Hot For Teacher (39 page)

I’m pacing the space when she enters. She’s so quiet every time she comes here, I’m beginning to wonder if she has always just been in my imagination.

“Who are you?” I bark as soon as she comes into view.

The sparkle that was in her eye when she first walked in fades and her hands begin to tremble.

“Come here, Arleen.” My tone softens. “I’m sorry if I scared you, but I can’t seem to get you out of my mind. And it’s annoying the shit out of me.”

She nods and walks to me. Her silence kills me. I can see she’s conflicted, and now I feel like a dick for demanding answers.

“I’m sorry,” I say defeated. My shoulders slouch and I reach for her hand.

“Don’t be. I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to not know anything about someone you spend so much time with. Especially since I know more about you than I care to.”

My eyes shut. “I can only imagine the shit you’ve heard.” I open my eyes and shake my head. “Tell me something. Anything. Outside of the fact that your name is Arleen Carson, I don’t have a clue who you are.”

“Sit. I’ll tell you,” she says, and sits cross-legged on the ground.

I sit eagerly and wait for her to speak.

“But you have to promise me, Simon. Promise you won’t tell a soul of what I’m about to say.”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

She scratches her chin, still apprehensive. “When I was eleven, my father left my mother.”

“This was in Kentucky?” I ask.

She nods and continues. “My brother and I were good kids. Never got in fights, always did our homework…” She finds a stick and draws lines in the dirt at our feet. “The same night that Dad left, Mom did too.”

I process her words, but I can’t comprehend what she’s telling me. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Seems she couldn’t bear the thought of raising us by herself. She left an envelope filled with six thousand dollars on the table, and that was it.”

“Where did you go?” I ask, harsher than I intend.

“Nowhere. We stayed.”

“Wait. You stayed? How?”

“It was a big apartment complex and no one ever questioned where the rent came from. I paid in money orders.”

The more she speaks, the angrier I get—not at
her
, but at her parents. At
every
parent who thinks we can do this on our own.

I shake my head and my eyes bug out of their sockets. “You’ve been living alone and raising your brother since you were eleven? How did you continue to pay for rent, electricity, food?”

She swallows, her chin quivering with her response. “I did what I had to.”

I shiver and my mind automatically drifts to the worst possible scenario. My jaw sets as I think about dirty old men with their hands all over her. My skin feels like it ignites into flames as I try to find the words to ask her.

She sees it in my eyes and quickly retorts, “No! Not that. I’ve never done…
that
.”

My chest contracts as I let out the breath I didn’t realize was holding.

“But I sold drugs. Lots and lots of drugs to kids at school.” A tear falls from her eye and she quickly wipes it away, pretending it never existed.

“Where are your parents now?” I ask, glaring into the woods and imagining what I’d say to them if I ever met them.

“It doesn’t matter.” She sniffs. “About six months ago I decided I didn’t want this for myself or my brother. So I stopped dealing. I got out. But we also ran out of money pretty quick.” She looks up to the sky and exhales. “After I called the police, they showed up at my door and took me and my brother into state care.”

“And now?”

She hesitates and slowly exhales again. “Now Matthew and I live about six blocks from here in a home for kids. I tuck him in every night, which is why I always get here so late. It’s not the best situation, but at least it’s something.”

I can’t even imagine, with my privileged upbringing, everything she has been through. In this instance, I feel extremely small.

But I can’t help but be thankful. Not for the horrific circumstances of her life, but for whatever bit of serendipity that brought her here. And into my life.

I rake my hands across my face and look over at her. She’s stopped tracing lines in the dirt, but the conversation has left her emotionally exhausted. I can see it in her posture.

Her eyes flutter shut, and I can tell she wants to sleep.

“Come here,” I whisper. “That’s enough talking for tonight.” I prop myself against the tree and pat my leg.

She tries to smile, but it takes too much effort. Instead, she lays her head in my lap and closes her eyes.

I run my fingers through her hair—noting that it’s just as soft as I thought it would be—to soothe her, and before long I can feel her tears on my knee.

