by Ava Harrison
“Is this your first year teaching?”
“Yeah, not exactly what I planned but still a good fall back. How’s your senior year going so far? Other than my class.” He laughs and the sound makes me smile. The comfort I feel isn’t forced. There’s an energy coursing between us. It’s tangible and runs through every muscle in my body, warming me. I wonder if he feels it too?
“It’s good. Although I will tell you I don’t at all look forward to fifth period with Mr. Anderson.”
“Yeah, he’s a tough one. Plus, calculus sucks. If you need help learning how to deal with him, let me know.” As we continue to make our way down the sidewalk, a giant pothole is etched away in the pavement. Stepping back, he places his hand on the small of my back to guide me out of harm’s way. The contact causes my skin to prick with goose bumps. Turning up to him, I catch his stare. There’s something different in the way he looks at me. It’s as if a veil is lifted and he actually sees me. They smolder with a fire I haven’t seen since that first night. We stay locked in each other for a beat before he pulls his gaze away and I pass.
When we finally reach the corner of Fifth, the location in which our paths deviate, we halt our steps.
“Okay, I’m off that way. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hesitates as though he wants to say more, but no words leave his mouth. We are both at a standstill. Neither of us wants to take the first step, yet neither of us is ready to stay. Finally, he makes the decision for us, slowly turning and walking in the opposite direction.
I miss him already.
Five days later . . .
TUESDAY MORNING FINDS ME IN a better mood. First period is no longer a drag. Carson has been calling on me in class, and there is no feeling of awkwardness. Sometimes it’s actually pleasant.
Stepping inside, I hurry to the front and grab my seat. Even though we’ve been getting along, the idea of being late and pissing him off scares the heck out of me.
I pull out my papers and then lift my gaze to the front of the classroom. Carson is staring at me, and a small quirk in his cheek shows me he’s trying not to smile. The thought makes my heart hammer in my chest. I feel as if we’ve hit a turning point and the idea invigorates me. My own lips spread in a smile. The intensity of his gaze sharpens, setting off an inferno inside me as warmth spreads against my cheeks.
When all the students are seated, he proceeds to talk about the rise of Spain and England during the 1700s, and I’m intrigued. Carson is so intense. Passionate. With my eyes open to the different sides of him, I now see the version of him that’s not so closed off. The version he shows his kids at the center.
He drifts down the aisle, handing back the papers we had to complete over the weekend from our reading. The paper turned out to be fairly easy, but from the groans that emanated through the class last Friday, you would have thought it was a twenty-page dissertation rather than a brief explanation of one important similarity between the goals of the Spanish and the English in establishing colonies in the Americas. When he reaches my desk, I lift my hand to seize the sheet and our hands touch. Our fingers meet. The rough pad of his thumb draws a small circle on my palm as he pulls away. Then he moves to the next chair without a backward glance. I look away, stare at the ceiling, and will myself to breathe normally again. But the pounding of my heart shows no sign of slowing as it beats frantically in my chest.
Did that just happen?
Or did I imagine it?
I read the notes he marked on my paper. Great Job is all it says. I’m a little upset, but was I really expecting him to write something more to single me out? I guess I was expecting something more since . . . since what? Just because he’s been different at the center doesn’t mean he’ll be different at school. I raise my chin to look at him, and, as if he has a beacon, he lifts his gaze at the same time. As if we are tethered together by an invisible thread. His lips tip up and give me a smile that tells me, in fact, I really did do a great job and he recognized it.
My cheeks warm. There’s a frenzy of sparks igniting beneath my skin, and I quickly drop my gaze back to my paper.
“This Thursday after school I have scheduled a private viewing for the kids at the planetarium. This is a school-sanctioned trip. It is required to attend as part of your community service project. We will be meeting at four o’clock at The Kids’ Club and then heading over to the Hayden Planetarium. Please have a permission slip signed prior to the trip. I’ll leave them on my desk.” His eyes dart to me, and I know he’s wondering if my mom will be around to sign it. Probably not. Technically, since I’m eighteen, I could fight it, but forging her signature will be easier.
His eyes are dark, his brow furrowed, and he looks pained, even angry. The same look was present in his stare on the beach when we spoke of our parents. With a shake of the head, he turns back to the lesson.
The next day passes, and before I know it, the bell to ninth period is ringing on Thursday afternoon, signaling the end of class, the end of the day. It’s time to head over to meet the kids. Warm September air drifts against my face as I walk. It’s almost October already, but the heat still lingers from the summer, making the trek quite pleasant.
When I arrive I’m met with a large group of students gathered in front of the center; no kids yet. From the looks on all the girls’ faces it seems every one of them is waiting on bated breath to see our teacher. No surprise there. With his brooding good looks, it’s obvious why they are drawn to him. The boys seem completely vexed about having to wait, obviously eager for this to be over with. When Mr. Blake finally does arrive, he seems a bit frazzled. The group of kids is with him and he’s holding Toby’s hand. He greets us, and each child finds their buddy. When they arrive at my side, he smiles down at me and Toby takes my hand. Together we follow him down the street to where a small private van is waiting to take us to the Museum of Natural History.
