pulled their cell phones out of their pockets.

What did I care? I was getting fired anyway.

I was intently watching the clock and praying for the hands to move faster when a shrieking alarm sounded from the hallway.

“Fire drill!” Howie shouted.

I groaned.

Why couldn’t this day just end already?

Somehow, I managed to get the kids organized into a single-file line and led them out onto the lawn. Electronic devices were sometimes wonderful things, and it didn’t take long for word to spread that a freshman had pulled the alarm. I had just started to take roll when I realized two of my most notorious students were nowhere to be found.

“Where are Matt and Patrick?” I asked the class.

A few of the football players bowed their heads and shuffled their feet in the grass.

“WHERE ARE THEY?”

My class jumped, and Howie flew to my side.

“Matt went to the bathroom between classes,” he said, his eyes full of fear. “I tried to go with him, like Coach asked, but Matt got all pissed . . . saying he didn’t need a babysitter . . .”