Christmas Criminal

6. Nick

6

NICK

Friday, December 6th

I 'm not a fan of moody Robbie.

Mostly because he's prone to outbursts if he's upset, because no one in his life will let him vent. He's been taught that the way to deal with big feelings is by keeping them balled up inside until they get so big they spew out in every direction and all anyone can really do is run for cover.

Not that his outbursts are all that bad. The other day when he decided to spew Coke all over my classroom was an outburst–one that I never got to the bottom of because I have twenty other kids to take care of, too.

But I wouldn't be surprised if it was related.

Noelle picks up on the shift in mood immediately. Something tells me she identifies with Robbie a little more than I might.

I had my share of rough times in high school, as anyone does, but Noelle left because she was bullied.

"So how was school today?" Noelle asks. When I glance over at her, she only shrugs.

"Fine," he huffs. He's leading the way to the town square, his shoulders hunched against the cold.

"You seemed like you were having a pretty good day after lunch," I say.

He shrugs. "Things change."

I don't mean to catch Noelle's eye, but I do. Her brow furrows.

"What changed?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

She purses her lips, letting out a long breath through her nose. "Okay."

We cross the street to the town square in silence and check in with the volunteers. They lead us down the row of huts that are now set up, to the very end, where there is only a pile of pieces waiting to be put together.

Robbie gets straight to work, opting to pull pieces out of the pile and boss us around rather than chatting.

I have a bad feeling we're going to get moody Robbie until we figure out a way to get him talking.

Fortunately–or unfortunately, depending on your view–for me, I have a feeling the change in mood has something to do with the date he was looking forward to.

"You excited for your date with Catherine?" I ask, praying I got her name right, as we begin arranging the boards around the designated space.

He scoffs, and it’s confirmation I hit the nail on the head.

Noelle raises an eyebrow at me when Robbie doesn't offer any further explanation.

"Who's Catherine?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Nobody."

"It sounded like you were pretty excited to go to the fair with her earlier," I say, doing my best to tread lightly.

Robbie lets out a quick puff of air, lifting a board in front of his face and gesturing for Noelle to come over with the drill. "Apparently she doesn't appreciate being called a chubby chaser."

Noelle pauses halfway there, her mouth hanging open as she looks at me. "Did she say that to you?"

"No," Robbie says. "Fucking Tommy Rothwell called her that in front of me and when he asked if she's still planning on going with the chub , she said no and walked away."

I can hardly control the anger that bubbles up in my chest. Mostly because Robbie and Tommy are like two peas in a pod–until Robbie has something Tommy wants. Then suddenly Robbie exists to serve him . "I hope you know Tommy Rothwell is a two-faced jerk who couldn't tie his own shoes until fifth grade. He said that because he saw that Catherine likes you and wanted to one-up you. That has nothing to do with you, but him."

"Wow, fighting words from Mr. Monroe," Noelle says, her eyes flashing with delight. She aligns the drill with the pieces Robbie's waiting for her to screw together. "Honestly, it sounds like Tommy Rothwell is a piece of shit who needs a good egging and Catherine... well, to be honest, she sounds like a twat. Because if she really liked you, she wouldn't be convinced out of it by somebody calling her a chubby chaser. You're better off."

"Can we please stop with the egging stuff?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "I'm not suggesting we go egg Tommy Rothwell, but I am suggesting we clap when someone else does." She peeks over the board Robbie is holding and points at him with the drill. "Don't go egging. But he's going to get what's coming to him one day and I hope you extract every ounce of pleasure from it when that happens."

Robbie shrugs, looking away from her.

Her voice is lower when she speaks, and I notice she doesn't look away from Robbie in the same way that he's looking away from her. "I hope you know that's seriously not cool for someone to comment on your body like that," she says. "It's out of line."

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. "I am fat," he says. "No need to lie about it."

"Robbie," she scolds, "do you see what you're doing right now?" She takes a step back, gesturing to the boards he's holding together. "You are literally holding up, what, almost a hundred pounds of wood right now? And you're not even breaking a sweat. Robbie, you are strong ."

