by Kata Čuić
For the rest of recess, I swing and watch Jesse on the other side of the playground. Bobbi Sue and her best friend, Ruby Mae Watkins, sit on either side of him. He talks to them.
Mrs. Baumgartner calls us to line up. On my way over, Kenny Lawson comes up beside me.
“Them’s mighty purdy braids, Lenore.”
“Thank ya kindly, Kenny.”
My mama spent a lot of time making me up nice for my first day. She even got me special blue ribbons to tie on the ends of my braids. So, I could feel like a princess, she said.
I do.
A sharp tug on one of my braids jerks my head to the side.
Kenny’s holding one of my blue ribbons. “Fact, this here ribbon is so purdy, I think I’ll keep it to give to my mama.”
“Ya give me back my ribbon right this second, Kenny Lawson! My mama gave that to me!”
He holds it out of my reach. “Finders, keepers!”
“Give it back! Give it back!”
Before I can snatch my ribbon out of his grubby hands, a flash of a dirty, white, wrinkled t-shirt speeds past my eyes. The two boys roll around in the dirt like a ball. All our class is gathered around—watching the fight—until Mrs. Baumgartner comes and pulls them apart.
“Kenny Lawson and Jesse Yates, have you two done gone and lost your minds? There’s no fightin’ at school! What do ya have to say for yourselves?”
“He started it!” Kenny yelps. He looks no worse for the wear. “I was mindin’ my own business, and he just tackled me!”
Mrs. Baumgartner shakes Jesse by the collar of his shirt. “That true?”
“Yeah.” He sniffs through his bloody nose. “It’s true.”
“All right, boy. You’re comin’ with me. Straight to the principal’s office. And on the first day, too. Ya should be ashamed of yourself.”
She lets go of Kenny’s collar but drags Jesse with her. As they walk past, he throws the blue ribbon at me.
Suddenly, the ribbon don’t seem to matter so much. All that glitters isn’t gold, my mama always says. My ribbon got Jesse in big trouble.
Maybe he ain’t the devil at all. Maybe I ain’t his angel neither. Maybe he’s supposed to be mine.
Making a Mountain Out of a Molehill
I have not had a drop of alcohol in years, but I would give anything for one now. I’d even shoot moonshine in spite of its morning-after consequences.
The papers in my hands shake right along with me as I try several times to file them in my desk drawer. No amount of concentrating on my new student roster is enough to maintain my focus. Memories of the past and present blur into a tumble cycle in my brain. It’s been hours since I first saw him again after so many years, but I can’t quite reconcile the way he looks now compared to the way he felt back then. Hard-won, soft caresses, skinny arms, and whispers of adoration versus hard eyes, sculpted muscles, and the utmost professionalism.
He’s everything I ever dreamed and yet nothing like I imagined.
A sharp rap on my open classroom door precedes the entrance of my new boss into my professional sanctuary. I can’t fault him for his dominance here and now. This is his building. I’m his employee who he’s contractually bound to supervise.
I still haven’t come up with a new plan to circumvent that twist of fate. Mostly because my wildest dreams have no place in my current reality.
Jesse perches on the edge of the student desk closest to mine, his forest-green eyes boring into me. That’s ironic, considering he couldn’t be bothered to make direct eye contact for the duration of our faculty meeting. He’s sure making up for it now. His gaze sweeps me from head to toe quickly, then he starts over again much, much slower.
I let him drink his fill because I’m hungry to do the same. The past five years have been so good to him. He’s removed his jacket and vest, leaving me to feast on a white dress shirt and red tie that look like they cost a pretty penny. The hint of his physique I noticed in the auditorium is much more pronounced without added layers. Scrawny until the night I left him, his arms now look as strong as they used to feel when they were wrapped around me tight. Biceps bulge against the fabric of his shirt. A row of buttons clings to his flat stomach then disappears beneath his belt. His smooth dress pants hug muscular thighs that used to thrust against me until pleasure I never knew was possible made me feel so high I wondered if I’d ever be able to come back down.
I’m down now, all right.
His heavy gaze touches me in all the places that the years haven’t been as kind to me.
I squirm in my seat, cursing Mama and Liz’s choice of dress. There’s no way to hide the bulge of my belly or the breasts that aren’t as perky as the last time he caressed them. At least that’s one thing going for me. He’s matured and aged like a fine wine, but any physical trait I used to possess that attracted him to me is long gone.
His voice sounds the same, even if it’s softer now than the last time I heard it. “I have imagined this moment in so many different ways over the past five years, but now that it’s here…I don’t rightly know what to say.”
I nod even though I never imagined this moment at all.
He continues to stare at me as he seems to almost absentmindedly unbutton one dress shirt cuff then the other, oh-so-slowly rolling his sleeves to the elbows. An expensive watch catches my eye. The kind he never could have afforded when his forearms weren’t so-well muscled, traversed by prominent veins, and dusted by fine black hair.
My breath catches in my chest as I study his left hand. No ring. Not even a tan line from one that might have been removed. I don’t know how to feel about that.
He lifts the same hand in the air, wiggles his fingers, and turns it front and back.
