Coldhearted (9781311888433) Page 3

  Suddenly, a burst of laughter snapped her head up.

  “Oh, no,” Mason said, sounding worried from behind her.

  Mrs. Featherstone was wearing a shocked look on her face, as she held a piece of chalk in midair. “I…I…I…” She trailed off, not knowing how to explain what she’d written over and over on the blackboard:

  Fat Girl.

  The bell rang and everyone escaped, laughing as they went. Edie and Mason stayed behind—and for some reason, Quinn, the football player. He hesitated, staring among the three of them, and then he finally left. Edie was confused by his behavior, but glad that he hadn’t laughed at Mrs. Featherstone’s trauma.

  Mason approached her. She was crying and trembling.

  “Mrs. Featherstone?” His voice was soft and gentle.

  Encouraged, she took a step forward, and then wobbled, as if she were going to fall, but Mason quickly came to her rescue. Edie joined in and helped Mason gently guide Mrs. Featherstone toward her desk chair, where she sat comfortably against the leather.

  Edie noticed for the first time that Mrs. Featherstone was thin, frail-looking, even.

  Mrs. Featherstone grabbed a tissue and dabbed her tears away. “I’m all right,” she said, forcing a smile, and then patted Mason’s strong, but gentle hand on her skinny arm.

  Edie crouched in front of her. “Mrs. Featherstone? What happened?”

  She hesitated, and then said, “That’s what they used to call me, in school. I was…overweight. I just kept eating and eating, depressed, and they kept making fun of me.” She dabbed at her tear-filled eyes again. “After graduation, I went on a diet, and it took me awhile, but I lost a lot of weight. I’ve been keeping it off. I’m very strict with what I eat. I…don’t want to be that girl again—that girl who was teased so much.”

  Edie could see that Mrs. Featherstone was taking her diet too far. She was unhealthily thin, but now was not the time for a lecture. Instead Edie stood up and went to the blackboard. Holding the eraser firmly and with quick strikes, Edie made all those hurtful words disappear.

  “What’s going on?” a familiar voice inquired.

  Edie turned to see Principal Jennings, standing at the threshold of the classroom.

  “Nothing,” Edie said, trying to defend Mrs. Featherstone from any sort of punishment.

  Edie had erased the evidence from the blackboard. The only other evidence was the eyewitnesses’ accounts of the students. That couldn’t be so easily erased. No doubt, the entire school knew by now what’d happened, and probably, the next county over.

  Sometimes, technology was a bad thing. And a cell phone in the hands of an attention-seeking, unconscionable teenager was a very bad thing.

  “I’ve been told something very disturbing,” Principal Jennings said, staring at Mrs. Featherstone, still trembling, being held by Mason.

  Ah, the information superhighway was assuredly built in emotionless 0s and 1s.

  “It’s nothing,” Mason said, echoing Edie from earlier.

  Principal Jennings advanced with a soft look on her face, and then she went to Mrs. Featherstone, who was slouching in her chair, and placed a gentle hand on the trembling teacher’s shoulder. Mason retreated and stood next to Edie.

  “Mary?” Principal Jennings said softly. “What’s wrong?”

  Mrs. Featherstone dabbed at her eyes again. “I don’t know what happened, Jackie. I was about to discuss Hamlet, and…” She trailed off, gesturing with her tissue at the blackboard.

  Principal Jennings scrutinized the clean, black surface. Then her eyes shifted toward Edie. “Why’d you erase it?” She didn’t sound accusatorial, just curious.

  “I-I didn’t want Mrs. Featherstone to get into trouble,” Edie said. “She…she didn’t mean to write those words.”

  Principal Jennings looked just as confused as Edie, Mason, and Mrs. Featherstone.

  Mrs. Featherstone spoke up. “But…if I didn’t mean to write those words, then…why did I?”

  “Come on, Mary.” Principal Jennings helped Mrs. Featherstone to stand and kept a guiding hand on her back. “I’ll get Russell to watch over your next class.”

  “Wh-where are we go-going?” Mrs. Featherstone stuttered, worried. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if she were sick. And she was shivering, cold.

