Free A Little Crushed by Viviane Brentanos Page A

reporting Miss Harding to the Head. I know more than you think. I understand she has been through some tough times but…I have to ask. I think there is more going on, here. Did you two argue?”
    Emma averted his gaze and shuffled her feet. “You guessed that? Yes we did.”
    “Well, I won’t ask you what about, but when you see Rebecca, please ask her to come and see me. This can’t go on. This is your final year. Exams are not that far off, and I cannot have this continuing atmosphere in my classroom.” Oh, that was a good line. Way to go, Max. You almost sound like you know what you’re doing . He patted her on the shoulder. “Okay, you may go now and Emma...”
    She turned at the door.
    “No more copying, please.”
    “You knew?” The china blue eyes widened in amazement. “Shit—I mean oh. Funny, Mr. Adams never did.”
    Waiting for her to close the door, Max slumped in his chair and buried his head in his hands. “This is too fucking hard.”
    “Knock, knock.” Tom stuck his head around the door, a wide grin stretching what Kate called his boy-band face. “As your superior, I must remind you no blaspheming until four p.m., and you look like crap, by the way. More problems?”
    Dragging his palms down over his chin, Max contemplated telling him. He decided not to. He couldn’t go running to Tom every time he faced a challenge. No, he would figure Miss Harding out on his own. “Nope.” He slipped his arms into his suit jacket. “All is well in the land of ‘Aus.’ Now, didn’t you say you had some of Fiona’s delicious egg mayonnaise sandwiches to share? Let’s hit the staff room.”
    “Are you sure?” Tom gave him a sly wink. “Fiona tells me Christine Holmes is on the attack. She wants you, man.”
    “Well who wouldn’t? A hot-blooded specimen of manhood like myself? God, I even want me.”
    “Modest as ever.” Tom allowed him to pass before slapping him on the back.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Rebecca sat on a bench in the market square, a Sara’s Sinfully Sweet Shop bag of comfort food on her lap. Who cared if she missed English? She didn’t. Compared to this crise de confiance, education seemed irrelevant. She stuck her tongue in the delicious, creamy centre of a gooey creme egg, two hazelnut fudge bars on her lap as back up. If only life was simple. It had been simple until he arrived.
    Her brain was in chaos. Being out of control was a new experience for her. She hated it. How on earth was she supposed to get through the rest of the year? It would be hell on earth, facing him each day. And just why she blamed him for today’s fracas, she didn’t understand. Actually, she did. Easier to blame him than admit Emma had a point. And of course, their latest arguments had all come about because of him.
    “It just doesn’t make sense, you know.” She vented to the stoic pigeon waiting patiently for a crumb of chocolate. “I don’t know why I’m letting him bother me so much. He’s just another patronising teacher.” Her friend cooed and bobbed his head in agreement. “Oh, here.” She scattered the half-eaten chocolate on the ground, much to his joy, and he immediately summoned his family of twenty.
    “No feeding the pigeons!”
    The disgruntled park attendant glared at her, but Rebecca fixed him with her my-father’s-taxes-pay-your-wages glint. “I’m going.” She sniffed. “Oh, and by the way, the ladies’ loos honk. I suggest you spend less time on terrorising animal lovers and more on your job.”
    “You’re not supposed to feed the pigeons,” he croaked. “They’re vermin.”
    Rebecca wasn’t surprised he croaked. She couldn’t remember a time when the old boy hadn’t had a fag glued to his bottom lip. “So sue me.” Scrunching up the empty sweet bag, she lobbed it into the wastepaper bin. She knew he wouldn’t. Her father’s deadly lawyer reputation preceded him. He’d been bailing her out of trouble since she could walk.
    Sighing, Rebecca folded her hands