Free Cheating Lessons: A Novel by Nan Willard Cappo

Exciting, yes. Nonetheless, Bernadette tightened her shoulder strap and offered a quick prayer to St. Christopher.
    Mr. Malory took a roll of peppermint Life Savers out of his shirt pocket. “Mint?”
    “Thanks.” Her fingers brushed his. “My dad had a Corvette once,” she said, to make conversation.
    He made a “pah” noise with his mouth, like a seat cushion being jumped on. “Vettes,” he said with scorn, and popped a Life saver into his mouth. He cracked his window, rolled the excess foil between his fingers, and let the airstream suck it away.
    She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her foot knocked against a case on the floor. “You sure have a lot of CDs.”
    “Here, let me get those out of your way.” He kept one hand on the wheel and reached down for the CD case. The back of his hand grazed her leg. A sensation of such intense desire shot through her that she whimpered. She made herself cough. “Went down the wrong pipe,” she gasped, and pounded her chest.
    “False Idols.” Mr. Malory fed a CD into the slot in the dashboard and gave no sign of noticing her distress. “You like them?”
    “They’re great,” she croaked. She would have approved Gregorian chant. The driving pulse of electric guitars revved up her own heartbeat. Her leg tingled where he’d brushed it, as though his touch had scorched the denim.
    He hummed to the music. “So, Bernadette. What do your parents think of our chances in the Classics Bowl?” She was “Ms. Terrell” in class, but “Bernadette” in his car. He flicked on the headlights, and two bright circles stabbed the dusk in front of them.
    “My mother wants us to crush Pinehurst in front of the world. Although if one of the boys on their team asked me out afterward, that would be okay with her, too.”
    He laughed delightedly. “Beat ’em then join ’em, eh? I like your mother’s attitude. What about your father?”
    “Oh, whatever we do will be just fine with him. He’s the one I’d like to win for, really.”
    Mr. Malory drummed his fingers on the wheel in time to the music. “Don’t worry. At the risk of pleasing your mother, I’ll bet you all a team dinner we win.”
    Bernadette was not short on confidence, but she could not feel as certain of victory as her teacher did.
    Idly her fingers explored the compartment in the passenger door beside her. Nothing there except . . . matches? Yes, a book of matches. His matches. She slipped them into her jacket pocket. “Mr. Malory?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Do you think Mrs. Standish is . . . all there?”
    “All where?”
    “I mean, normal.” One of her mother’s phrases came to her. “Firmly anchored in reality.”
    His mouth quirked in amusement. “As much as any of us, I’d say. Why do you ask?”
    Bernadette told him about the interview in the principal’s office. “So I told her what you’d told me about the percentaging.”
    “Did you, now?” Something in his voice made her glance at him. “And did that reassure her?”
    “Oh, yeah. When I left she was practically dancing.”
    “Well, there you are, then. Nothing to worry about. I gather Peg is quite exited about the community support she’s receiving. You Wizards have put Wickham on the map, metaphorically speaking. Naturally she’d want to investigate any rumors about her team’s validity. But it sounds as though you set her mind at rest nicely.” He seemed relieved himself, and his manner became more expansive. “To tell you the truth, Bernadette, even if there’d been a foul-up somewhere—which there wasn’t, luckily—there’s no doubt in my mind that this team could still outshine Pinehurst, given the chance. It’s a question of motivation.”
    “Really?” That hard work could catch up with years of every cultural advantage was something she liked to say herself, all the time. But in her heart she was less sure. Hearing Frank Malory say it—and he should know, as educated as he was—worked on Bernadette like a drug.