Moonglass

looking at her with an amused expression, and I had to smile. “Meet me out here at lunch, okay?” she continued. “We don’t want to have to do the whole new-girl/walk-the-quad-and-try-to-figure-out-where-to-sit thing.” I opened my mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. She eyed Tyler for a second. “Unless you have other plans already.” I jumped in quickly this time, trying to avoid an awkward moment. “No. I’ll meet you.”
    “Okay, good! I brought you lunch too, so you don’t have to eat the cafeteria food before practice today.” She started to bounce away, then turned around.
    “Good luck!”
    “Thanks.”
    Tyler took a step closer. My cheeks burned as I fought the urge to take a step backward. He smelled so good. “You’ve got quite the little caretaker there.” He glanced down at my schedule. “Where you headed first?”
    I looked at the now crinkled paper in my hand, which was ridiculous, because I had my schedule memorized at this point. “Math, in 101. Mr. Strickland?” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Oh, you’re in for a real treat. The guy’s a total hard-ass. Fails half his class every year, which is why I won’t be the only senior in there.”
    “You’re in there too?” I asked, trying to sound only mildly interested. “First?”
    “Yeah. We better get going. He’s gonna make an example of somebody today, and you don’t want it to be you.” Upstairs we filed into room 101 with a line of other students who chattered and compared schedules. A short man in a cowboy hat stood with his back to the class, writing frenetically on the whiteboard. I looked around for an empty seat, preferably near the back. Tyler had already found a desk a couple of rows over and had his hand on the one behind it. He motioned to me to hurry up, so I weaved my way over and slid into the chair behind him. Right on cue with the final bell , Mr. Strickland turned around and leveled his eyes on a girl who was still leaning on her desk, rummaging through her purse.
    “Does your mama let you sit in your mashed potatoes at home?” he bell owed through a thick mustache. The girl looked confused, but then plunked down in her chair and looked at her lap.
    Mr. Strickland scanned the room for another victim. I scanned the walls behind his desk, which were covered with different notes and drawings tacked up haphazardly. A wooden paddle with holes drilled into it hung above them all, the handle emblazoned with a carved silhouette that resembled Yosemite Sam and Mr. Strickland at the same time. He saw me looking and turned his attention on me. “You must be Joe Ryan’s daughter.” I flinched, then shifted in my seat, getting ready for whatever saying he was going to spit at me, but it didn’t come. “Smart guy, your old man. Hopefully he passed it on.” I nodded once, silent. He looked down his roll sheet until he found me. “Louanna Ryan.” Tyler cleared his throat loudly and shifted in his seat in front of me.
    I fought the urge to roll my eyes or kick his desk. “Just Anna, please.”
    Mr. Strickland looked at me a quick second, then fixed his eyes on Tyler. “Evans! You sick or something? I am. Sick of you already.” Tyler shrugged, but didn’t say anything. Mr. Strickland looked back at me, a little softer. “Well, Ms. Ryan, the thing you need to know about this class, as lots of people in here can tell you from previous experience, is that God helps those who help themselves, so if you don’t get it, get off your lazy you-know-what and help yourself.” We were all silent, and I waited for a translation, explanation, something.
    “I’m in here every morning, six a.m. if you need help, so no one has any excuse not to pass my class.” I looked around at the other glazed-looking faces and wondered how many of them were repeaters. “Now get out your books. Let’s get started. First test is next Friday.” Tyler leaned back in his desk and turned his head just enough for me to see the smirk that had now become familiar. “Told you … Louanna.”
    “Yeah, he seems like a real fan of yours,” I whispered, leaning forward.
    Strickland stopped writing and turned slowly from the whiteboard. “Evans. Didn’t your mama teach you it’s not polite to talk while I’m giving you the most important formula you’ll need in this class?”
    I looked at the board studiously, then back at my paper, trying not to crack a smile. Instruction resumed, and in front of me Tyler shook his