Hot For Teacher(122)
Is that what she is—my friend? I try to remember the last time I had one of those.
“You’re next,” the one girl said. Were they going to kick the shit out of her?
This girl, Arleen, can’t be from the suburbs. The drama with girls around this town consists of embarrassing Facebook videos of Saturday night parties and whether or not their best friend tagged them in a meme of their favorite people.
Not physical harm.
My questions continue to mount, and with my assumed answers, a gut feeling of concern tears at my chest.
Oh, God. I’m turning into a chick. Why am I suddenly so attached and emotional? I dry heave at the thought.
It’s past nine o’clock now, the usual time she appears, and my stomach flips at every cricket and frog I think might be her footsteps.
“Been here long?”
I jump up at Arleen’s voice, not taking the time to ask myself how she could have approached without me hearing her. I have far too many different questions I want to ask.
But the second I see her, and how the moon casts shadows over her skin, my mind empties and I forget all the things I want to know. I swallow hard and try to act as casual as possible by pushing up my sleeves and shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Are you okay?” is all I manage to say.
A half-smile appears and disappears on her face. She scratches her temple and walks toward me. “Were you worried?”
I shrug, but give her a nervous smile. I’m not sure if it’s the thought of becoming friends with someone who is in some kind of danger or the warmth I felt when I heard her voice for the first time since this afternoon.
I’m not a pussy, I’m not a pussy, I’m not a pussy.
We sit against the tree on the ground, and neither of us says a word for several minutes. I try to keep my guard up and convince myself that it’s morbid curiosity I have for her story, and that I can’t possibly be interested in a girl like her. Even just thinking about making her Number Ten makes me uneasy. Though I don’t understand why.
“Can you tell me about it? What happened at school today?”
Her breathing shifts, and out of the corner of my eye I see her shaking her head.
“No.” She sighs. “Let’s not talk about school,” she adds quietly.
“Okay. Then let’s start with something easier. Where are you from?” I turn to face her, and her head dips lazily toward me against the bark of the tree trunk.
She smiles and looks down toward the ground. “Kentucky.”
“And why did you move here? Did your dad get a job transfer or something?”
She shakes her head, and gently tugs at her lip. “Nah, nothing like that.”
I wait for her to continue, but it seems as if she has no intentions of answering my question. “Is everyone in Kentucky this vague, or is this just an Arleen thing?”
The small amount of light in our corner of the room exposes her white teeth as she smiles widely.
“I got a smile!” I nudge her arm. “Come on, Arleen,” I say with a grin, “talk to me.”
Her smile turns down. “Simon, look. I’m not really a big talker—”
“Wait. I’m going to interrupt you right there. I know for a fact you’re a talker, because you shut me down in debate the other night.”
She smiles again, a little less than before. “Right. I mean, I’m not a big talker about this stuff. Personal stuff.”
“Are you afraid I’ll tell someone?”
She doesn’t respond, but makes quick eye-contact and looks back down again.
“All right. That’s fair,” I say, trying to reassure her. “I’m not much of a talker about personal stuff, either.” And I realize that I’m not. It’s been years since I had anyone I spoke to about anything that wasn’t building a debate rebuttal or coming up with a witty one-liner to get into someone’s pants. “So then let’s make a new rule.”
She lifts her chin and focuses on me.
“The first rule is that we don’t talk about school. The second…” I look back to her, and she’s waiting impatiently for my words. “The second is that anything we say never leaves this place.”
She tugs at her lip, thinking about my proposition, then combs her fingers through her long hair. “How do I know I can trust you?”
I reply instantly. “You don’t. Just like I don’t know if I can trust you. But we’re both here for a reason, and it seems you’re not here for my boyish good looks.” I raise my eyebrow, and she cracks another smile.
“But it seems you have a lot of friends,” she whispers, keeping her head down, her smile fading.
I don’t want to admit that I don’t. Instead, I merely say, “No, Arleen. What you’ve heard at school is not really the person I am.” I shake my head, wondering what she’s heard, and feeling like one of my go-to speeches actually holds some sincerity. “I have nobody.” A lump gathers in my throat at my confession, and I feel like a jackass.