Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) Read online

  “I can look, can’t I?” she said grumpily.

  Mr. Crawford arrived and got things underway. It was easy to see that Heathland Lindsay was very good, at least on a par with Mike, and possibly a comer for Jeff’s top spot. Heathland was a deadeye; he never missed a shot.

  Clearly, Jeff did not like this one bit. When Mr. Crawford paired Jeff and Heathland off for one-on-one, Jeff clenched his teeth, his jaw tight.

  The two were evenly matched. The tiny tricks Jeff used to outsmart his usual schoolboy opponents had no effect on Heathland. He wasn’t in awe of Jeff the way everyone else was. Barbara had always said that Jeff’s reputation was as much responsible for his success as his skill. But Heathland had just moved here and he didn’t know that Jeff was unbeatable.

  Mr. Crawford blew his whistle and announced that they were to continue playing while he went to his office for his score pad.

  As soon as Mr. Crawford left, Jeff’s tactics changed. He started playing rough, charging, dancing around and waving his arms in Heathland’s face. A referee would have nailed him for a foul in a second. But nobody in authority was watching now, and Jeff knew it.

  Heathland continued to play calmly, showing more tolerance than I would have if someone were doing that to me. Jeff, irritated at Heathland’s lack of reaction to his razzing, finally stuck out his foot and tripped Heathland as he moved in for a jump shot.

  Heathland sprawled headlong on the polished hardwood floor, smacking his face on the corner of a bleacher. Blood spurted from his nose.

  Barbara stood up. “Did you see that?” she cried. “Jeff tripped him!”

  “Sit down,” I said to Barbara. I didn’t want to get in the middle of this. Everyone watching had seen what Jeff had done, Barbara didn’t have to be the star witness. She has her faults, like everyone else, but when she thinks she’s right she’s ready to take on the Congress, the Cabinet, and the President. I knew I was a coward, but I didn’t want to wind up on the wrong side of Jeff Lafferty. His legendary charm vanished when he was crossed. He could be pretty mean.

  Heathland got to his knees, wiping at his nose with his fingers. Jeff stood by with his hands on his hips, smirking. All the other players had stopped, frozen, waiting to see what would happen. The onlookers were silent too.

  Heathland stood up and said, “If you want to fight, I’m ready. Come on.”

  This was all the invitation Jeff needed.

  Heathland stood his ground, ducking and dodging Jeff’s punches expertly. He waited for his opportunity, and the first time Jeff let down his guard he socked Jeff squarely on the jaw. Jeff went down as though felled by an ax.

  “I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Barbara breathed, next to me. “He’s a boxer, too. He handled that like a pro.”

  The gym exploded in an excited babble, and Mr. Crawford chose that moment to return. When he saw Jeff, stunned, on the floor, and Heathland standing over him, dripping blood onto his clothes, Mr. Crawford closed his eyes and sighed.

  “All right, what happened?” he said, doubtless wondering how he was going to explain leaving this group unsupervised during an athletic activity. There was no shortage of volunteers to relate the story. Heathland remained impassive, making no attempt to defend himself, letting the others speak for him.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Barbara. “You can wait for Mike outside the locker room.”

  I practically had to drag her away. She hated to miss a dramatic moment.

  We hung around until Mike came out with Dave Fletcher, and Barbara went over to talk to him. I stayed behind, reading the bulletin board. I didn’t know Mike very well and hadn’t a clue what to say to him.

  I looked up to see Heathland walking out of the locker room, his gym bag in his hand. He paused in the hall, and I saw him tilt his head back, sniffling. His nose had begun to bleed again.

  I felt so sorry for him that I didn’t know what to do. He was at a new school where he didn’t know anyone, and had tried out for a team, maybe thinking it would help him to be accepted, to belong. Instead a bully had jumped on his case and forced him into a scene.

  I fished in my purse for my tissues, and, not stopping to think about it, walked over to him, extending the packet.

  “Here, these might help,” I said.

  He blinked at me in surprise, and then took the package, pulling out a few and holding them to his nose.

