**NOTE: Sorry I haven't uploaded anything in awhile. My computer crashed, hard drive problem. I got the Blue Screen of Death on my Lenovo (I don't recommend these computers, only comes with more problems). I'm doing these on Google Docs so I don't lose anything. Hopefully the format doesn't go weird when I upload it. Anyhoo, I'd like this to be a longer fanfiction. I just feel like it helps develop the characters and makes the plot a little more authentic than if I chose to stop at five chapters. Of course, that doesn't mean any of you will make it through the end of the story(jeez, that sounded ominous), but I won't leave it unfinished. :-) So, onto chapter four!

Chapter 4

The week after Hannah's strange evening with the Panthers' fullback left her feeling confused and frustrated. Her frustration wasn't strictly aimed at Tim; rather, she began to feel increasingly irritated with herself. Doubt clouded her mind, and she wondered if she had made a mistake brushing him off. He could focus his attention on nearly any girl in the school-probably beyond that-and yet he'd chosen to spend time with her. This was where the confusion came in. Why did she care whether he talked to her? Why did she feel sad when she thought about the ways he spent his free time? In truth, thinking about him, sitting by himself, drinking his cares away, hurt her. She wanted more for him. He deserved more.

And that was the problem. She cared, but she didn't want to. Which was why the entire week that followed utterly sucked. It meant hiding in classrooms, ducking behind open lockers, and eating lunch in the bathroom, all in an effort to avoid a certain long-haired boy.

Problem was, Hannah wasn't anyone you'd ever associate with the word "stealth." In fact, her efforts were downright sloppy. She always managed to make eye contact with Tim, so when she made a beeline for the nearest classroom, Tim felt the full effect of her snub.

A few times he had tried to speak with her; he even cornered her by the water fountain. She'd let her guard down, too thirsty turn down a rusty metal fountain whose stream was so minimal, she had to place her lips dangerously close to the spout. That was when Tim approached, standing behind the girl as she tilted her head this way and that.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you."

Hannah's body went rigid, and the hand that held together her loose hair fell to her side. She turned around and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. There he was, sleeveless Panther shirt in faded blue, hair falling in his eyes. A corner of his mouth turned upwards as his eyes watched her wipe away the water from her mouth.

"It's not that bad," Hannah said. She hesitated, debating whether she should engage in conversation. But she was still battling the conflicting thoughts in her head, the ones that told her to stay, and the ones that told her he was a lost cause.

So she bolted.

She managed to sidestep him and make her way down the hall. Except, Tim was faster. He easily overcame her, long legs taking twice as much distance as one of her steps. He planted his feet firmly on the ground in front of her and crossed his arms over his chest. The act drew her attention to his biceps, and she gritted her teeth.

"Haven't seen you at lunch in a few days," he said, the curiosity clear in his voice.

"I've been working on a project."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Can't even take a break to eat?"

"Nope, too busy. Actually, I've got to get to the library now, so I'll see you later. Bye." She didn't wait for his answer, and quickly trotted down the hall.

"I'm tellin' you. Eight feet in the air, that's how far he went." Landry had his body turned in his seat so that he faced Hannah and another classmate.

"Bullshit," a boy hissed. "Ain't no way a ten-year-old could jump that high. That's just a damn lie."

"Maybe if he was on a trampoline," another mumbled.

"There was no trampoline, Travis. That wouldn't have made the news, would it?" Landry turned to Hannah. "What do you think, Miss Hannah? Ever heard of anything like that in Hollywood?"

Hannah rolled her eyes and whispered, "I've told you before, Landry, I'm from the Bay Area. Hollywood's about seven hours away. Totally different place."

"Where'd you say you saw this?" asked Travis.

"Ripley's Believe it or Not."

"Ain't that the same show where the lady had that surgery to make herself look like a cat?"

"Yeah, but-"

"-Gentlemen. If you'd please like to turn your attention back to Hamlet, I think the rest of the class would greatly appreciate it." Their English teacher, Mr. Burns, looked at them through his reading glasses. They sat crookedly on his nose.

Landry faced forward, and Hannah sighed heavily as she turned to the second act of the play.

"Now, then. I want ya'll to follow along as I have someone read the first scene of Act Two. Who wants to try it?"

A sea of nervous faces grimaced in unison, eyes cast down to avoid the teacher.

"Riggins. How 'bout you?"

Tim had his head slumped against the side wall of the classroom. His hair stuck out from the static as he glanced at the teacher with sleepy eyes.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Burns, I don't have my book with me."

Mr. Burns smirked. "Lucky for you, then, you have plenty of neighbors who do have their books. Who'd like to share their book with Tim?"

The noise that followed made Hannah want to gag. It wasn't exactly a squeal, but it certainly didn't sound human. Six girls raised their hands as they eagerly leaned forward in their seats. Tim kept his eyes down on his desk, but even through the hood of his hair, Hannah could see his cheeks rise.