  “My office, Mary,” the principal said in a soft voice. “It’s just to talk. Come on now, it’s all right.”

  As they were leaving, Mrs. Featherstone looked back over her shoulder at Edie and Mason. “Thanks for...” She trailed off, not knowing what to thank them for.

  Principal Jennings now turned toward them, and said, “Thanks for staying with her until I could arrive, but go on to class now, okay?” It was more of a polite request than an administrative order.

  But Edie nodded, along with Mason. Edie watched Principal Jennings and Mrs. Featherstone exit into the hallway, and then they disappeared. By now, Mrs. Featherstone’s third period students were arriving, their mouths frowning with disappointment at the blackboard they’d heard so much about, now clean of insults.

  That was Edie’s cue to exit. Mason followed her out. Gently, he clasped her hand and took her aside, near the lockers. All the girls were staring at her and Mason. Edie ignored them. She had more important things to worry about than silly jealousy.

  “What in the hell happened back there?” he asked, as if she had all the answers.

  Edie shook her head, clueless. “I don’t know. She’s never acted weird before, right?”

  “Never,” he said. “It’s like…it’s like she had no control over herself.”

  “Do you…do you think she’ll be fired?”

  Mason sighed. “I doubt it. I mean, she didn’t write anything really offensive.” He stared into Edie’s eyes. “Earlier, when we talked on our way to school, I just said what I said because I didn’t want to argue. But I was wrong, Edie, and you were right. Weird things do happen in Grimsby.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Nothing weird had ever happened until you arrived.” He said it so softly, but it still stung.

  Edie was fighting back tears. She jerked her hand out of his grasp and ran away. She heard him calling her name, but she ignored him, and dashed into the library. No one was there. She hid in a corner, where two bookshelves met, and sat on the dirty, carpeted floor, finally letting her tears fall.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She looked up through two watery pools and saw Mason standing in front of her. Then she lowered her head and using the heels of her hands, dabbed at her wet eyes, trying to clear her vision.

  “Edie?” a soft voice called out.

  She looked up again to see Mason sitting beside her. “It’s not my fault,” she told him.

  “I know and I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I’m glad you’re here.” He gave her a warmhearted smile. “I really am.”

  He clasped her hand and she squeezed back, welcoming his hot touch. She was starting to feel better when something hard hit her head from above. She thought it must have been an anvil from the skull-splitting impact, but in fact, it was a book. Mason let go of her and she was instantly cold again.

  “What the...?” Mason shot up and looked around. “Punks,” he muttered, and then resumed his seat next to her.

  Edie was gently massaging the sore spot on her head, amazed she wasn’t gushing blood. “Who was it?” she asked, sounding coherent.

  “No one,” Mason said.

  She stopped massaging and lowered her hand. “Then why’d you say ‘punks?’”

  Mason shrugged. “I’d just assumed. Who else could it be?” He reached over and laid a gentle, warm hand atop her head. “You okay?” He started massaging her scalp, making her feel drowsy and excited at the same time.

  “Mmmkay,” she moaned, sounding like a grunting cavewoman.

  If Mason noticed, he didn’t say anything.

  After he’d thoroughly massaged her wound, h
e stopped and picked up the book that’d fallen—The Ghosts of Grimsby: Thirteen Tales to Scare the Sh!t Out of You.

  He gave her a playfully wicked smile. “Wanna check it out?”

  Feeling better, she playfully shoved his hand away. “No thanks. Real life is scary enough.”

  Curious, Mason started flipping the pages, got halfway through, and then jerked his hand back, gasping in pain at the same time. The book fell open on the floor at an illustrated page that showed the figure of Death represented as the Grim Reaper.

  “What happened?” Edie asked Mason, worried.

  Mason held out his hand. The tip of his forefinger was bleeding—a lot. The page that he’d sliced it on, along the edge, was stained with his blood. The Grim Reaper seemed to be smiling in demonic delight.

  “Clumsy,” Mason scolded himself. Then he cursed. “It’s really gushing,” he observed, sounding panicked, as he put pressure on the wound with his other hand.