  “I’m Gaby Dexter, I’m in your trig class,” I said. “I saw what happened in there. I hope you didn’t get into trouble.”

  He studied me. His eyes were green, or gray green, sort of hazel, I guess, with long sandy lashes. Up close, he had a tiny mole at the corner of one eyebrow, and a faint scar on his chin. Why, he’s cute, I thought. He really is.

  “No,” he said. “The other kids told Crawford what had happened. Lafferty said it was an accident, and Crawford let us both off with a warning.”

  That had been an accident like the bombing of Pearl Harbor had been an accident.

  “Hey, Gaby,” Jeff’s voice rang out behind us. “Who’s your friend? Can’t you do better than that?”

  My gosh. Just what I needed. If I lined up with Heathland me Jeff would never forgive me. I would be the next target of his maliciousness.

  I turned away from Heathland, not looking at him.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said lightly. “I never saw him before in my life.”

  Jeff’s laugh was my reward. I went out the door, calling after me, “Come on, Babs. My mother will be here at four-thirty.”

  She said goodbye to Mike and trailed after me, coming to stand on the steps.

  There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Finally she said, “That was a rotten thing you just did. You should have seen poor Heathland’s face.”

  She didn’t have to tell me that. I knew it. I felt a flush of shame staining my skin. It didn’t make me feel any better to know that Barbara would never have done such a thing. She would have taken Jeff on in a minute. But, I thought, she also has the security of being Mike’s girl. Jeff wouldn’t persecute his buddy’s girlfriend.

  I was nobody’s girl. She couldn’t possibly understand.

  * * *

  All that night, I couldn’t seem to put the incident out of my mind.

  My mother noticed it, of course. She watched me push the food around on my plate at dinner, while Craig chattered and my father stole glances at the newspaper between bites. When I was helping her clear the table, she said, “Gabrielle, what is bothering you? Something’s wrong.”

  I have a lot of trouble keeping anything from my mother. She seems to see into me with x-ray eyes. It wasn’t long before I was pouring out the whole story.

  “Well,” she said when I was done, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, “you must be pretty ashamed of yourself.”

  I nodded miserably.

  “That’s something, at least. What you did wasn’t right, but you have the grace to feel bad about it.”

  That didn’t help much. “What do you think I should do?”

  She unplugged the electric percolator and started taking mugs out of the cabinet over the sink. “I think you should apologize to this boy.”

  Somehow I knew she would say that. The very thought of it made me go cold with nerves. How could I face him again?

  Mom saw my expression. She shrugged, reaching for the jar of sugar. “You asked for my opinion, and that’s it. But you have to do what you think is best.”

  I took my coffee into the den and sat staring at it until it grew cold. Then I got up and reached for my purse.

  My philosophy about doing something you don’t want to do is this: get it over with as soon as possible. If I waited until school on Monday this would be driving me crazy all weekend.

  I knew where Heathland lived. He took my bus, and I’d seen him get off at the entrance to the new condominium complex that had been built on the farmland behind the junior high. It was only a few blocks away.

  I got my jacket and
gloves from the hall closet and called in through the kitchen door to my mother. “I’m going for a walk, Mom.”

  She may have guessed my intention, because she didn’t grill me, only said, “Be back by nine, Gaby.”

  “Okay.”

  The night was cold, and I walked fast, to warm up. As the wind cut into me I thought that I could have accomplished this mission over the phone if I could have gotten Heathland’s number from information. But I wasn’t sure of his street (the condos covered a big area), it was a new listing, and besides, it seemed to me that calling him was sneaking out of it. What I’d done deserved a person-to-person confrontation. Time to face the music, Gaby.

  The condominiums had a little guardhouse at the entrance. I supposed they screened the visitors passing through, but there was nobody in it. The guard must have been on his break.

  Shivering, I examined the rows of mailboxes clustered at the gate. There were about fifty of them. I patiently read each name painted on the side of each box, cursing my conscience which drove me to such lengths. Unless Heathland stepped off the bus every day into the Twilight Zone, the name had to be here.