"All right, all right. That's enough. Bunch o' hormonal nonsense, is what that is," Mr. Burns muttered. "Landry, since you seem so keen on talking, why don't you read the scene for us."

"Sure," Landry said, clearing his throat.

"And Mr. Riggins, if you ever show up to my class unprepared again, you'll be heading to Principal Taylor's office. Is that clear?"

"Yessir."

It was nearly 3:00 P.M. The sky was overcast, and it looked as though it might rain. You'd never be able to tell by the temperature, though. The humidity seemed to be at an all time high. Hannah's blouse clung to her skin from the sweat.

She was sitting in Principal Taylor's office, hands folded neatly in her lap. Despite the calm facade, Hannah was dying inside. She'd never been in a principal's office. She couldn't even remember what her last principal looked like. And the worst part was, Principal Taylor seemed very much at ease, like there was a calm before the storm.

The wind howled, as if to emphasize this thought.

"So, how are you doin', Hannah? We've never really had a chance to talk." Mrs. Taylor smiled at the girl.

"I'm fine."

"How has the change been? I know you've come a long way. I'm sure Dillon is quite different than California."

"It's okay."

Principal Taylor pursed her lips. "You know you're not in trouble, right?"

Hannah furrowed her eyebrows and relaxed. She hadn't realized her shoulders had been bunched up by the sides of her head. "I'm not?"

"No. What on earth would you be in trouble for?" Mrs. Taylor laughed. "Unless you're the one who's been stealing all the whiteboard markers and erasers from the classrooms. Then we may have to discuss some things."

"No, that wasn't me. Um, ma'am." It sounded odd as soon as she said it. It was missing that southern drawl that made it sound so natural.

"I didn't think so. Well listen, Hannah, the reason I've called you in here is, well, I need your help. I think Dillon High is a fantastic school. But I also think that that's a little hard to see from the outside. People look at credentials for everything. Credentials tell you if they're certified, if they're credible, if they're safe, if they're worthy of time and money. And I think Dillon is. Except we don't have those kind of credentials. In this case, the credential would be our addition to the list of blue ribbon schools." Mrs. Taylor paused and looked to Hannah to see if she understood. The girl nodded, so she continued. "I think we could be a blue ribbon school if we got some test scores up. Obviously, our athletic program is doing fine, that's not the problem. It's the standardized testing, and the graduation rate."

Hannah searched the principal's face, wondering what in god's name she could do for this woman. She had never been a fan of standardized testing herself.

"So, here's what I'm going to ask of you. I'd like you to help me get some students on track. I've looked at your grades at Dillon so far, as well as the ones you transferred in with. And I got to say, I'm impressed. You may be in the running for valedictorian if you keep this up."

"What can I do, Mrs. Taylor?"

"Have you ever tutored before, Hannah?"

"I used to tutor my neighbor in Algebra."

"Well," it was Mrs. Taylor's turn to fold her hands on the desk, "how would you like to tutor in English?"

The next day Hannah walked with a bounce in her step the rest of the school day. It was the first day in a week she didn't have to worry about eating in the bathroom. Principal Taylor had informed the student to meet Hannah in the library at lunch to set up a game plan. The librarians allowed Hannah to eat at a back table after they received a harsh warning from Mrs. Taylor.

The library was nearly empty, save a few diehard students already prepping for the PSAT. Hannah spread out her books on the table and retrieved a turkey sandwich from her backpack. She tried to keep papers off the table in order to give off a casual vibe. From what Mrs. Taylor had said, the student wasn't a fan of school. In fact, he tried everything to avoid it. So, it was imperative this first session not seem overwhelming.

Hannah flipped through her binder in search of her Shakespeare notes. She grabbed her sandwich with her other hand and took big bite out of the side, hoping to finish it before the session was to start.

"You savin' that mustard for later?"

Hannah nearly dropped the sandwich on her binder. That voice. Oh, no.

Tim pulled out a chair next to her, turned it around, and sat in it backward.

"What are you doing in here?" Hannah asked, the shock not yet worn off.

"You should really start carrying those wet napkins with you. Every time I see you, you've got somethin' else on your face."

Hannah wiped away at the corners of her mouth. He was right. A big glob of mustard was now on the back of her hand.

"Why are you always in here?" he asked.

"I'm busy, Tim." She tried to ignore the tightening in her stomach as the name rolled off her tongue.

"I see that."

"I'm serious. I'm meeting someone in a few minutes, so let me enjoy my lunch in peace."

"What for?"

Hannah smirked. "Something you're definitely not going to be interested in. Now come on, it's 12:30, and I'm going to have to tutor soon."

"Okay, okay. So...I guess we better get started then, huh?"

"What do you...Oh. Oh, no. You're-"

"Do I call you Hannah, or Mrs. Robertson now?"

Oh, no was right.