The Force of Gravity(4)

With my books cradled against my chest, I stand at the back of the classroom and observe as he diligently erases the whiteboard, his tantalizing back muscles rooting me to the floor. Feeling my gaze, he turns his head and does a double-take. He stops erasing the board and slowly turns around.

I blush.

“Kaley? Are you all right?”

I nod, unable to speak. Leave, just leave! But my feet won’t move.

“Is there something you need?”

I burst out a nervous laugh and my face burns.

He furrows his brows. “Is something wrong with your test?”

“No. Well, yeah, just the grade,” I stammer. “But that’s not your fault. Um . . . I just want to know what time the study group is.”

Idiot. He just went over that and specifically said he didn’t want to repeat himself. I stare at the ground and brush my hand through my hair. Nervous habit.

Still waiting for his reply, I peer up at him and see that his expression has turned into something else. Confusion mixed with something . . . unreadable. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly points to the top right-hand corner of the whiteboard. He had to know I was paying attention when he gave the announcement. My facade is so unbelievable; I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“Oh, right,” I say, letting out another nervous laugh.

“It’d be great having you there. You have one of the highest grades in class. You’d be a big help.”

“Thanks.”

Why am I not walking out the door?!

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes me breathless. I nod just as students begin to trickle in, and the classroom quickly fills with chatter.

Emily enters. “Kaley, what’s the matter?”

I shake my head and try to manufacture a smile. As I head out the door, I glance over my shoulder—he’s still staring at me, his expression indecipherable.

Holy hell.

I rush to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. What is wrong with me? I’ve never lost control over my body like that. I’m always in control—I don’t even drink! Sure, I’ve had plenty of crushes before—wait, this isn’t a crush; he’s your teacher—but I’ve never had this kind of physical reaction before. And just because I haven’t had sex yet, doesn’t mean my boyfriend doesn’t turn me on.

Does he turn me on?

Maybe I thought I knew what it felt like to be turned on . . . until now. What the hell are you saying?! You are not turned on by your tea—I can’t even say it to myself. If I do, it will make it true, and I am perfectly happy living in the land of denial.

Happy? Okay, more like desperate to live there.

I face my reflection and find mascara running down my face. Way to go, Kay. At least the bathroom is empty. I wipe it away and try to freshen up my makeup, but it’s no use. I have wildness in my eyes, like I’m hopped up on amphetamines. Get a grip!

I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts.

This man is my teacher. Even if he wasn’t, he’d still be too old for me. He’s a grown man, with a grown-up life and would probably laugh his ass off if he knew what I was feeling. I’m sure he thinks I’m a freak after gaping at him like a moron just now.

But what was that look in his eye?

No! He doesn’t want some stupid, doe-eyed teenaged girl. He wants a woman. He probably has a woman—a grown-up, beautiful woman who doesn’t fumble when she speaks to him and calls him by his first name. She’s probably some supermodel and sleeps in his bed every night. Why are you thinking about his bed?! The late bell rings, and I swear out loud. I take one more glance in the mirror before rushing to second period with my face still flushed and my body trembling.



I BURST THROUGH the door while Mrs. Taylor is mid-sentence. She gives me a disapproving frown, and I collapse into my seat. I’ve never been late to her class before, so I hope she’ll let it slide.

Tommy leans over and whispers, “You okay?”

I nod and give him the same forced smile I gave Emily: fake. He isn’t buying it. He’s known me for too long.

“Um, Kay? You have the wrong textbook.”

I notice my math book gripped tightly in my hands.

“Damn,” I whisper. “I forgot to stop by my locker.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod. Why does everyone keep asking me that? Because I’m not okay, I decide. Hoping he’ll let it go, I turn my attention back to class, my body still tingling.



EMILY PLOPS DOWN next to me. “So, what were you and Mr. McHottie talking about?”

Tommy’s eyes meet mine across the table.

“Who?” I ask, picking at my lunch.

“Oh please, Kaley. Mr. Slate! What the hell was going on?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “We were just talking about the study group.”

Emily purses her lips. “That’s it? It looked a little more intense than that. I thought you were in trouble.”

Oh, I’m in trouble all right. She seems to have bought it, though. I mean, technically, that is what we were talking about, so it’s not a complete lie.

“You’re not going, are you?” she says as she cracks open her soda. “It’s on a Friday night!”

“I’m thinking about it,” I admit.

Tommy breaks his silence. “Don’t you have an A in that class?”

I feel the heat on my face betray me. “Um, yeah, but it’s still a hard class. In fact, I just got an eighty-one on my last test. And besides, he said I would be a big help.”

“So, wait,” says Emily. “Are you going because you want help? Or are you going because you want to help out?” She winks at me, and I silently curse my face as I feel it blush.

“I dunno—I mean . . . both, I guess.”

“Well, you can tell him that I’d love to be his big help,” gushes Emily dramatically.

Derek turns to her. “What the hell, babe?”

Emily laughs and throws her tater tot at him. “What? You jealous?”

“Please. What do you want an old man for when you’ve got this?” He flexes his arm and grabs her around the waist. She giggles and they fall into a kiss.

Someone behind me shouts, “Get a room!”

Tommy leans forward. “I thought we were going to the movies on Friday night.”

“Oh, right,” I say, hoping he doesn’t sense my disappointment.

Emily breaks away from Derek. “Thank God, Kay! If you were going to ditch us and Ryan Gosling for a study session on a Friday night, I’d have to disown you.”

I try to smile, then turn to my lunch. I don’t know what I was thinking. Whenever the boys have a game-free Friday night, the four of us have automatic plans. A study session with Mr. Slate—and his forearms—will probably never happen. Why does that bother me so much? I shove my uneaten food back into my lunch sack.

“I have to go to the library,” I say to Tommy. “See you after school?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” he says, his eyes guarded.

I give him a light peck on the cheek and stand up. As I leave the table, I throw out my untouched food and catch Tommy’s concerned eyes lingering on the trash can as I walk away.



BY THE TIME my parents get home, I’m deep into my homework and have forgotten all about the family meeting. When they call me downstairs, dread washes over me. Are they finally going to address their fighting? Or worse—what if they’re getting a divorce? No, not my parents. I push the unbidden thought out of my head.

They’re sitting in the formal living room when I make my way down the stairs. My mom looks worried, my dad tense. No words pass between us as I take my seat on the leather couch.

“Just spit it out,” I say quietly. Whatever terrible news they’re about to give me, I’d rather they rip it off like a Band-Aid than drag it out. I slide my hands in between my knees as suspense suffocates the room.

My dad leans forward in the chair across from me and takes a deep breath. “We need to talk to you about college.”

“College?” I say, dumbfounded.

“We’re so proud of you for getting into USC, Kay. You should be really proud of yourself.” Something in his tone sets off my inner alarms.

“I am,” I say.

He hesitates like he’s struggling to find the right words. After a period of thick, awkward silence, my mom shifts in her seat on the other end of the couch and speaks for him.

“Kaley,” she says softly. “We can’t afford it, sweetie.”

A sudden coldness hits me at my core. “What?”

I don’t understand. With my mom working as a hairdresser and my dad managing a small hardware store, I know we aren’t exactly rich. But we definitely aren’t poor.

“Kaley,” my dad finally speaks up, “the University of Southern California is over sixty grand a year.”

The University of Southern California? What, is he avoiding the abbreviation for dramatic affect?

“Yeah, I know that.” I try to choose my words carefully. “But tuition hasn’t exactly changed in the last few months. You knew the cost when I applied.” I look back and forth between them. “I don’t understand. You’ve always wanted me to go to college.”

“And we still do,” my dad replies. “ASU is a good school, Kay.”