I lean back against the tree, trying to find something to say.

But I have no go-to speeches for this one.

I’m in entirely new territory. And the last thing I want to do is hurt this girl any more than she’s already been hurt.

As she drifts to sleep, I slowly reposition myself, so that she is lying practically on top of me. And I’m not even thinking (well not
entirely)
about how I can work this so that I can sleep with her.

I’m not thinking of her as my Number Ten. My next conquest. The next notch on my bedpost.

I keep my arms wrapped tightly around her, giving her a chaste kiss on the top of her head.

I’m tired, but I don’t fall asleep—scared that when I do, she’ll leave.

And I realize that’s not something I’d be okay with.

Number Two: The Nissan

November 12, 2013 (Ten months ago)

Since the last time was a two-and-a-half-minute disaster, I knew I needed to distract myself as much as possible by pleasing
her
first. The whole stamina thing was going to be a lot tougher than I thought.

Sex wasn’t like I’d always thought it would be.

The act of it was fine, but I was completely devoid of emotional attachment. I’m not sure if that’s normal or not, but that was never really my goal anyway.

It just struck me as odd.

Where was the excitement? Where were those elusive butterflies that I was supposed to feel when I kissed her for the first time? Where was the tingling and nervousness and timidity? There was nothing except my hormones. I might as well have been having sex with a blowup doll.

I was eager again that time, but Emily wasn’t as quick to give up her virginity as Peggy had been several months before. It had taken me a long time to try it again. To be honest, I didn’t think we were going to have sex at all until she unzipped my fly.

I think I need to start a spreadsheet on this subject, because it’s fascinating. How is a guy supposed to know what a girl wants unless she asks him? There must be signs, some kind of signals they give us that are more subtle than Emily’s.

I was really still just a kid. I turned seventeen the month prior. If Emily knew how scared I was that night of doing the right – or wrong – things, she’d probably think I was a wimp. She’d also probably kill me if she knew I was trying to seduce her for practice.

I went down on her that night. That was a first for me. And yet still, no butterflies.

I just knew it would be different with Miss Shields. It had to be. She was the one who would make me get goose bumps. She would be the one to make me feel like I was whole again. Miss Shields really was the woman I’d always dreamed of.

But that night with Emily was pretty run of the mill. Kind of like a Nissan: she was shiny and new, but there was nothing exceptional about her.

Was I a complete asshole for comparing her to a car?

I was able to make her come after two hours of kissing and groping, and I lasted four minutes inside her—almost twice my record.

Yet still, I had no connection. No spark. Nothing was mysterious or intriguing about Emily herself. All I could do after that point was hope that when I finally got there, Miss Shields would be the one to bring it out in me.

Again, she’s gone.

I expected to wake when she left, thinking I’d feel her move. But I must have slept through it. A part of me feels like I’m hungover and that last night couldn’t be real. But as I stand and look around the ruins, I can see the sun beginning to rise, shining a light down to the spot where I had slept. Something glimmers in the sun.

I don’t know if she intentionally left it behind for me or if it fell off her, but I find her small locket lying in the dirt. Snatching it up, I shove it in my pocket and head for home.

In the shower, I think of her.

Arleen.

On the ride to school, I can’t stop either.

It’s still Arleen.

As I walk up the steps into school, I wonder where she is.

Not a single second passes where she’s not in my thoughts, and I think I’ve gone completely insane.

I’m worried about her.

I’m not even hormonal—at least, I don’t think I am. My mind and body aren’t reacting to her like they do with Miss Shields.

Miss Shields
.
Fuck. It’s Thursday.

I have a research study group for debate tonight. I don’t even remember what we’re debating.

I’m losing control, and I can’t concentrate on anything. My parents are probably going to fly back from wherever the hell they are when they find out I’m failing every class this semester. That’s all I need: Mom and Dad meeting with the principal and finding out I have no plan for college.

Yet even as I sit down in first period, all I can think about is that in fifty minutes I get to walk down the Math hallway and see Arleen—even though I’m pretty sure she won’t even look at me.

