Messages on a Coffee Cup

Chapter 30

After a quick break, Ethan and I exited the bathroom and started up the stairs to the third floor, another rush of adrenaline making me skip steps and pass limping Ethan. I felt like I was invincible, like nothing could stop me or slow me down. With the help of the drugs I had inhaled earlier, my lungs functioned with ease and I barely fatigued. Fortunately, that feeling of invincibility quickly intensified when I heard him scream. My head turned sharply to reveal Ethan; legs stretched on a step, his back propped up against the wall, clutching his ankle. Logic told me to leave him behind but, then again, when do I ever listen to logic. I trickled down the stairs, my heart beating faster with each descent and took his arm, hoisting him up despite his refusal.

"Hol, just leave me. I'll only slow you down," he explained through clenched teeth and groans of pain.

"I'm not going to leave you here. You have to come with me."

"I can't," he gasps, "Not with my ankle like this. I don't want to get you caught and I will definitely slow you down. I ca-"

Once again, I silenced him. I quickly pulled his face closer to mine and passionately smashed my lips against his, instantly relaxing both of our tensed up bodies.

"Yes you can, now hurry up before I do more than just kiss you," I retorted, smiling, remembering when our roles were switched on the Night of the Bloody Knuckles; the first time we kissed.

His eyes locked with mine and he grinned that signature Ethan Abrams grin, making my insides tingle and my cheeks blush profusely. "Touché," he stated.

Then, without warning, he pushed my curly red hair out of my damp face and kissed me back. This time, his hands travelled to my waist, pulling me closer and resulting in me unintentionally straddling him and his hands moving higher and higher up my back. At this point, I wanted to forget revenge on Bullard and just let Ethan kiss me until my lips went numb, until every other feeling other than love was foreign to me, until I forgot why we were even at Westfield High in the first place. But the rush of adrenaline filled me again and brought me back to the reality that we didn't break into school at midnight only to make out on the stairs; we were already so close to pulling the best prank ever and getting revenge on the worst teacher in the country, and I didn't want to throw away the opportunity.

Just as his hands had gone all the way up my back to my bra, I stopped him, grabbing his hand and lowering it. I pulled away but remained latched onto him as I noticed the stupid blue puppy dog eyes piercing right through to my soul. Trust me when I admit that I wanted to stay in cradled in his hold forever but I ignored the temptation inside of me and focused on the task at hand. 

"Bullard first," I reminded him, "boobs later."

I carefully got up as he stayed sitting, an exhausted look on his face. 

"Holland, listen," he started sincerely, "I'm saying this because I love you and as you may know, I am not a senseless douche like the rest of the sixteen-year-old guys here. You don't have to do it if you don't want to, you know that right?"

"Yeah, I know. You don't know how much I wanted to keep going though," I blushed, helping him up from his sitting position and served as his crutch on our journey up the remaining five steps to the third floor.

"Oh, trust me, I know the feeling."

We finally made it up the stairs, literally 30 feet away from room 327, duffle bags at the ready. I went first and Ethan limped behind me, looking out for more security as we approached our English room. I put my hand on the door handle of hell, took my student ID out of my pocket and slid it in the slit where the door handle sort of connected with the door frame, effortlessly unlocking the door without a trace.

Relief flooded my entire body as i swung the door open, confident that we were safe, concealed by the walls of room 327, not to be found by any potential threat. That feeling quickly turned into one of fear and shock when I actually looked inside the room. 

A tall man in a blue uniform stood anxiously in front of the teacher's desk. He wore a strong look of disapproval barely noticeable due to lack of light, tisking at us through clenched teeth. He turned around to reveal his face and my heart sank even further into my stomach when I realized who he was. Gobs of Vaseline coated the back of the man's trousers and the badge located on his chest gave both of us the clear impression that we would not be getting out of that classroom scot-free.