Page 23 of The Torment of Two

If Dad ever finds out I hit someone, I’ll be banned from driving forever.

So much for starting the day off feeling better than Monday. Somehow, this one is shaping up to be worse. What is it about Two that wrecks me so easily?

There’s a coldness that emanates from him that I don’t understand. Usually, when someone doesn’t like me or my family, I can handle it with stride because it’s always something stupid. This thing with Two, though, feels personal. As though we’ve wronged him on some visceral level that makes him despise me.

Why?

I’m going to figure it out. You can’t hate someone so viciously for no reason. If there’s a reason, and me or my family are the cause, then I deserve to know. Maybe I could fix it.

By the time I make it to class, my stomach is in knots. As soon as I enter the classroom, my eyes dart straight to Two. He absently rubs at his shoulder and I feel a pang of guilt.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

Mr. Pederson gives me a gentle smile as I pass by his desk. For some reason, he seems to like Two. He obviously knows a different side of him than I do.

I settle at my seat with plenty of time before class starts today. That helps ease the tension forming in my shoulders. After I pull out my notebook and pen, I turn to face him. Two stares straight ahead, cheeks still pink from the cold. His dark hair is in disarray and something tells me it has nothing to do with getting rammed by my Tahoe. He has a sharp jawline that, even I can admit, is pretty to look at.

Two may be a weirdo asshole, but he’s definitely an attractive one in an unusual way. He’s not classically handsome like his football friend. There’s just something different about him—something you can’t really put your finger on but know it’s there. If we’d met under different circumstances, perhaps I’d have met a completely different version of him that I might have been immediately smitten with.

He cants his head to the side and eyes me warily. “What?”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.” He scoffs. “You didn’t break me, Golden. Try harder next time.”

Again with the Golden.

It’s said with such disdain, I know it’s meant as an insult. But, to me, Golden means beautiful and shiny and valuable.

“I wasn’t trying to break you and you know it,” I grumble. “I said I was sorry.”

“I caught all kinds of grief Monday for almost hitting you, yet today, you want to be forgiven after actually hitting me. You’re a piece of work.”

Thankfully, Mr. Pederson greeting the class cuts our argument off. Arguing with Two feels like an unending circle that’ll just keep making me spin around and around until I’m dizzy.

“Your semester project has multiple pieces. Because of the intricacies involved, I’ve taken it upon myself to assign each group a location.” Mr. Pederson holds up a hand when a couple of people groan in protest. “These sites are vetted by myself and have the proper approval in place. Once assigned, there will be no swapping or trading or proposing a different location. Understood?”

I nod, eager to learn more about our project, which earns me an appreciative smile from our professor.

“You’ll be researching the history of your site and proposing a plan for its preservation, restoration, or repurposing. This is one facet of your project.” Mr. Pederson starts passing out a grading rubric for the project. “The other side of this project will be the public presentation. You’ll not only be proposing this plan to the real site owners, but also in front of the Chamber of Commerce and PMU’s dean, Dr. Skeller. This will give you practical application of what you learn in this course and prepare you for delivering these proposals in the future should you continue down this career path.”

I skim over the grading rubric, slightly overwhelmed by the daunting scope of the project. I also vaguely remember meeting Dr. Skeller this summer on my tour of PMU. When I peek at Two, he doesn’t even look at his paper. He’s no longer rubbing his shoulder, which makes me feel a little better.

“This project,” Mr. Pederson continues once he’s back in front of the classroom, “needs to not just have the plan for preservation, but a solid professional presentation that includes relevant ideas for social media to reach a broader audience, a financial budget including possible grant opportunities, and a public engagement aspect that outlines any potential negative blowback from the community with ideas to circumvent that. Any questions thus far?”

No one says a word, clearly as intimidated by the project as I am.

“Okay, now for the assignment of locations. You won’t be given class time this week to visit your locations, so you’ll need to get with your partners at some point before Monday to do that. I’ll expect you to turn in pictures and a summary of your location meeting by the next week.”

The thought of going somewhere alone with Two is nauseating. Maybe it’s not too late to try and convince Mr. Pederson to swap me out with another student.

But that means letting Two win.

He shouldn’t get to throw a tantrum and get what he wants.

Mr. Pederson starts passing out the site assignments. When he sets our paper down, Two snatches it up with lightning speed to read what we got. I lean toward him, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper.

“Hemingford Hall,” Two grunts in disappointment. “I wanted Cedarwood Mansion.”

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