by Claire Adams
“I’m determined to finish one of these scrapbooks,” she said, sitting amidst photos and stickers and other paper accoutrements. “This one I’m working on is for you, actually.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said.
“But I want to. Look at all these pictures! If nothing else, it’s a nice trip down memory lane. I had another nice conversation with Marjorie last night, though, and she was telling me about the nice book she’s putting together for Brynn, and she’s going to give it to her when she graduates. I think I might be able to have this completed by the time you graduate.”
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“You know what else Marjorie told me? She happened to mentioned that when Brynn was one, Marjorie and Jeff and Brynn’s brother and cousins and aunts and uncles—well, basically the whole extended family, you get the picture—they all wrote down something for Brynn. What they hoped for her, how happy they were that she was part of the family, something like that. No one read what they wrote, though; Marjorie just put it in this time capsule thing and Jeff buried it in their backyard. Under that lovely magnolia tree of theirs. Anyway, they dug it up when Brynn was 16, and she got to read all those lovely thoughts and sentiments that people had written to her back when she was just a baby. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?”
“Uh, yeah, Mom, that’s great.”
“And it just got me thinking that your father and I had never done anything even close to that for you.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mom. It’s nice and everything, but it’s not like my life is lacking or anything because you didn’t.”
“I just . . . I just can’t help but wonder if your father and I somehow haven’t done enough for you. If that’s why you’ve been having difficulty in school lately. It’s been on my mind so much, Tessa, since you told us.”
“Really?” I said, feeling a pang of guilt. If she ever found out about Leo and me, it would probably completely devastate her. She would take it personally, like she had somehow failed me. “You guys have actually done way more for me than most parents do for their kids. Which I really appreciate, and I want you guys to know that. And not having some time capsule for me to open up is totally fine. We don’t have to do the same exact things that Brynn’s family does.” I was pretty certain, after all, that Brynn wasn’t sleeping with a professor.
“I know, I just feel it’s more symbolic, really,” my mother said. “I’m not saying I think we should be doing the same exact things, but . . . it just got me thinking and wondering if maybe there was something else that we could have been doing.”
I shook my head. “No, Mom,” I said. “Anyway, I didn’t come down here to talk about Brynn and her family traditions.” I sat down at the table next to her. “Why don’t you show me some of these scrapbook pictures you have?”
I sat down next to her, and she handed me a stack of photos that she’d had printed. I flipped through them—this batch seemed to be from my high school days, which now seemed like a distant memory. High school had been easy for me; even though I’d taken a full load of AP courses, it had never been that challenging. I’d had to put forth effort, sure, but it was enjoyable, never stressful. I looked at the pictures of myself, the innocent, optimistic, hopeful look on my face. I didn’t really feel like that same girl now; I certainly wasn’t innocent.
“Look at this one,” my mother said, handing me one from my graduation. “We were so proud of you that day. We’re still so proud of you. I want to get the same shot of the three of us when you graduate from college. And then I’ll put them together, side by side, right here on this page.”
“That’s great, Mom,” I said, handing the picture back to her.
I left later that afternoon, feeling a huge amount of guilt, and knowing that I could never let my parents find out about Leo and me.
It had been over a week since I’d emailed the paper about Hurricane Katrina, and I hadn’t gotten any more correspondence, so I was starting to wonder if it had just been a one-time thing.
I hoped so. I found myself looking at the people I came across at school, trying to figure out who it was that knew what was going on. No one’s faces gave me any clues. I was sitting in the quad, watching people walk by. After a few more minutes, I gathered my stuff and got up. I’d probably never know who sent the letter, but as long as it was over with, I guess I didn’t really care that much.
I walked into the humanities building and heard someone say my name.
“Hey, Tessa.”
It was Nick, sitting with Seth and a couple other guys from the basketball team in the lobby
“Nick. Hi,” I said. The other guys smiled and then went back to their conversation. Nick, however, kept his eyes on me.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “I really haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you that day in that . . . outfit.” I glanced quickly at Seth and the other guys to see if they were hearing this, but they seemed to be wrapped up in whatever they were talking about, something about the upcoming game they had. “I think you should do your laundry less often if it means you’ll wear more outfits like that.” He gave me that grin of his that could make a girl weak in the knees, that same grin that had made butterflies swirl in my stomach when I first met him. “You want to hang out, later?”