My cheeks flame with embarrassment, and I avert my gaze to the same old tile that was in this room the last time I was. There is one thing I’ve been dying to say for the past five years. “I’m sorry.”
A sharp intake of breath prompts me to lift my gaze. He nods slowly with his brows pulled low—his thinking expression another thing that apparently hasn’t changed.
His mind is a very dangerous thing to me now.
Drawing from the last reserves of my strength, I rise on shaky legs and smooth down my dress. I force my tone to be crisp and business like. “No sense making a mountain out of a molehill, right? The past is the past, but we both have jobs to do in the present. How can I help you, Mr. Yates?”
He studies me carefully for a few more heartbeats, his eyes darting between my own. “Ya could start by showin’ me around your room, I suppose.”
So, I do.
From the posters of famous authors and literary characters to my makeshift library in the back of my room, he follows me at a safe distance, never interrupting as I explain my tentative lesson plans for the year.
Just a regular English teacher reporting to her principal.
He reaches out and drags his fingertips along a smattering of glitter on my hand-made biography of the Brontë sisters. “Such pretty ornamentation for such tragic lives.”
“I have to interest my students somehow. If I at least make the boring stuff pretty, then hopefully they won’t find it so…boring.” I kick myself for my lack of finesse. If I didn’t know exactly how the rough pads of his fingers feel against my skin, maybe I could think a little more clearly.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Ya never found the Brontës boring.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve been through five copies of Wuthering Heights. “I do love a good tragedy.”
He pops his eyebrows. “That ya do.”
We stare at each other in increasingly unnerving silence. I’m woefully unprepared for a contingency I could never have imagined, and I need some distance from the scent of his subtle cologne to breathe again.
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you, Mr. Yates, I’ll just get back to my preparations for the year.”
My first mistake is brushing past him to take the shortest route to the safety of my desk. M
y second error is allowing a small gasp to escape when his hand wraps around my arm.
He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear with every whispered word. “Is there anythin’ I can do for you, Miss Wheeler?”
I can’t afford any more mistakes.
Swallowing down all my selfish emotions, I turn to him with an expression as hard as I’ve had to make myself every time I wanted to break down these past five years. “You can take your hand off of me, Mr. Yates.”
He uncurls each of his fingers in turn until only the ghost of his touch remains. “Should I be expectin’ ya to tender your resignation to me before the school year begins?”
I face him fully, hoping against hope he can’t see my heart thrashing in my chest as panic threatens to overwhelm me. “Is that what you want?”
He inhales a deep breath then licks his firm lips. He opens his mouth then closes it again, simply shaking his head.
Something about his choice to remain silent snaps what little restraint I’ve maintained since seeing him again.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” I hiss. “If you want to do something for me, then you can leave. Tender your resignation, and just go.”
His voice wraps around me slowly and softly. “I ain’t gonna do that.”
My mind races with new, hastily slapped together plans. Cracks are forming in my armor as my eyes burn, my nose stings, and my throat closes up.
He steps back, thankfully putting more distance between us. “I will, however, do whatever it takes to make ya comfortable with my unexpected presence here. I have no doubt you’re a fine teacher, and I can’t afford to lose good staff.”
I latch on to the temporary reprieve he’s giving me. “You’ll find I take my job very seriously. I’ll be a consummate professional in this building.”
“Well, then.” He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Reckon I’ll let ya get to it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yates. Have a nice rest of your day.”
He crosses my classroom only to pause in the doorway, not glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth…I’m sorry, too, Lenore.”
I hate the way he says my name.
He closes the door behind him.
Seventeen Years Ago
“What do ya wanna pretend today?”
It’s after school. Jesse and I are sitting in the treehouse, sharing a copy of the newest book I borrowed from the library. He doesn’t have a library card since his ma never takes him into town, so I always share mine. Sometimes I even get an extra book just for him.
It gets him to play with me for a little while at least.
“Why do ya like playin’ pretend so much? Ain’t readin’ good enough for ya?”
“Well, yeah, but I have to play pretend the way they want. I wanna pretend what I want. Maybe today I’ll pretend to be in the big city with all the tall buildings and lots of people. Maybe tomorrow I’ll pretend to be on a ship in the ocean and sing sea chanties. Next week, I can pretend I have all the prettiest dresses in the world, and all the best food to eat.”
“Your life ain’t so bad. Why ya always imaginin’ somewhere else?”
“My life ain’t so great neither. Don’t ya wanna see what’s on the other side of all these mountains? I sure do.”
“Your life’s a whole lot better’n mine,” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry for what Clarence said about your ma today, Jesse.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s pretty as a princess. Always have.”
He makes no response, just continues to read in silence.
“I also think Clarence is stupid, and he’s just jealous that his mama ain’t as pretty as yours. She might be my aunt, but Mrs. Duke looks like a big, dumb whale rather than a lady. Talks like one, too. Matter of fact, I’ll bet all the kids at school are jealous their mamas ain’t as pretty as yours. That’s why they like to pick on ya, I’m bettin’.”
“You’re makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. They like to pick on me ‘cause I’m an easy target is all.”