And after all this, I have no intention of getting into her pants. In fact, I want everyone to stay the hell away from her. She’s definitely not my Number Ten.

In fact, the thought of a Number Ten isn’t quite as appealing as it used to be.

Isn’t it nice that my conscience decides it wants to be a part of my life when it’s most inconvenient for me? Aren’t I supposed to be screwing Miss Shields’s brains out in two weeks? Katie “I-Was-Born-To-Fuck-You”
Shields? It’s a simple goal! I just need to stick to the plan!

But I’ve barely thought about her since she mentioned adjoining rooms.

Where are my eighteen-year-old urges when I need them?

The hour passes and I find myself watching the second hand tick toward the twelve just as the bell rings.

I jump out of my chair before anyone else, and head for the door. My strange behavior has no doubt set the gossip mill going within the debate team. But for some reason I don’t give a shit about what they or anyone else thinks.

I race to Arleen’s first period class, and watch as she exits. I sneak behind pillars and duck behind doors, remaining hidden. Her brow is pinched more than usual, and she seems to have her guard up so that people avoid her.

Oh. My. God. I’m stalking her!

Yet even this revelation isn’t enough to make me stop. The only time I pause is when Miss Shields approaches from nowhere, standing in my direct field of vision.

I blink twice, regretfully taking my eye off Arleen as she turns the corner.

“Hi, Simon. I…” Miss Shields looks like she has something important to tell me, but I wave her off.

“Sorry, Miss Shields. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” I don’t stick around long enough to watch her jaw drop to the floor, but as I pass, I hear her sharp intake of breath.

The short delay has made it impossible for me to catch up to Arleen. I really just want to see her face again before she makes it to her classroom.

I take a deep breath and smile widely when I realize I’m about to cut through the library just to intercept her.

It’s absurd, and it makes absolutely no sense at all, but I can’t contain my laughter as I jog through the library and get to her classroom door just as she’s rounding the corner.

For the life of me, I can’t remove the smile from my face.

Because I know—I
really know
—that I’m about to kiss her, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it. This thought makes my stomach flip more than anything else ever has.

Her hair is covering most of her face, and it looks like she’s grinding her teeth. She hasn’t seen me yet, so I back up casually against the wall, cross my arms over my chest, and keep my smile in place. If she looks up even briefly, she’ll see me and have to acknowledge me.

She
has
to feel this.

How can she not? My entire body is buzzing with whatever
this
is.

She quickens her pace, looking like she’s got something on her mind. When she glances up briefly toward the door, her eye catches mine, and she slows to a stop.

Students file into the classroom, but she continues to watch me. She takes no notice of the people passing her and her shoulders slouch. Her face looks sort of panicky even though I’m still smiling. I can’t stop. I must look a little freaky standing there with a gaping grin on my face.

But I feel it—this tension in the air between us. It’s mesmerizing.

She
must
feel it too.

Because even though I can’t put my finger on why, there has never been a girl I was more certain about kissing than Arleen Carson.

I close the distance between us and watch as the air empties from her chest and her body tenses.

I
need
her to feel this.

I loop the necklace that’s in my pocket around my finger just before I reach for her, and as the locket dangles from my thumb, I cup her cheek in my hand.

She swallows and closes her eyes. “Please, Simon.”

I hear her plea and inch my lips closer.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

My eyes open wide as I see her fear. Not the kind of fear of the unknown. Or the kind that she’s scared that people will see us.

Jesus. Is she scared of
me
?

I look around the hall, and the few people that are lingering aren’t paying any attention to us. But I still feel like I’ve got a knife in my chest.

It’s more than embarrassing. It’s desire at its worst met with denial at its best.

She really
doesn’t
feel this, does she?

My eyes close on their own accord as I slowly shake my head. I look back into her eyes one last time to see if I’ve misread her, to see if there’s some other reason hidden behind them as to why she isn’t kissing me.

But I see nothing.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll leave you alone.” I feel like I’m about to puke as the words come out.

Her eyes brim with tears, but I don’t stick around long enough to watch one fall.

I have my own wounds to nurse.