A Longtime (and at one point Illegal) Crush (3 page)

On the last night, the students
had a dance on campus. Elsie had taken extra time to make sure she was beautiful, noticeable. Here, away from the usual setting of school, it felt like anything could happen.

Kye was one of
the chaperones for the dance. All night he stood in the corner of the room wearing a white, button-down shirt to indicate he was a teacher, not a student. That shirt was a
Do Not Cross
sign. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he looked bored. How could Elsie keep from imagining what those hands would feel like on her shoulders, on her waist, slow dancing with her? Just once, she wanted to stand slow-dance close to him.

She was eighteen.
That made her an adult. In other times and places, girls were already married at eighteen. Certainly it wasn’t wrong to just dance with Kye.

After the
night was nearly over, Elsie finally got the courage to go talk to him. A fast song played, not a slow one, which made her request downright innocent.

“Hey, Mr. McBride,
” she said, half-laughing as though the idea had just occurred to her, “let’s dance.”

He shook his head.
“I’m a chaperone.”

“So, chaperones aren’t allowed to have any fun?”

“Nope. It’s one of the chaperone bylaws. I have to be curmudgeonly, insist no one has fun, and I can’t dance.”

“Come on,” she said, sending him a come-hither smile.
“Just this once. I won’t report you to the curmudgeon police.”

He
gestured in the direction of a group of guys. A couple of freshmen stood nearest to the dance floor. “Try one of them. They look like they would say yes to you.”

I
t was a snub and Elsie felt its sting. Still, she smiled, shrugged, and strolled over toward the group he’d pointed at. She passed up the freshmen and walked over to a tall, rebellious-looking guy standing behind them. He had long, shaggy hair, gauges in his earlobes, and a beat up T-shirt. She not only asked him to dance, she danced in a way to show Kye that math wasn’t the only thing she excelled at. Every move, every twist of her hips and flip of her hair was for Kye.
I’m not a little girl any more,
she thought.
I’m done waiting on the stairs.

Her dance partner
said his name was Bono—like the singer. She didn’t know who that was. He made small talk, which she mostly ignored. She was a dancer on a stage and this was a performance. When the song ended, Bono asked her to dance again. She said yes because it saved her the trouble of having to find a new guy to dance with. A slow song played, and she didn’t even mind Bono’s hand on her hips, because every time she glanced over at Kye, he was watching with an ever-present frown of disapproval.

It made
Elsie feel powerful. For so long, she had sat in the crowd watching him. Finally their positions were reversed.

When the song ended,
Bono took a step back from her. His long bangs nearly covered his eyes. “It’s hot in here. Do you want to go outside?”

Her gaze cut back over to Kye. He was still watching her, still frowning.
Why shouldn’t he see her go outside with one of the guys he’d suggested? If it caused him a pang of regret for blowing her off, good. He deserved it. She smiled at Bono. “Sure.”

Bono
smiled too. She hadn’t seen anything sinister in his smile. Not then. He made his way toward the door, and she threaded through the crowd after him, triumphant.

When they walked outside into the darkness of
the night, her triumphant feelings drained away. She was no longer making a point to Kye; she was standing outside with a guy she had no interest in. She looked him over again. Now that they were away from the dance crowd, his rebellious-looking hair just seemed pointlessly long. The huge holes in his ears were an obvious cry for attention. His smile was too broad, his gaze too intense.

The cars in the parking lot sat in rows, their darkened headlights making them look like they were all
part of the same dull stupor. A lamp in the distance cast off a feeble circle of light.

How long did Elsie have to stay outside before she could politely say she wanted to go back inside? She fidgeted with her class ring, twisting it around her finger.

Bono stepped toward her. “Are you thirsty? I know a place we can get some beer.” He took hold of her hand and pulled her toward the parking lot.

She dropped his hand and gave him an apologetic shrug.
“I’ll get in trouble if I go anywhere.” She drifted back toward the door they’d come from.

Bono
let out a sound that was half grunt and half laugh. “No one saw us come outside. We’ll be back before the dance is over.”

No one had seen them come outside
? She had thought Kye had been watching them. His eyes had been on her throughout the dance, but maybe he’d stopped looking at her when the song ended. The thought made her feel cross inside. Had she left with Bono for nothing?

“That’s okay
,” Elsie said. “I only came out here because I was hot.”

Bono
waggled his eyebrows at her. “You certainly are.”

Lame.
It was such an old joke she couldn’t believe he’d said it. If he asked her for her phone number, she wouldn’t give him her real one. Maybe she would give him a list of prime numbers or turn her answer into an equation. If he was smart, he’d figure it out, and if he wasn’t, then he could just figure that she didn’t want him to call her.

Bono
took hold of her hand again. “Hey, I want to show you something in my car. It’s right over there.” He pointed to a black car a couple rows back and began towing her in that direction.

“What
is it?” She reluctantly let him lead her across the asphalt. She didn’t care about anything he had in his car. Then again the car was in plain sight. It wasn’t as though he’d suggested they go into a darkened alley.

“So what does L.
C. stand for?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“L.
C.?” she repeated.

“Y
our name,” he said. “What do the L and the C stand for?”

“It’s not L.
C.” They were close enough to his car now that she didn’t bother protesting that she didn’t want to go there. It was better to see whatever he wanted to show her and then go back inside. “It’s E-L-S-I-E.”

