Instead of You(16)

Taking no time to worry about his response, I lifted onto my toes, reached up, and kissed him. Whatever I couldn't say, whatever feelings were too powerful to give words to, I put them into that kiss. I showed him my fears, my worries, but most of all, I showed him what I wanted.

I wanted him.

He answered my kiss with one of his own.

Finally, he pulled away again and I had to fight the urge to groan, already missing his mouth against mine.

"You need to go inside now." His voice was raspy, nearly a growl, and hearing it made everything inside me seize and then sputter back to life, but I nodded, agreeing.

"Just promise me you won't forget about me tomorrow." I hadn't meant to sound like a needy, immature girl, but I desperately needed the reassurance.

His eyes met mine again, this time both his hands cradling my face. "I couldn't if I tried."

"Okay," I whispered. He gave me one last small peck on the lips, then took a small step back, but he might as well have put a canyon between us for how far away he felt.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

I turned away from him and walked back in my house, making sure I turned the dead bolt behind me. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and then continued to my bedroom, hoping the next day would bring a little more clarity and a little less uncertainty.





Chapter Eleven

McKenzie

The following days did nothing to quiet the uneasiness I felt about my situation with Hayes.

School was torture.

I spent the entire day peeking over my shoulder, looking down hallways, basically being paranoid and searching for his face in a crowd. I never saw him outside of class, which made sense; he wasn't a student so he wouldn't be traipsing through the halls between periods. But it almost felt as though he weren't real. That what had happened between us was simply a figment of my overactive and sadistic imagination.

Sitting in his class, however, was surprisingly easier than I had anticipated.

Because I got to look at him.

And I not only got to look at him, but I was able to see him.

I thought I knew Hayes, and in a big way, I did. But I hadn't met that Hayes yet. I hadn't been introduced to the guy who was passionate about history, of all things. Or the person who could make witty comments and entice laughter from a room full of sullen teenagers. I never knew the man who could engage a room full of students and make them excited about a world war or learning about it in a way that was more than just dates, names, and events. He wasn't just teaching history; he was telling us a story.         

     



 

But he was also beautiful.

So I let him teach and I tried to pay attention-really, I did-but a lot of the time I was just caught up in all the new things I was learning about him and memorizing all the things about him that made him Hayes. He also made this very easy because not once since he'd started had he looked at me. I had my suspicions about why that was and figured he thought it was too risky for him to be looking at me at all. So it was easy to stare and get lost in him since he was never looking my way.

I wasn't dumb, and I wasn't ignorant to the situation. I knew that if anyone found out about what had happened between us, the only one who would suffer would be Hayes. So when I sat in his class every day, my body weirdly aching for him to just glance in my direction, I knew why he didn't and I was completely okay with it.

Well, for the most part.

I was having a grand old time taking him in, watching the way his body moved and stretched the shirt trying to contain his muscled arms, or how when he turned around his hair was so neatly pulled back into a bundle at the base of his neck, making his shoulders look fantastic. But I also wasn't the only one noticing how beautiful he was.

When he did turn his back to the class, I watched as all the girls looked around at each other, raising their eyebrows, their mouths forming tiny Os, their cheeks pinkening. Then the giggling started and my heartbeat pounded in my veins.

I'd never been jealous before, never had a reason to be. Every single person in our school had known Cory and I were together and no one ever tested that. But nobody could have suspected that Mr. Wallace was involved with anyone, especially not the girl in the third row who was supposedly mourning his younger brother.

I couldn't blame the girls in my class for being attracted to him, but I could blame them for pulling me aside in the hallways and asking me personal questions about him. I would dare anyone to blame me for lying to them.

He has a serious girlfriend back at college.

They live together.

He's gay.

I told them anything I could think of to get them to stop staring at him with giant pulsing cartoon hearts in their eyes.