“Naw, they got a reason. My daddy says everyone’s got a reason for doin’ what they do, even if ya don’t know what their reason is. I’m tellin’ ya, that’s their reason. They like to pick on ya ‘cause they’re jealous of your ma.”
Jesse sighs and gives me the look. “Let it be, Lenore.”
“I ain’t gonna let it be! I hate it when they mess with ya, and ya won’t even let me help.”
Ever since that first day of kindergarten, Jesse don’t like it for me to talk to him at school. He’ll play with me after since I bring him books and snacks, but that’s it. I can’t say as I blame him since I got him in so much trouble on his first day.
After school, we’re friends. Best friends. At school, we’re strangers. Neighbors only.
“Maybe if all their mamas was as pretty as yours, they’d leave ya alone.”
He ignores me and keeps reading.
“That’s what I’m gonna pretend today. I’m gonna pretend I’m as pretty as your ma. I’m gonna have fancy dresses with my hair done up real nice, and my face and nails painted.”
I lay back on the floor of the treehouse, closing my eyes and imagining what it must be like to be so pretty.
“Lenore ain’t a fittin’ name for a princess.”
My eyes snap open and fix on Jesse, still with his nose in the book. “What’s wrong with my name?”
“Been thinkin’ on it for a while now.” He never looks at me. “Ya ain’t never acted like a Lenore. I’m gonna start callin’ ya Nora. Suits ya.”
“Nora?”
“Yep. I read it in a book once. She was a spitfire, just like ya. Every time ya wanna play pretend, that’s what I’m gonna call ya. If ya don’t like it, then stop playin’ pretend so much.”
“Nora…” I roll the new name around on my tongue and in my head. I think Jesse is right. I never did feel much like a Lenore. Nora sounds much better to my ears. Jesse’s so smart. Sometimes I think he’s the smartest kid in all of Martins Landing.
Today, that’s what I’ll pretend. I’ll be Princess Nora, and Jesse will be the powerful wizard who helps me escape my tower.
Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
The last bell of the day rings. My students eagerly collect their belongings and hightail it out the door. Only one person remains seated in the back of the room, still jotting down notes.
“What brought ya back?” he mutters without making eye contact.
I pause with my papers mid-air between my desk and my tote bag, unsure of the exact nature of his question.
For the last two weeks, Jesse and I have danced around each other in a carefully orchestrated act of familiar civility. In front of the other staff, it’s been all, “Please have these lesson plans to me by Friday, Miss Wheeler” and, “Thank you for your suggestions, Mr. Yates.”
There haven’t been any more private meetings. I don’t have the nerve to venture out in public since the first one, and Anne is growing increasingly frustrated with being cooped up at home in spite of Mama and Daddy keeping their promise to spoil her rotten. For hating Martins Landing so much, the girl is hell-bent on going back to town instead of enjoying acres of land or playing with the farm animals. I still won’t allow her near the treehouse.
“Is that something you need to know for your observation?” I guess. “Why I want to teach in my old hometown?”
He raises his head and a single eyebrow at the same time. “I reckon it ain’t your old hometown anymore seein’ as how ya live here now.”
“Well…” I blow out a controlled breath to slow my racing heart. Panic is never far away when he’s so close. “I suppose that’s true.”
His eyes bore into me even from across the room. “So? What are ya doin’ here?”
There is no good way to lie about this, but I have to at least give a decently professional reason. “Honestly, I hadn’t planned on coming back. I did, however, want to teach in similar
underserved communities. Growing up in Martins Landing, I had no idea how much education we never received until I got to Northwestern. I wanted to make a difference for other kids like us. To give them a better start and more opportunity than we had.”
“That’s fair.” He scribbles on his paper then organizes his files.
I release a pent-up breath. Test passed. I don’t even care if it’s with flying colors.
I go back to packing my bag, expecting him to head to his office. Instead, he continues to stare at me.
“Did you need anything else, Mr. Yates?”
“Yes, Miss Wheeler. Your answer. Your real answer.”
Tingles skitter up my spine just like they do whenever he’s in the same room as me, breathing the same air. Two weeks have gone by, and he hasn’t once brought up the subject of my daughter. He has to know. There’s no way someone in town—his own mother the most likely culprit—hasn’t said anything to him about his newest teacher having a child out of wedlock. For as many teenage pregnancies as there are in mountain towns, it’s still surprisingly taboo.
He props his head on his hand. “I can see your wheels spinnin’ from here. If it’ll make it any easier on ya, I want ya to know I have your employment history and teachin’ credentials on file. I know ya spent a year teachin’ in Chicago after passin’ your Illinois boards. I’m only askin’ why ya turned around and went through all that process again in West Virginia.”
This is the other thing that bothers me about Jesse’s lack of interrogation over the past two weeks. He has access to more information than most of the other people in town. He has to know I filed for benefits for myself and a dependent.
He taps the file folder on the desk once, twice, before rising and taking long strides toward the front of the room. “This ain’t part of the observation, Lenore. I’m just curious. Ya gotta have a million questions for me, too. Might as well get ‘em out in the open while we got the chance.”
Suspicion rises in the back of my throat. “That’s all this is? Old friends catching up?”