  “What’s going on?” snapped an urgent, but hushed voice.

  They turned to see the librarian with her beaky nose, staring down at them. Before she could insinuate that Mason and Edie had been doing anything other than touching books, Edie showed her Mason’s bloody finger.

  “Go to the nurse,” she implored, grimacing, as she waved them off. “Shoo, shoo.”

  Edie wrapped her scarf around Mason’s finger, trying to stem the bleeding. “Mason, you should stay away from me,” she warned.

  They’d left the library. Now they were making their way to the main office, but he stopped, wide-eyed at her warning. She encouraged him to keep going. He did as the blood threatened to drop on the waxed floor. She stole a glance at his face as they continued their journey. He was wearing a pained expression. She didn’t know if it was from his wounded finger or his wounded heart.

  “Why?” he finally asked, but stared ahead, as he quickly moved.

  “I’m bad luck,” she replied, as they made their way across the lobby.

  Mason stopped again and shook his head. “No, you’re not, Edie.” He was staring into her eyes. “If you hadn’t been there, well, I might have bled to death.” He smiled, joking.

  Edie smiled back even though she was seriously worried. What had made that book fall? Why had Mason received such a terrible cut from that page?

  She kept her hand over his, the scarf in between, applying pressure. She could see the dark of his blood staining her already red scarf.

  “Sorry,” he said, nodding to her ruined scarf.

  “Don’t worry about it. I have plenty. I bought like a hundred of them, knowing I’d be moving up north. I wanted to be extra prepared.”

  “All red?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Edie shook her head. “No, different colors.”

  She encouraged him to keep walking, fearful of him losing his finger to infection. The worry may have been farfetched, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Finally, they arrived at the main office.

  Mason halted and turned toward her. “I think you look good in red. It matches your blonde hair.” He reached out with his uninjured hand and ran his fingers through her loose, natural curls. He smiled. “You look like Barbie.”

  Her cheeks flushed, but she half-joked, “I think you’ve lost a lot of blood.” It had to be the only explanation. I’m not that pretty, she thought self-deprecatingly. “C’mon. Let’s get you patched up,” she encouraged, again.

  ****

  They’d seen the nurse. She’d cleaned Mason’s wound, determined (to Edie’s relief) that it hadn’t needed stitches, wrapped his finger in white gauze, and then told them to sit and wait, before departing.

  So, now they were sitting and waiting inside the nurse’s station while paperwork was being filled out. Apparently, everything had to be recorded around here. Edie assumed it had to do with avoiding a lawsuit.

  Mason and Edie were side by side on an old, leather sofa. She’d already thrown her scarf away into the medical wastebasket. Her neck didn’t feel that cold anymore to need it. Neither did her hands and head. Mason had been right. Edie was getting used to Grimsby. Or maybe it was the fact that she was sitting next to someone with the temperature of the sun.

  “Are you always this hot?” she asked innocently.

  He smirked, showing his dimples. “Yes, Edie, yes, I am,” he said in an overly-confident voice, humoring her.

  She giggled, despite her embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…I was just wondering why were so hot…to the touch?”

  “Oh.” Mason shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “So…you don’t think I’m hot-hot?”

  She panicked, not knowing what to say. She was saved when Mason’s cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” he answered. “Okay. Really? Huh. That’s weird. Well, if nothing’s wrong with it…yeah…yeah…okay…great…thanks. Bye.”

  “What was that about?” she asked, after he’d ended the call.

  Mason pocketed his phone. “That was my dad. I called him earlier, asked if he could go and get my truck, to see if he could get it to start, and well, he said there was no problem with it, cranked right up. He’s bringing it by the school.”

  “I’m glad your truck’s all right.”

  “Me too. Don’t know why it conked out like that, but…ah, well, it’s running smooth now.” Mason turned toward Edie and smiled. “Now…getting back to my hotness—”

  “She’s off her meds,” said a feminine voice from the next room.

  It effectively cut Mason off, and Edie was relieved, feeling nervous about where their conversation was heading, afraid of what she’d say, which would undoubtedly be embarrassing.