“Oh, um . . .” I paused. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“Aw, we’re all busy. I bet you could find some time for me.”
Funny how just a short time ago those were just the words that I wanted to hear, and that when I tried to ask him if he wanted to hang out, he told me that he didn’t want things to get too serious between us.
Just then I saw Leo walking by, and I think he would have walked right by us, but he looked over at the last second and saw me. Then he saw who I was talking to. It seemed that he was about to continue on, but then he came over.
“Hey, Leo,” Nick said, holding his hands up. “I know you’re coming over here to give me a hard time about that last assignment, but I’ve got it in my backpack, and I’m going to hand it in today!”
Leo didn’t look at me, but stood about half a foot away. “You must be psychic, Nick,” he said. “Because that’s exactly why I was coming over here. And I’m so pleased to hear you’ve got the assignment.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye, but he refused to even glance my direction. But despite the fact that we weren’t touching, it was like I could feel his presence all the same.
“Speaking of assignments,” Leo said, looking at me now, “Tessa, I’d like to see you about that assignment you turned in last week, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ve got a class to get to right now,” I said.
“Okay. Why don’t you stop by my office after that, then.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“You boys behave yourselves,” Leo said, and then he strode off. I looked back at Nick, and wondered if he was able to sense that anything was going on between Leo and me. He raised an eyebrow.
“So, what do you say? Maybe we can get together this weekend or something?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, and I walked off before he could say anything else, though I could hear the other guys giving him a hard time. It had probably pissed him off, me making that comment, but I didn’t care. He deserved it, as far as I was concerned, and at least now he wouldn’t keep bothering me.
After my moral philosophy class was over, I walked across campus to Leo’s office. The door was slightly ajar, but I knocked anyway. He appeared a second later and looked both ways down the hallway, making sure it was empty, and then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the office.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to do anything here,” I said breathlessly as he pushed the door shut. He turned the lock in the doorknob.
“I believe what I said was,” he said, as his hands roamed my body, “that having Carla walk in on us was not okay. She’s out today, and t
here’s a lock on the door, and I can’t go another second without being able to touch you.”
“I thought . . . I thought you wanted to talk about some assignment, too—”
“What assignment?” he said, and I realized that he was right; he hadn’t assigned us anything except for the articles we were supposed to be working on for the paper.
We went over to the desk and he moved his laptop and then lay me down on top of the papers and folders. He pulled my shoes off, then my leggings and underwear, and then he pushed my thighs apart and buried his face between my legs, and instantly my whole body was buzzing.
I knew the door was locked, but I didn’t know how soundproof these walls were, so I tried to keep quiet, which was increasingly difficult. It seemed he knew every spot to touch, just how much pressure to apply, and when to back off. He massaged my clit with his tongue, sliding one finger, then another, into me, and swirling them around. I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood, but the pain just seemed to heighten the pleasure. I was vaguely aware that I could hear people walking by outside the office; a class must have just let out. Leo lifted his head and reached up with his other hand that wasn’t inside of me and slid his fingers up my shirt, underneath my bra. I lifted my head and gasped as he squeezed first one breast, then the other, working his fingers in and out of me. People were still walking by; all that was separating us was that wall right there. This fact seemed to excite Leo, too; he was straightening up, pulling his pants down, his cock springing out. I spread my legs even wider, feeling the paper crinkle underneath me as he pushed his cock into me. He held himself up with one hand on the desk, the other squeezing my nipples. Each time he pushed into me, he squeezed harder, accentuating the pleasure I felt with each of his thrusts. I had my lips pressed together as tightly as I could, but little whimpers were still leaking out; there was nothing I could do to stop them.
