Page 33 of Give Me Strength

Although, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’ll be spun in a way that makes it my fault.

We pull up to the school, and Gilbert parks right in the front — where everyone walking by can see us. Once they do, they’ll draw their own conclusions from this… and none of it will be good.

I place my hand on the door handle, and he sets his hand on my shoulder, halting my movements. “You know,” he says slowly, “you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you, Ashlynn. Whatever you need.”

I swallow hard, his voice and touch triggering something warm and fluttery in the pit of my stomach. “Russ usually uses the drop-off zone,” I say instead.

“Good thing I’m not Russ.”

Therein lies the issue.

“People might get the wrong idea about this.” And about us, I want to add, but stop the words in time.

“Those people can go fuck themselves,” he says, his voice softening but still firm. “I really, really don’t care about other people’s opinions, Ashlynn. I only care what you think. Your wants. Your needs. Your wellbeing. Your thoughts. Your safety. Your career. Those come first, always.”

I turn to look at him, really look at him, and the intensity in his stormy blue-gray eyes sends a jolt through me. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of concern, fear, and something deeper that makes my heart ache.

My gaze drops to his hand on my shoulder, then lifts to meet his. “Aren’t you worried about hints of impropriety?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his lip tipping slightly upward.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice almost breaking. “That means a lot.”

“Anytime.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, but doesn’t move to take his hand off my person.

When he does things like this, it makes me wonder… perhaps this isn’t as one-sided as I thought. There’s an undeniable attraction on my part, a magnetic pull toward him that I’m finding increasingly difficult to ignore with each passing day. I know where that line is, I’m certain he knows where that line is… and yet, the way he looks at me, like now, has me questioning the latter. The way my traitorous body reacts to his presence throws my heart into a tangled mess of emotions.

Maybe it’s him.

He intrigues me. He’s a stormy sea that I want to dive into despite the danger. Despite the giant warning labels.

I open the door and step out, his hand falling off my shoulder. After adjusting the straps of my backpack on my shoulders, I pause, looking back at him with a small, wistful smile.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I say.

With my head held high, I walk towards the school entrance with a grace that feels like a fragile shield. I can feel his eyes on me long after I disappear inside.

15

GILBERT

As I watch her disappear into a swarm of high schoolers, I feel a deep, protective tenderness for her, a desire to shield her from the the world.

Ashlynn Crane truly is an enigma.

Yet, underneath that hardened exterior and sharp tongue is someone who just wants to be understood. Yet, she’s not a very trusting person. She’s carved out little pockets of safe spaces in her life. Our home is one of those spaces. So too, is Brookfield Dance Academy. And that little café next to it that she’s obsessed with.

Bluegrass High School, however, is not one of her safe spaces. It’s time I got to the bottom of it.

The hallway buzzes with the noise of students chatting and lockers slamming. Posters for the upcoming prom and various clubs decorate the walls. I walk briskly past groups of students chatting and laughing, feeling out of place.

Finally, I reach Principal Richardson’s office. The door slightly ajar, the secretary/receptionist is nowhere to be found, an odd feat for this time of morning. I knock lightly before stepping inside.

The office is modest but orderly. A small window lets in a sliver of the morning light, casting a warm glow on the tidy desk and the room. Certificates and educational awards adorn the walls, along with pictures of past graduating classes dating back thirty years or so.

Nicole Richardson looks up from behind her desk, her sharp brown eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses — which she pushes up the bridge of her nose.

“Gilbert!” She motions for me to sit. “What brings you here today?”

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