  It was, in the third row. “H. Lindsay. 23 Zinnia.”

  There was a sort of signpost next to the guardhouse, which was really a map showing the layout of the complex. All the streets were named for flowers. Zinnia was the second on the left, crossing the main street running down the center, which was Marigold.

  I trudged down Marigold, hoping that Heathland wouldn’t be home, or that he wouldn’t throw me out if he was.

  The condos were all separate houses with a driveway, covered in cedar shakes, connected only by a shared garage.

  I turned onto Zinnia. Number 23 was the third on the right. It looked like all the others. I walked up to the small covered porch. The doorbell had Lindsay written above it in the name slot.

  As my history teacher told us Brigham Young said when he saw the Salt Lake Valley in Utah, this must be the place. I rang the bell.

  A butler answered the door. I almost fainted. I thought they only existed in the movies.

  “I’m Gaby Dexter,” I said. “I’m here to see Heathland Lindsay,” I added, feeling ridiculous.

  “Mr. Lindsay is in the study,” the man said. “Were you expected?”

  Mr. Lindsay. I hoped we weren’t talking about Heathland’s father.

  “Uh, no,” I stammered. “I’m a classmate of his at Oakland High School.” That should take care of any possible misunderstanding. “It’s about school,” I tacked on feebly, which was only half a lie.

  “I will ask if Mr. Lindsay will see you. Please wait here.”

  He left me in this tiled entry hall with an expensive looking grandfather clock and a big pottery urn as high as my waist, surely an antique. I backed away from it, standing on the other side of the room. As nervous as I was, I would probably demolish it and owe Heathland’s family my earnings for the next twenty years.

  I fidgeted, waiting for the butler to return. I’d have given a lot to see Heathland’s face when Jeeves brought him the bulletin about who had arrived to see him.

  The man came back, all British politeness. “Mr. Lindsay will see you now.”

  He led me through the house, which was not overly large but very fancy, done up like a decorator’s dream. It had ankle deep carpeting and heavy, dark furniture. The walls and draperies were beige, with lots of gold and silver ornaments sitting on tables. There was a curved glass china cabinet filled with tall crystal goblets, looking like the kind that Julius Caesar drank a toast out of before taking off to conquer the Gauls.

  I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying not to stare.

  The butler said, “Miss Dexter,” and left me hovering in the doorway of a den, or library, with paneled walls and a fireplace and lots of bookshelves. Heathland was standing uncomfortably in front of his chair, the book he’d been reading folded open on the floor. It was A Separate Peace.

  He was obviously baffled by the fact that I’d shown up at his house. I was pretty baffled myself.

  “Hi,” he said, watching me warily, as if I were about to turn handsprings or burst into song.

  I was so embarrassed I couldn’t talk. Why had I ever done this? I was sure that his opinion of me, after what I’d done that day, wasn’t good, but this little interview was not going to improve it. Before he would merely have thought that I was nasty, now he would be convinced that I was crazy, too.

  We looked at each other. Gabby Gaby had nothing to say.

  He waited, still with that anxious look on his face. Screwing my courage to the sticking point I blurted, “I came to apologize about the way I behaved this afternoon, when Jeff called to me. I’m usually not like that. He took me by surprise and I didn’t know what to do.”

  He just stared at me.

  I barged on. “Jeff Lafferty is always pushing everybody around. He’s certain he owns the school.” I dropped my eyes. “I think I hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry. I know how I’d feel if anybody did that to me.”

  I stole a glance at him. He was now smiling, just a little, a slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. It was the first time I’d seen a crack in The Great Stone Face.

  “Well,” I said, ready to bolt, “that’s all I came to say.” I made for the hall.

  “Wait,” he called after me. I stopped.

  “Can’t you stay a minute, and have a drink, or something?”

  “Sure,” I said, not sure at all. I sat in one of the deep leather chairs, and sank into it like a marshmallow in hot cocoa. Heathland walked to the door, and the servant appeared as if summoned by telepathy.