He shakes his head. "Doesn't mean I'm not fat."

Noelle takes a deep breath. "Nobody is happy with their bodies, Robbie. I mean, fuck, I've gone months of my life covering up my skin because of severe eczema. I put my life on hold so many times because I didn't want to be seen, but one day I realized I was forgoing my own happiness in order to cover up something I was embarrassed about. And you know what? I focused on something else. I have a rash all over my thighs? Cool, cool. But god, my hair looks fantastic today. I have scarring over my elbows from years of scratching? So be it–my new glute workout is giving me an ass worth eating."

If I had a drink in my mouth, I would have spit it. Judging from the wide-eyed look Robbie is giving me, he feels the same way.

"All I'm saying is there comes a point in life where you have to accept your body as it is. There is nothing wrong with changing your body if that’s something that you want, but don't do it because someone else called you a mean name. That has everything to do with who they are as a person on the inside and very little to do with who you are at all ."

Robbie glances at me, and I hesitantly nod. I'm not sure I have anything to add to that.

But I hope this can be another healing moment for Noelle. The fire in her eyes as she spoke gave me the impression that she feels Robbie’s struggle. In a way that I probably never could.

It might not be the healing that she wants or needs, but I hope there’s a little part of her that’s talking to her high school self and smoothing over that old wound.

Robbie purses his lips, shrugging. "I was thinking about going to the gym," he admits.

"As long as you're doing it for you," she says. She rests the drill on the ground and puts her hands on her hips. "And do me a favor: go to a boxing gym or something so you can learn how to knock Tommy Rothwell the fuck out."

"Noelle!" I scold, and she stomps her foot.

Just when I thought she was doing so damn good.

But if anything, I find her even more charming. That underlying ferocity that oozes from her. I’ve always thought there’s something special about a person who doesn’t try to inflict their pain on others, but does everything in their power to stop it from taking down someone else.

She might be a troublemaker and the cutest damn criminal I’ve ever seen, but she has a kind soul, too.

"I'm sorry! I'm mad. Don't actually do that," she says. "But god, I can't believe kids are still this mean!"

"Yeah. High school sucks," I say, and they both whip toward me.

"What? I'm not immune to it. There's only so much I can do."

Noelle glares at me. "I bet you were cool in school."

I shake my head. "I really wasn't."

"I bet you were valedictorian or something," she says.

"Nope."

"You were at least, like, a sports dude."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

She gestures to me. "You're built like a tank. Surely you were on some sort of team."

I bite my lip, wondering how much of my high school experience I should tell her. It wasn't exactly typical, and bullying was the least of my concerns after my mom’s death. "I was a mathlete, and I was in debate club."

She snorts, and a second later, Robbie is laughing along with her.

"And before you ask, yes, I got made fun of for both."

When we finish our hut and head back to the high school, Robbie is in better spirits. He's not his normal, boisterous self, but he does seem a little more comfortable in his own skin.

Sometimes all it takes is the validation that someone agrees your experience is shit, too.

Noelle and I wait on the stairs until Robbie's ride arrives, and he waves over his shoulder as he slips inside.

I wait until the car starts moving before turning to Noelle. "An ass worth eating?" I ask. "Really?

She shrugs sheepishly. "If I'm being totally honest, that's how I got over it. You can spend your whole life fighting with something that can't be fixed, or you can embrace it and make the best of the rest."

"So, ass worth eating," I say.

"Hey, if eczema is going to make my skin look like shit, at least the rest of me is edible." She shrugs. "I don't know. I guess it was powerful for me to work on other parts of myself. I got my skin under control over time, once I stopped having to go to swim class and once I figured out that I have to use only the Downy sensitive stuff. But it wasn't an easy process, and it was kind of nice that when my skin mostly cleared up, it wasn't like I was picking out the next worst thing to work on. I kind of realized, one day, that my skin looked better. And that I was... borderline happy with the way I looked."

"Only borderline?" I ask, and I realize only after the words leave my mouth that my reaction is based purely on my view of her.

Which is that she's a way-too-cute little brunette–yes–with an ass worth eating.

