“Jesus, Sawyer!”
“Stay away from me! I have pepper spray!” She held her backpack in front of her like a shield, blindly digging through the front pocket while keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Hanson. He pressed his palms forward and chuckled, the sound shooting ice water through her veins.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking. I was just trying to offer you some homework help.” He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled open the door. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.”
Sawyer shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “No, I didn’t misunderstand. You—you—”
Mr. Hanson crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one hip against his desk. There was a hint of a smile on his lips—Sawyer couldn’t tell if it was kind or sly—and one eyebrow was quirked. She could feel the cheek-reddening heat in her face, and a strand of hair was pulled out of her mussed ponytail, flopping in front of her eyes. But Mr. Hanson looked fresh and at ease. Sawyer stumbled back, her mind tumbling.
“You—you did.”
She tried to force what happened to the forefront of her mind, but already it was slipping behind the haze of self-doubt.
Kevin always said she overreacted. He said she was oversensitive, that she always took things the wrong way. Maybe this was one of those times?
Sawyer snuck a glance at Mr. Hanson through the filter of her chestnut–colored hair.
“I appreciate you coming in for homework help, Sawyer, but you should get going now. The building is almost empty.” He cocked his, head pressing his lips to into a thin smile. “You never know what’s lurking out there after dark.”
Sawyer glanced down the deserted hall and back at Mr. Hanson. His smile took on a sinister edge, the glint in his eyes unmistakably challenging. She tore down the hallway, the heels of her boots slapping the linoleum, the sharp sound bouncing off the walls and echoing in her ears. She didn’t breathe until she burst through the double doors onto the campus lawn. She took one look at the darkening sky, then doubled over, hands on knees, tears and snot rolling over her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
“Sawyer?” Logan’s voice was kind and tentative. “Are you okay?”
She straightened up quickly, used the heel of her hand to swipe at her eyes and chin. She sniffed, forced a small smile, and masked a hiccup.
“Logan, hi.” She saw the polite concern in his cocker-spaniel eyes and opened her mouth, but she stopped herself when Mr. Hanson’s icy glare and challenging smile flashed in her mind. She felt like he was all around her, like his breath was still bathing her neck. Her skin burned where his fingers had been. “I’m okay, thanks. It’s just that—”
“I know,” he said softly.
Sawyer’s stomach seized. “You do?”
“Kevin.”
“Kevin?” Sawyer paused for a beat and then pumped her head. “Right, Kevin.” She shirked off the guilt that pricked at the back of her neck for using Kevin—what happened to Kevin—to cover. She dug in her pack for her car keys. “I should get going. I didn’t have track. My parents are probably wondering where I am.” She knew she was babbling, but it felt somehow comfortable to talk about normal things.
The hard crack of the double doors opening behind her stopped her, made her heart drop to her already weak knees.
“Sawyer Dodd. Just the young lady I was looking for.” Mr. Hanson’s voice—light, unaffected—oozed through Sawyer like a searing poison, and everything inside her tightened, went on high alert. She didn’t turn to face him. She heard Logan rattle around in his bag, heard him pull out something cellophane, and everything dropped into slow motion, the tiniest, most inconsequential sounds—cellophane tearing, Logan chewing—became suddenly deafening.
“Oh, hello there, Logan.”
Sawyer didn’t have to look at him to know that Mr. Hanson was smiling at her. She could feel his stare, his breath coating every inch of her.
“Hey, Mr. Hanson. Want one?” Logan asked, offering up his pack of peanut butter crackers.
“No, thanks. I’m allergic to peanuts, remember? And actually, I was looking for Sawyer. She forgot her Spanish test. She must have been in some hurry to get away today.”
“Sorry.” Sawyer’s voice sounded robotic, automatic, and she felt herself turn slowly, but she kept her eyes fixed on Mr. Hanson’s scuffed leather topsiders. “I was in a hurry.”
Mr. Hanson held out the test to her, and she pinched it between forefinger and thumb. He didn’t relinquish it to her until she met his eyes. They were flat, serpentine.
“Why don’t you come to my classroom and we can talk?”