  “Meds?” That was Principal Jennings’s voice. She sounded concerned.

  “Mary has been on antidepressants for the past year now,” said the first female voice. There was a slight pause, and then she continued, “Apparently, she hasn’t been taking them for the past couple of weeks.”

  “And that’s why she wrote ‘fat girl’ all over the blackboard for her class to see?” Principal Jennings asked, sounding skeptical.

  “What other explanation can there be?” It was a statement, not a question.

  The unknown woman had a superior tone in her voice, unused to being challenged, but not haughty or rigid.

  “Mary’s a great teacher,” Principal Jennings praised. “I don’t want to get rid of her over…something minor as this. It’s not like she’s hurt anyone, threatened anyone. Aside from this, she has a spotless record at Grimsby High.”

  “I agree, Jackie. I’ve talked to Mary. She realizes now how important it is to take her medication and what happens when you don’t take it. She fully understands and assures me it won’t happen again. I see no reason for her to be dismissed or even be put on leave. But you know, Mary, this has to go in her file. It’s the rules.”

  There was a long pause, and then Principal Jennings said, “I understand. Thank you, Abbie.”

  Edie could hear their sharp heels click-clacking against the floor, walking away. Yet she wasn’t taking any chances of being overheard.

  So she leaned over to Mason, and whispered, “Who’s this Abbie? She sounds important.”

  “She is,” Mason whispered back. “Abigail Winters, the superintendent.”

  “Does the superintendent usually stay at Grimsby High?”

  Mason shook his head. “I guess she was already here for some other reason.”

  Edie thought back over what the two women had discussed. To Mason, still keeping her voice low, she said, “So…Mrs. Featherstone hasn’t been taking her medication. But…would that be the reason for what she’d written, over and over? She seemed really shocked by it all.”

  Mason shrugged. “I guess it’s a logical explanation.” He kept his voice low too. “I don’t know much about people who are depressed. Well, people who are so depressed, they need to be on medication,” he amended. “Do you think…do you think she still has self-image issues? I mean, sh
e told us that she was made fun of in high school for being overweight. Now she’s so thin, it’s unhealthy. Maybe she’s anorexic. She looks in the mirror, and even though she’s starving herself, she still sees that big girl from a long time ago.”

  Edie agreed. “If that’s the case, then she doesn’t need to be on depression medication. She needs to be in some sort of support group with others like her, who can encourage her to maintain a healthy lifestyle, an ideal weight, and not starve herself.”

  “There’s no support group around here,” Mason informed, sounding displeased. “Everyone just deals with their problems on their own.”

  “That’s sad. Do…do you do that?” Edie gave him a small smile. “Or are you one of those lucky people who don’t have any problems?”

  He returned Edie’s smile. “No one’s that lucky to not have problems. But as far as major ones, no, I don’t. Well...” He held up his hand with the gauzed finger and bent it at the knuckle, twice. “It was a shock, but my finger still works, so that’s something.” He placed his hand by his side, near Edie. “Did you happen to grab the book?”

  “That ghost book?”

  Mason nodded.

  Edie shook her head and shivered. “No way. That’s like a book from a horror movie, and if you read from the pages, you’ll release some curse or something.”

  Mason chuckled. “That sounds like a story your uncle would write. Maybe you have a bit of horror in you too. And I mean that in the nicest way possible because there’s nothing horrific about you,” he added with a smile.

  Edie blushed. “Do I really look like Barbie?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Did I say that?”

  “Yeah, before we saw the nurse.” Edie gave him a crooked smile. “You’d lost too much blood. You were obviously hallucinating.”

  “Well, I don’t remember saying that, but it’s true.” The smile on his face was genuine. “In fact, you’re prettier than Barbie.”

  Edie lowered her head, embarrassed.

  “So,” Mason said, “a guy has never given you his number, nor has a guy given you a complement? Is that about right?”

  Edie nodded, keeping her head down, but then she felt warm fingers under her chin, lifting her head up. Her eyes met his.