Halfway through class on Thursday, I watched as Mr. White stood and left the room quietly, trying not to disturb Hayes's instruction. My gaze flitted to Hayes's and finally, I caught his eye. It was just a millisecond, a tiny moment, but I could see the relief flood through him. I thought it had to be stressful for him to have Mr. White and me in class at the same time, worried he would somehow slip up and give away the truth.

I gave him a small smile, trying to convey understanding, that I felt the relief too.

When class was over, my heart leapt as he spoke my name. "Miss Harris, could you stay behind a moment?"

I stilled, waiting for the other students to give me shocked glances or disapproving looks, but none came my way. I slowly packed up my belongings and as the last students left the room, I made my way to the front of the classroom.

"Hey," he said, smiling an unrestrained smile I hadn't seen in days.

"Hi," I answered, smile equally as broad, even though I made myself stop a few feet from him, keeping an appropriate distance between us. "How are you?" Every part of me ached to go to him, even if it was just to lay a hand on his arm. I wanted to feel him, to remind myself that our connection was real.

His smile faded at my question. "Last night was rough for my mom." He let out a sigh and then moved his hand absently to his forehead, looking as though he'd forgotten his hair was pulled back, trying to push his hand through it. "She's having a lot of nightmares and the sleeping pills aren't working. I called her doctor this morning and they want to see her this afternoon, so I'm taking her as soon as I leave here."

"What can I do?" My question was asked with a helplessness I'd never felt before.

"Nothing, really." He sighed. "Although I'm hoping they'll give her something strong and she'll be able to sleep. I was also hoping you'd come over later."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth my heart was back to somersaulting, but it all came crashing down with the sound of the door opening and Mr. White returning.

"If you need any help with the material, just let me know. I could suggest a study partner." Hayes's cover was expertly executed, but his eyes were wide with worry.

"Uh, thanks Mr. Wallace. I'll see you tomorrow." My response was entirely panicked. I left the classroom quickly, hiking the strap of my messenger bag further onto my shoulder. I had to practically run to make it to the bus before it left. The entire ride home I felt ill.         

     



 

At dinner that evening I listened to my mom and dad discuss Mrs. Wallace and her problems, and as bad as I felt for her, knowing she was dealing with something I couldn't even comprehend, in that moment I was upset for my mother. Watching her best friend deteriorate, watching her crumble and succumb to grief was tearing my mother apart. That I could understand. I understood her need and want to help, only to be left helpless and unable to make a difference.

No one could help Mrs. Wallace with her pain. All we could do was be there for her and Hayes, help them through it, watch them suffer. It didn't seem like enough.

My mother took a moment to compose herself, taking a sip from the wine glass I had noticed she was drinking from more often, then turned her eyes to me.

"You've been pretty quiet lately, Kenzie. How are you holding up?"

I froze, fork midair, halfway to my mouth. I forced my hand to move the fork to my mouth, hoping the bite would give me some time to sort my thoughts. How was I holding up? I hadn't given it much thought lately. There was so much else going on in my brain, it was hard to focus on the sad things, easier to hone in on other people's grief.

Finally, I shrugged. "I don't really know, Mom. I'm just kind of taking each day as it comes."

"Is it getting easier to be at school?"

"I don't think it's easier to live life without Cory, I just think I'm getting used to it. I still miss him. I can still feel his absence." And that was the truest thing I'd said in days. His absence was ever-present. When I got a good grade on my math quiz, I wanted to tell Cory-he'd helped me in math since seventh grade, always the person to explain the parts I couldn't grasp on my own. When the latch on my locker had stuck the day before, I'd immediately had a rush of anger, cursing Cory under my breath for the time earlier that year when his orange juice spilled inside and jammed up the lock when it dried sticky. The anger was quickly followed by a sharp pang, wishing he had been there for me to yell at.

I forced a sad, small smile. "But I think it's getting better."

I didn't tell them that I missed my best friend, but not so much my boyfriend. I didn't think they'd understand that, and, honestly, I wasn't sure I quite did either.