Chapter Nine

What Lies Beneath

“So, I was thinking you could spend detention today making yourself useful.”

I plunk a large stack of photocopied handouts in front of Smith, then set the three-hole punch on the desk next to him. He raises a tawny brow at me, but says nothing. I almost expected a little more pushback, but he’s quiet this afternoon. Frankly, I don’t know what to say to him anyway.

As he works, I settle back down at my desk and start grading. The silence is punctuated with the random creak of my desk chair when I move and Smith’s methodical press and release of the hole punch. I can almost lose myself in the mundaneness of this moment. I can almost forget about what happened this morning.

You should thank him. He might have saved you from something awful.

From under my lashes, I watch Smith shuffle the papers into neat stacks, then set them aside. I consider my words carefully before I actually say them.

“I wanted to tell you that I appreciate what you did this morning. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

I shudder at the thought of J. D.’s hands on my face again.

Smith looks up at me, then shrugs.

“Right place, right time, I guess.”

I narrow my eyes. “How did you know I was there anyway?”

He shrugs again.

“I didn’t—I heard J. D. through the wall when I walked by, then saw those other two asshats bolt out the door. Like I said, right place, right time.”

“Right. Well, I just want you to know that I’m grateful.”

I push off my desk and walk toward the board, trying to focus on erasing my notes from third period. I feel like if I look back at him now, he’ll be able to see right through my gratitude, right through my shirt to my wildly beating heart, which lately seems to only have one speed around Smith—fast and hard.

That pounding pulse must be the reason I don’t hear him stand up or walk toward me. I don’t hear him at all, in fact, until he whispers, “I can take care of that” into my ear.

And then his hand slides up my bare arm, from my elbow to my wrist. Gently, he removes the eraser from my grip, holding my hand in his a beat too long before moving to take over. I let my eyes flutter shut for a second, then I force myself to step away from him.

He’s facing the chalkboard, so I can’t see his expression when he says, “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t been there this morning.”

I feel a little part of me slow down long enough to melt. I’m just hoping that part isn’t my heart.

I shuffle back over to my desk chair, then dive back into grading, but the words are blurring into meaningless gibberish. Instead, my peripheral vision focuses on Smith’s strong, tan arms as they arc and sweep the eraser over the rest of the board. When he moves closer, I can see the tendons beneath his skin. I squint a little at the tattoo peeking out from under his rolled-up shirtsleeve.

“Is that a Kerouac quote?”

Smith glances at his arm, then back at me.

“Yeah. It’s from On the Road.”

“‘There was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars,’” I say, half reading his tattoo and half reciting it from memory. Smith studies me then, and it’s my turn to shrug.

“It’s a personal favorite,” I say.

“Me, too. But my dad’s actually the one who picked it out for me.”

I glance back at the tattoo, then up into Smith’s eyes. They look far away, and a small smile plays at his lips.

“Are you close?”

“With my dad?”

I nod and he shrugs. “Not particularly. Not since he got locked up again.”

I blink at him. “Oh. Yeah. I guess that would change things.”

Smith scrubs a hand over his face, then shrugs. “It’s the same old story, you know? My mom has shitty taste in men and chose to have a son with someone who already had a record for assault and grand larceny.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow. So, he’s been in and out of jail my whole life. He’s doing a nickel now for breaking and entering. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

I chew on the interior of my bottom lip. “That sucks, Smith. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs.

“It’s all right. You learn to be scrappy when you’ve got one parent locked up and the other one at the bar every night. I made do.”

“So, was it just you in the house? I mean, did you have siblings or anything?”

He nods. “A brother. He’s older. Got outta the house as soon as he could and I didn’t blame him one bit. I did the same thing the second I could.”

“Do you still live with your mom?”

Smith picks up a piece of chalk and turns it over in his hands. “Not really. I don’t see a whole lot of her anymore. She’s got her own life, I guess. I’ve got mine.”

I narrow my eyes a bit. “And your life includes being buddies with J. D. Fenton.”

He grins, then shrugs. “I mean, I just clocked him, so I dunno how great of friends we’ll be now. But, yeah. I met J. D. a while back when we were both stuck in a juvie program.”

His expression sobers then and he looks at me intently.

“Look, regardless of anything else, what he pulled today was bullshit and totally outta line. I know that you already know this but, to be clear, I’d never let anything like that happen to you. As long as I’ve got my finger on the pulse of this place, I can try to keep track of shit to make sure you don’t involved.”

For a long moment, I blink at him. Then I shake my head.

“It’s just an act, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “What’s an act?”

I sort of gesture at him, as though attempting to encompass all he is in one simple sweep of my hand.

“This—this person you’re pretending to be. I thought it was the sweet side of you that was all for show. That guy at the bar—the one who talked to me and teased me, the one who made me laugh and made sure I got home safe—I thought maybe that guy was a façade you’d managed to create to get women. But now I think it’s the opposite—I think that might actually be who you really are.”

Smith sort of shrugs, then gives me a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not perfect. I’ve had my own brushes with the law. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Brushes involving what?”

He shrugs. “Theft. Some B and E. Nothing violent.”

“Hmm.” I tilt my head to one side as I regard him. “I don’t know. I mean, sure, you made some mistakes. But you’re clearly learning from them. You’re clearly growing.”

Smith grins at that. “Maybe. Just don’t tell anyone—or you’ll ruin my rep.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but grin up at him. These moments with him, the ones when we’re looking into each other’s eyes, just seem frozen. Or, more accurately, I want to freeze them. To stop them in their tracks and keep them from disappearing.

And that’s when Jeremy Christopher comes charging into my room.

“Hiya—” He stops in the doorway and looks from me to Smith. “Oh—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were holding detention.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Come on in.”

His face is full of concern as he approaches my desk.

“I just heard about what happened this morning. Are you all right?”

My eyes flick up at Smith, who’s focused on erasing the board again. I give Jeremy what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Never a dull moment around here, I guess.”

He’s wearing an incredulous expression. “I can’t believe it—I mean, we deal with rough stuff around here all the time, but that’s over the top.”

He leans a little closer to me and lowers his voice.

“Between you and me, I think that J. D. kid is a total thug. I’m glad he’s outta here for a while.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

Jeremy straightens then, letting his eyes land on Smith. “Well,” he says slowly, “if you need anything—anything at all, you know where to find me.”