“
Oh,” he said, understanding. “I’ve never heard of that name before. It sorta sounds like a question. L, see?”

This from a guy whose name was Bono?
She never should have said yes about coming outside in the first place. Making Kye jealous had been a stupid plan to begin with. He was never going to be jealous, and she ought to realize that by now.

They
arrived at Bono’s car. He took out his keychain and pushed the unlock button. He opened the door and waited for her to get in.

She didn’t. “What did you want to show me?”

He pulled her closer and lowered his voice in an attempt to sound alluring. “I want to show you how my seats recline.”

Beyond lame.
She wasn’t even going to give him a fake phone number. She jerked her hand away from his. “I’m going back inside.”

She turned, but he grabbed her wrist and
pulled her back to face him. “We’ll go back inside in a few minutes.”

She laughed even thoug
h her stomach clenched in fear. If she treated this like a joke, he would let her go. Nothing bad would happen. She tried to pull her wrist away from him. “I think I’ve already seen enough reclining seats.” It was the wrong thing to say. It made her sound like she’d spent a lot of time making out with guys in their cars.

His grip on her wrist tightened.
“What’s one more then?”

She grabbed his fingers, only managing to pry one off her. “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

He laughed and she caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. “No one will hear you.”

She kicked him in the shin, hard. She’d been aiming for his knee
. A kick there could have disabled him. Kicking him in the shin just made him mad. He swore and shoved her hard toward the open car door.

As she fell, her head smacked against the
car’s metal edge. She screamed, but he was right. The sound wavered, too weak to carry through the building. Her scream was only a noise of frustration and anger. How had she gotten herself into this situation? How had this guy gone from asking about her name to hurting her? These things only happened in the news, in movies, in warnings given to naive young girls. Not to smart girls like her.

Panic
twined through her. She kicked at Bono again, connected with some part of his body, she wasn’t sure what. She was laying half in, half out of the front seat. Instead of screaming again, she turned and pressed the horn. A loud blare sounded from the car. Maybe someone would hear it. Maybe someone would come out to see what was wrong.

Maybe was such a precarious word.

Still she clung to it and kept fighting.

Chapter 3

Elsie kicked at Bono again. This time he
expected it. He grabbed hold of her leg, shoved it against the door, and drew his hand back to hit her. She braced herself and lifted one hand to protect her face.

The hit never came. Instead
Bono was yanked backward so fast it looked like he’d been sucked into something. Another figure stood behind him. Kye. Elsie recognized his white shirt. His beautiful, wonderful, chaperone white shirt.

Kye slammed
Bono into the side of the car so forcefully, the thud vibrated through the vehicle. Bono swore, swinging wildly at Kye. He must have missed, because Kye didn’t even flinch. Elsie dragged herself out of the car in time to see Kye swing his fist into Bono’s stomach.

Bono
crumpled over and let out a groan that sounded like a punctured tire.

Rage was etched across Kye’s face. He held onto
Bono’s shirt with one hand, keeping him pinned against the car. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “What do you think you’re doing, punk?”

Bono
didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t fight back as Kye reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys and wallet. Kye flipped open the wallet, read the name on the license, then dropped it on the ground. He let go of Bono’s shirt, but held onto the keys. “I’ll keep these so you don’t drive off before the police get here.”

The word police seemed to bring
Bono to life. He coughed out, “Sorry, man. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” Kye said
.

Bono
shot a last look at Elsie, then darted away from Kye and sprinted through the parking lot.

For a moment Kye looked as though he would go after him, but instead h
e surveyed Elsie. Only a little of the anger faded from his expression. “Are you okay?”

She nodded
, even though she wasn’t okay at all. She was shaking. Cold. She wrapped her arms around herself. It didn’t help.

“Did he hurt you?” Kye asked.
He already had his cell phone out and was calling someone.

She touched the
side of her head. A lump had formed there. A patch of moisture told her it was bleeding. “He pushed me, and I hit my head.”

Kye swore and
gazed across the parking lot where Bono had run. He was gone, had disappeared into the darkness.

Kye
bent down, picked up the wallet, then took hold of Elsie’s arm. Gently, he led her back toward the building. Everything had happened so fast she’d barely had time to think about it, but now the last few moments were repeating in her mind in slow motion. A guy had attacked her. Attacked her. Tried to . . . what would have happened if Kye hadn’t come? Would she have been able to fight Bono off? Or would he have . . . right now, she could be back in that car, with Bono hitting her—or worse. Even thinking about it made her stomach turn.

Kye
was talking on the phone, relating what had just happened. Elsie didn’t know who he was speaking to. The police? One of the other chaperones? Her parents?

That’s when she started crying
—not when she’d been attacked, not when she’d been rescued; she cried at the thought of telling her parents. Elsie wanted her mother, wanted her mother’s comforting arms around her. But how could she tell her the rest? She felt so stupid, so helpless.

Kye
slipped his phone into his pocket, took hold of her elbow, and led her to the building. It was all a blur in her mind. The music blaring and bodies moving. Kye took her past the dance area and found one of the other chaperones—an overweight man with gray hair who looked at Elsie with sympathetic eyes while Kye explained what had happened. “Does she need to go to the hospital?”

Kye brushed away her bangs to look at her injury. “I don’t think it will need stitches. We should put something on it, though.”

Elise
hated feeling like a victim. This was not the sort of attention she’d wanted.