Somehow, this one doesn't seem like it's the same style as the first two parts, but oh well. I hope you enjoy this one! And review! Oh, yes, review. All reviews will be auctioned on E-Bay to raise money to buy a lab coat for Spencer! … And to pay for his obviously high medical bills…
I watch, once more, as they punish him for being intelligent. It's the same group; some thugs, some of the boys that I cheer on at every game, some of the ordinary laymen who just go to school to say that they did. They unite for the sole purpose of beating up my Spence. I want to stop them, but I can't.
An idea strikes. Almost half of the attackers are on the football team!
I run toward them.
"Dylan!" I latch on to the linebacker's arm. "Dylan, I think Mrs. Dalton is coming! You could get in trouble!" I pleaded.
"Get off me," Dylan growls, shaking his arm free, but he stops kicking Spencer nonetheless. Taking a cue, the two others holding him up drop Spencer to the ground, where he curls up in a ball, obviously suppressing whimpers.
"Please, Dylan! You can't get suspended from this game, the team needs you!" I plead, once again taking his arm. He half shrugs, giving one last kick to Spence's ribs. Spencer hisses in pain, but doesn't move otherwise.
"Later, kid." He spits at Spencer. I wince, but he doesn't see. The other two football players follow us. Gradually, each of the others get in one last kick or two themselves before dispersing. I kept in step just behind Dylan and the other guys and keep glancing back. Biology is after lunch…
All I can do is wait.
The remainder of lunch drags by, and I explain away my lack of appetite by telling Stephanie and Megan that I'm on another diet. They accept that explanation fairly well, and the bell rings at last.
Terror grips me. I'm changing... A month ago I wouldn't have looked twice at the boy, much less thought about him.
I step into the Biology room apprehensively. My chest clenches when Spencer is not already in his seat, like normal. Did they send him home? Was he even found? What if he is still curled up in that hallway? Nobody goes there normally!
Trembling, I sit down at our lab bench and begin reading the board. I can't ask about him, that would be caring…
The door opens once more, just before the bell. Spencer's limp wouldn't be noticeable to anyone not looking. He heaves himself up onto the stool beside me. He opens his notebook and begins to copy down the instructions on the board promptly. I do the same, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
He's favoring his left side. I know that, just under the long sleeves of his polo shirt, the deep bruising where he had been held would appear soon. He kept his head down, but I could already see the light bruise under his jaw from what had to be a comparatively gentle punch.
For the second time I could remember, my eyes burned, desperately wanting to cry for the boy. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and not let go until I knew he was safe from everything. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared back down at my paper.
A tiny sheet from a memo book sat on my binder, folded in perfect quarters. I looked around for the sender. Nobody looked suspicious, though, so I opened it up. The paper was silent under the mask of the teacher's now verbal instructions.
In a tiny, neat handwriting that I didn't immediately recognize, two words stood out in blue ink. I looked to my left, where Spencer was still concentrating on taking notes.
I looked back at the note and blinked back the almost familiar burning in my eyes.
'Thank you'.