  “May I get you something, sir?” he said.

  “Could we have some iced tea?” Heathland said, looking uncomfortable. It was clear that he had picked up on the fact that I wasn’t too used to butlers. I could also tell that he was as nervous as I was by his choice of refreshments. Serving iced tea in this weather was like handing out steaming coffee to construction workers in July.

  “Certainly, sir,” the man said, and vanished as noiselessly as he had come.

  Heathland came back. We looked at each other again.

  “So, uh, what do you think of Oakland Valley?” I said, and then paused, horrified. I already knew the answer to that question.

  But he only said mildly, “It’s all right. I don’t have much to compare it to, I’ve been in military schools all my life.”

  Military schools. That explained the astronaut haircut and the weird clothes. He was used to wearing a uniform.

  “Why did you transfer here?”

  He shrugged. “My parents divorced when I was little, and I lived with my mother. She sent me away to school when I was eight. Two months ago she was killed in a car accident, and so I came to live with my father. He’s away on trips for business a lot, but he doesn’t believe in boarding schools. He says that he pays taxes like everybody else, so he enrolled me in the public school in town when I moved here. He bought this place for me.” He glanced around him without enthusiasm. “I finished the semester at Wilbraham Academy and then transferred.” He dropped his eyes. “My father has another house, and he spends most of his time there when he isn’t traveling. Usually I’m here with just Roger.”

  “Your father would rather buy you a separate house than pay tuition at a boarding school?” I had never heard anything so fantastic. His father must be Rockefeller, I thought.

  Heathland smiled dryly. “Real estate is a good investment. My father likes to buy things.”

  There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what to say. He must be so lonely.

  His mother had just died, and he lived alone with a butler. Gee. The noisy chaos at my house was looking better by the minute.

  Roger came in with a tray and Heathland took it. He handed me a glass.

  “Thanks, Heathland.”

  He winced. “Please call me Heath. Heathland was my great grandmother’s maiden name. I’ve always
hated it.”

  I could see why. It sounded like some stuck-up preppy millionaire with snooty manners and a trust fund. Of course, from what I’d seen so far, he probably was a preppy millionaire. But he wasn’t stuck up, of that I was sure. Just shy. And uncertain in a new environment that was as foreign to him as the Sorbonne would be to me.

  I cast about desperately for a topic of conversation. “Do you like the book?” I asked, gesturing to it on the floor.

  He nodded. “Reminds me of Wilbraham. All those places are the same. The kids he describes could have been the guys I knew there.”

  Wonderful, Gaby, wonderful. Keep up the good work. First you get him started on his father, who obviously is not number one on his hit parade, and then you move on to his last school, which he also hates. I was beginning to feel like reciting the ABC’s—it was probably the only safe subject.

  I was sitting, struck dumb, when he did something which surprised me. Afterwards, I realized it was then that I really began to fall for him in a big way.

  Heath set down his glass on an end table and came to stand in front of me. “Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said quietly. “I did feel bad when you stiff-armed me like that, but I feel much better about it now. I know it wasn’t easy for you to visit someone you hardly knew and say that you were wrong. I appreciate it.”

  Our eyes met and he smiled at me. I felt it seep into my bones and warm me.

  “Uh, Heath, I’d better go,” I said. I wanted to get out of there before I said something I would regret later. He was affecting me pretty strongly, and at such moments I generally put my foot in my mouth.

  Heath walked me out to the door.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said again as I left.

  “You’re welcome,” I answered, and meant it.

  I walked home feeling better than I had in a long time.

  * * *

  I couldn’t decide what to wear to school on Monday. I knew I would see Heath and wanted to look nice. I finally chose my new plaid skirt with a green sweater, and put my hair on top of my head. My mother glanced at me curiously when I came into the kitchen for breakfast, but didn’t say anything.

  Heath was absent. I was so disappointed I couldn’t concentrate on anything the whole day and Mrs. Rinaldi caught me daydreaming in English class.