Once we enter the impressive structure, we head to the planetarium and I wait for everyone to sit before I choose a location for me and Toby . . . one that has an empty chair situated next to it. Carson is still standing and I wonder if he’ll sit next to me. He catches me staring. Air lodges in my throat as he scans the room. My heart pounds frantically in my chest. Will he reject me? I know it’s not rejection, more like self-preservation, but I can’t help feeling this is a battle—and the pivotal moment. This will show me where he falls in the sand. With one last glance, his chest heaves slowly as a deep breath escapes and he saunters over to me, or rather to the chair. He doesn’t even bother looking at me as he sits.
The lights dim and the video starts.
With my head tilted up to the sky, I watch the screen illuminate with lights . . . stars. The room is eerily quiet as the presentation begins. The only sound comes from the speakers overhead as the commentator details the constellations forming above us. But even though words echo through the vast space, all I hear is him. I can hear him breathing. I can smell his cologne wafting through the air. It’s too much. His presence is too much. An all-consuming urge to reach out and touch him weaves its way through me. I lay my arm on the armrest. It feels like lead, heavy yet begging me to cross the invisible divide.
I am hyper aware of each of his movements, willing him to cross over. Willing him to move. Willing him to do anything that signals he wants me. That he feels the same way I feel about him. That this is more than one night of sex. The rustle of his shirt makes me pull in a deep breath. He settles his arm on the armrest.
In. Out.
Breathe.
In. Out.
Breathe.
In.
And then it happens.
And I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
His pinky touches mine.
Like a whisper, but there it is. Touching mine.
I try to concentrate on the sky, I do. But all I can envision is his touch. My hand trembles as I close the gap between us. A soft feather-like caress against my skin apprises me that now our hands are completely touching.
A thrill runs through me, time slows between breaths, between wishes, and then I feel it. The slow trailing of circles on the top of my skin. It sends a wave of chills down my body. Making me desperate to have his hands all over me.
It’s sweet agony. Exquisite torture.
In the faint distance, amongst the heavy pants of my breath I hear one word. One singular word . . .
Cassiopeia
I look up and turn my head to see him. It is almost impossible to see anything in the darkness of the room, but I swear I can see his eyes. And I’m certain they are trained on me. And I wonder if he is as desperate as I am. Desperate for more. Without words, he answers my question as he takes my hand in his, enclosing me in its warmth. He gives me a squeeze, and I know he is. I know he does.
With that, an audible sigh of contentment escapes and I look back to the ceiling, back to the stars, and know that my wish has come true.
When the presentation is over, I stand with Toby and usher him across the room to leave. From the corner of my vision, I catch Carson staring at me. There is an expression in his eyes that sets me ablaze, and then he makes my heart stop when his lips tip up into a mouth-watering smirk.
Carson Blake is as affected by me as I am of him. This isn’t an illusion. I didn’t imagine this. We both feel it. We both want this. It should scare me, but it doesn’t.
Instead, I can finally breathe.
SHIT.
Shit.
Shit.
What the hell was that? The lines have been blurring these last few weeks, and I need to rein it in.
But I can’t.
How can I?
In school it’s easier to maintain distance, to separate myself, to regulate my thoughts and keep my walls up. But with the kids . . .
Seeing her with Toby . . . Every goddamn wall I’ve created is gone. Eradicated. They don’t just come down. It’s like a goddamn bomb blew them to pieces. I don’t even know how to rebuild them. My fists clench. Breathe, goddamn it!
My muscles twitch as anger courses through me. Why does she have to be my student? She gets me. Blood pounds through my veins. I want to hit something. I need to.
Thump
My heart thunders like a freight train veering off course, ready to crash and explode. Where are my damn shoes? I rip off my shirt. My pants follow. Throwing on shorts and a white T-shirt, I make my way to the foyer and pull on my sneakers. I’m out the door before I do something stupid.
Like punch a hole through my wall.
It feels as if every muscle in my back is corded as I hit the pavement a few minutes later. I don’t even remember the elevator ride. The adrenaline weaving its way through me blinds me to everything but my torment.
Thud
My feet hit the cement. I’m so damn confused. Why does she have to be my student?
Thud
My breathing picks up. Why can’t I stop thinking about her?
Thud
The wind crashes against my face, burning me to the point of pain. Why does she make me feel so much?
Thud
With each stride I take, my muscles become increasingly fluid. My erratic breathing regulates to the proper beat for my pace.
Thud
The world around me fades away.
It’s just me and the sounds of the city. No tension. No confusion. My gaze tilts up as I enter the pathway through the park. The stars are suddenly illuminating the night sky. And I see it.
Cassiopeia.
As the hum of the city traffic fades into the distance, I’m transported back to that night with her. Her face in the moonlight. The warm, smooth touch of her skin on mine. The comfort I found in her body.
Everything I felt. Why am I trying to fight it? Why should I?
And although I know there are a million reasons why I should fight it . . . Right here, right now, not one of them matter.
Because under the bright stars in the sky that remind me of her, I can no longer find it in me to care.
