Again

Chapter 5: Cecilia

then

He leaned against the wall outside of the English classroom with the bathroom pass from his chemistry teacher hanging from his wrist and the essay with the glaring red 'F' clutched in his hand. Even with his eyes closed it loomed before him, floating in the darkness, shifting colors, taunting him. His father's voice echoed in his mind.

'I've given you my name, and with that comes a certain expectation; if you can't live up to it, give it back.'

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing and Harry knew he'd be in for it at his next chemistry class and probably never allowed to leave to use the bathroom again, but he also knew that if he didn't catch Mr. Rhodes now he'd be gone for the day before Harry could speak to him.

And Harry also knew this 'F' situation had to be cleared up before his parents confronted him about it.

The classroom door opened and he let the other students file past him, only halfheartedly responding to the blushing, giggling girls who said 'hello' and the guys who slapped his hand on the way out. His attention was focused on the teacher who stood near the blackboard in the back of the classroom

She turned around and the beauty of her face hit him like a ton of bricks. There was a light purple bruise on her cheek and an embarrassed look on her features, she quickly turned back to the teacher and spoke quietly. Harry strained to hear.

"It's really nothing, Mr. Rhodes, I'm just clumsy that's all. I could have avoided it if I just would have used the ladder."

"Cecilia," the teacher stated with a sigh of defeat. "I'm here if you need me."

The teacher reached across his desk to touch her hand, Harry noticed her flinch. He stepped forward and spoke up.

"Mr. Rhodes; I need to talk to you."

She took the momentary distraction to pull her hand away, grabbed her things and hurried out of the room as she thanked the man for his concern. Harry turned to watch her go; the navy blue jumper dress she wore matched the cardigan she wore over it perfectly, and the knee high socks she wore were sexy. She looked like she had on a uniform, even though the school didn't have a uniform. He stared after her for a moment.

"Mr. Styles!" Called the teacher from his desk. Harry jumped, turned around and shook his head, remembering himself. "Don't you have a class to get to?"

"Yeah, but I need to speak with you about this F....I can't take this F home, Mr. Rhodes, at least not without a chance to make it right."

"You had a chance, Harry."

"Well, I guess I need one more..." He puffed out his chest and tried to look commanding, the way his father did when talking business. "I'm asking for one more, a make up or something?"

"That grade is final, that assignment is done. It's still early in the semester. Apply yourself to this, instead of that," he pointed to the elaborate doodle drawn in pen on Harry's hand, "and you can still get an A in this class."

He closed the door to Mr. Rhodes' class and kicked it before walking down the hall running his hand through his hair and jamming his now balled up essay into his pocket. There was no use tearing it up or hiding it, his dad would find out.

He always did.

His eyes lifted slowly from the shiny white linoleum floor, and he saw her stand by her locker; fiddling with her combination lock, shaking her head. He stopped in his tracks, unnoticed by her.

He was desperate, but was he that desperate? Everyone knew how smart she was; she was featured in the school newspaper every week, her picture hung up in the main hall for her scholarly accomplishments. She was a genius; he didn't want her to think he was stupid.