"Like I said, no one is ever totally happy with themselves. But I think it's really powerful when you get to a point where you can accept yourself as you are. If there's stuff you want to change, sure, do it. But unless you can find a way to accept yourself now , you can make all the improvements in the world and it'll never make a difference."

I nod. "Well, I'm glad you were able to accept yourself," I say, but the words don't quite feel like enough.

She shrugs. "It was a long process, but I got there eventually." She shakes her head. "To think I left this place because of it. My whole high school experience, it seems, was derailed by my fucking skin."

"How so?"

She bites her lip, her eyes dipping to the pavement between us, and lets out a long breath. "I had a really bad outbreak in high school. I kind of ended up tearing up my legs because I couldn't stop scratching. And my stupid high school boyfriend Louis Prince snapped a picture and sent it to his buddies asking if I had an STD."

I bite my tongue to avoid letting out a string of expletives that I've worked very hard to train myself out of. At least on school grounds.

"That's terrible," I say.

She shrugs. "And that's why I got my GED. Because after that, he left me for fucking Stacy Mann and apparently the one thing he kept telling her was, 'don't worry, I never fucked her.'"

I grimace. "Yikes."

"So, you know. Fuck high school."

"Fuck Louis Prince."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that the first time I've heard you curse?"

I shrug. "Some situations call for it."

She laughs. "Wow, look at me. Once the high school virgin, and now I'm the bad girl who makes the goodie two-shoes math teacher curse."

"Goodie two-shoes?" Oh, the things I would do to her to prove her wrong.

"Yeah," she says. "I mean, in a cool math teacher way. But you've definitely got a bit of a goodie two-shoes thing going on."

"So I'm a cool goodie two-shoes math teacher? That's your determination?"

She pauses, eyeing me. "I can't tell whether you're offended by that or not."

"It's interesting." Interesting considering I've been thinking about eating your ass for the past half hour.

" I don't know what you mean by 'interesting,'" she says.

I laugh. "Noelle, it doesn't have to mean anything."

She raises her eyebrows. Then narrows her eyes. "I can't get a read. I can't tell if you think I'm nuts or charming or funny or psycho."

I give her a little smile. "Yes."

She pauses, and then grins. "You answer 'or' questions like a math teacher."

"Am I supposed to be offended by that?"

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Is that something they teach you in teacher school? To answer questions with questions?"

"No, that comes naturally."

She laughs, and I realize, standing in the light from the entryway of the high school, that I could probably stand here all night, bantering back and forth with her. Giving her non-answers and extracting little bits of Noelle piece by piece.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your car," I say, nodding out to the parking lot.

Her face drops, like she had been thinking the same thing I was. That right here is where we want to be. Despite the chill in the air and the empty school looming above us.

"Well, thank you," she says, as we step around to the driver's side. She pops the door open and stands in the opening, turning to face me. I lean an elbow on the top of her car, as I've been doing whenever I walk her out like this. She mirrors my pose, one elbow on the roof and the other resting on her open door.

She looks so open to me. So ready to be kissed. Like her waist is calling out to my hands. The skin of her neck thirsting to be nuzzled. She takes a step toward me, and I recognize that this moment can go one of two ways.

I can throw an arm around her shoulders and hug her. A weird thing to do if I'm supposed to be helping her with community service, but probably better than the alternative.

Which is to weave an arm around her waist and tug her close. Turn us so she's pressed against her car. So I can step between her legs and hoist her up. Dip my hands underneath the hem of that little shirt she's wearing and feel the warm skin underneath. Press my lips against hers and taste that smart mouth.

She licks her lips, staring up at me. Begging me to kiss her .

I step away.

No. I will not be that guy.

I nod to her, nearly running toward my own car.

"Goodnight, Noelle," I call over my shoulder, my heart thumping.

She huffs, her brow crinkled.

She sounds unsure when she speaks. "Goodnight?"

I close myself in my car, taking a deep breath as I stare at the wheel in front of me.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

A moment later, she slips into her car, turning it on and waiting a moment as if to see if whatever freakout I had is passing.

I lock my doors, staring straight ahead, and wait for her to leave first.