AFTER OUR INTERACTION AT THE planetarium, I wonder if things will be strange at school, but he seems back to normal. Not cold, but not overly friendly, either. It leaves me confused, unsure how to proceed or act in front of him. It’s as if darkness has descended over me and I’m fighting to see the light that shows me which direction I’m to go in.
“Miss Adams, will you stay after class for a second? I have a question about the assignment that was due today.”
“My assignment?”
That’s weird, I hadn’t even handed it to him yet. But maybe that’s what he wants to discuss. Or he wants to talk about the planetarium? Not that anything happened other than our hands touching. Did someone see us? We should probably be more careful. Or maybe he wants to discuss the beach again? Or maybe—
Oh God, I could drive myself crazy wondering what this man wants to talk about.
I nod at him and throw open my notebook in an attempt to appear to be working. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for us to be speaking after class. I should walk right out of the classroom when the bell rings, avoiding him like the plague. Instead, I find myself waiting with bated breath. Finally, it goes off and I move to stand. Carson is beside my desk. How did he get there so fast?
“What are you doing tonight?” he whispers in a small voice as the students filter out into the hall.
What am I doing tonight? Is he serious? “Um . . . nothing?” I say awkwardly, knowing full well we should not be having this conversation at school.
A smile starts to form on his lips, but I notice his cheeks suck in. “No homework?” He quirks his brow up.
“Nope.”
“What about the work you owe me?”
“Work?” I feign ignorance and a small quirk in his cheek tells me he’s enjoying the banter.
“You know, the assignment I wrote on the board, Lynn?” My first name slips off his tongue like a soft caress to my skin. It lingers in the air like a private song for my ears alone.
“You put an assignment on the board?” I raise my hand to my chest in a mock act of shock.
He raises an eyebrow, but it doesn’t hide the glimmer in his eyes.
“Oh . . . that assignment.” When I bat my eyelashes at him, a chuckle escapes. Like this, he looks so young, like the Carson I considered a peer.
“You didn’t think I would notice it wasn’t in the bunch?”
“No, I knew you would, I just hoped it would be a little later in the day, after I finished it at lunch and I could pretend that I forgot to put it on your desk.”
“Very well. How about we say you have it to me by three?” His silky voice holds a challenge as his blue eyes pierce the distance between us.
“It will be on your desk by three o’clock.”
“Great. Now, that we have that out of the way, I want to show you something.”
“Um, sure,” I say half in anticipation, half in dread as to what he wants to show me. I cross my arms in front of my chest and wait for him to say something.
“It will have to be after school. Tonight.” He shoots me a penetrating look. “Meet me.”
My mouth drops open, and my eyes blink in bewilderment. He wants to meet me, but why? I’m so confused by this turn of events I can’t muster a complete sentence. I settle for a mere, “Okay . . .”
“Now go, or you’ll be late for your next class.”
I turn and leave, more confused than when I started. First, we touch at the planetarium, and now he wants to meet me? Tonight can’t come soon enough.
I’m walking to my locker to grab my coat at the end of the day, when I notice a small envelope tucked inside the slot. Pulling it out, my heart jumps at the idea that this could be from Carson.
Meet me at 945 East 5th. Tell the doorman your name and take the elevator to the top floor.
That’s it. No more information. The top floor? Was I going to his apartment? The thought thrills me until realization has my happiness crumbling. Even if I wanted more, there was little chance it could ever be. He�
��s my teacher. It doesn’t matter that I met him before. It doesn’t matter that I’m of age. He would lose his job, if not worse. Fate is cruel.
I run my hands down my face, willing myself to pull it together. The truth is, I’ll take whatever I can get. If this is all we can ever be, I’m more than happy to oblige.
I head home and freshen up, trying my best to be prepared for anything. Soon, I find myself entering a high-rise on the corner of 70th and Fifth. This is prime Fifth Avenue property, a beautiful location, and I wonder just how much I don’t know about Carson. Carson Blake is a puzzle, and every bit of information I find leads me one step closer to solving him. Once I’m inside the lobby, a young man in a morning coat and tie greets me.
“Hi, I’m Gwendolyn Adams, or maybe he put me under Lynn, I’m here to see . . .” I trail off. Carson or should I call him Mr. Blake? My cheeks burn until I’m sure my face must be crimson.
“Mr. Blake wanted me to tell you to head on up. Once you reach the top floor, go down the hall and to the door marked exit. There will be a flight of stairs leading to the roof deck.”
“Thank you.”
The roof deck? Why does he want me on the roof deck?
When I reach the top floor, I swing open the exit door and the air leaves my lungs like a soft, gentle breeze. There, in the middle of the deck, is a giant telescope, and crouched next to it is Carson. The whole scene laid out in front of me causes butterflies to swarm in my belly and takes my breath away at the same time.
His gaze lifts and our eyes meet. Against the shadows of the night, the soft glow of the moon shimmers in his blue eyes. They penetrate me. They are vivid and intense; they make me hope. They make me wish. They remind me of the stars he watches, little flecks of bright light in my life.