Leo was having a hard time keeping quiet, too. The muscles in his neck strained, his face was twisted into a grimace, and he was taking such deep breaths that the exhales turned into growls. I gripped the edge of the desk as he fucked me harder, my tailbone pressing into the hard surface. My brain felt as though it were about to short circuit, and I arched my back and pressed right up against him. I must have been making louder sounds than I thought because Leo pressed his hand over my mouth as we both came, which muffled the sounds coming out of my mouth, but didn’t stop them. As the feeling peaked, I bit into his palm, enough to make him wince but not enough to make him pull his hand back. The papers slid under me as he slowly eased himself out.
“Is Nick giving you a hard time?” Leo asked as we pulled our pants back on.
“No,” I said. “He was suddenly interested in hanging out again, but I told him that I wasn’t interested.”
Leo nodded. “He’s in one of my classes. He certainly has no shortage of ladies.”
“That certainly doesn’t surprise me.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Bother me? No. Maybe in the past it might’ve, but not anymore.”
“How long were you two together?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It wasn’t long. Nothing serious. Well, he didn’t want it to be serious, which is why it ended. But I’m glad it did.” I gave Leo a closer look. “I’m not still interested in him, if that’s what you’re thinking.” It occurred to me that maybe he was jealous, though he didn’t really seem like the jealous type. But he just nodded and seemed satisfied with my answer.
“You just let me know if he bothers you anymore,” he said.
I smiled and gave him a kiss. “I will.”
Later, as I walked to my apartment, my thighs ached; I felt like I was walking bowlegged. But it was a good feeling, and it was hard to keep the smile off of my face. I had a lot of homework that I needed to do tonight, but I felt so good about everything that it didn’t matter. All I needed to do was replay that afternoon in my mind—I didn’t think it was possible to feel so good with someone.
I let myself into the building and checked the mail. I knew there was another letter from the person, even before I turned the envelope over to see the address. Typed, in the same font. I stood there in the lobby and opened it.
Good job on that first paper. Glad that you are up for the challenge. For your next
assignment, you’re going to write an essay on the importance of civic engagement
within a democratic society. Eight to ten pages for this one. MLA citation. Due in
10 days. Your activities with Leo Rochman will remain secret so long as you continue
to turn in quality work. If you choose to ignore this letter, or write a paper that
does not earn at least a B+, we WILL go forward with the information we have on
you two, and the fallout will not be pretty.
I stuffed the letter into my purse and took the stairs up to my apartment, burning with both frustration and anger. I wanted to just rip the fucking thing up. But I knew the danger in that, and that though it might momentarily make me feel good, the consequences of not writing the paper would be far worse.
The next day, my mother called and said that she was in the city and wondered if she could take me out to lunch. I had a long break in between my classes that day, and since I didn’t have feature writing and knew I probably wouldn’t be having any sort of rendezvous with Leo, I told her I would meet with her. She wanted to go to one of her favorite little cafes, which wasn’t too far from the school.
They had us sit at one of the tables on the outdoor patio, which my mother liked because people-watching was one of her favorite things.
“So, things are still going well?” she asked. “With school and everything? We didn’t really talk that much about it that day you stopped by.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been working pretty hard, actually, and I think that you’ll be able to see that when I get my next grades.”
My mother beamed. “Oh, I’m so happy to hear it. I knew you wouldn’t let things get too out of control. That’s what I was trying to tell your father. He was going on about you possibly getting started down the wrong path or some nonsense like that, but I told him you’ve always had a good head on your shoulders.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Of course! I know you’ve got a lot going on, that you must feel like there’s a lot of pressure. It can be hard dealing with that sometimes.”
I nodded. “You’re right—it can be. He did call me the other night, though.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. Basically to say that he was glad I was getting my studies back on track and he knew I was a good kid.”
“Well, good, I’m glad he called. It’s not easy for him, you know.”
“What—talking on the phone?”
“That, and admitting he was wrong.”
“He didn’t actually admit he was wrong.”
“I guess I don’t mean wrong, so much as . . . overly strict sometimes. He can come across a little too harshly. I think he felt that way the day you stopped by. And I want you to know that we don’t expect you to be perfect. I know that’s not realistic. But what we do want is what’s best for you, and sometimes that means being strict. Our hope is that you’ll realize we’re not doing this to make your life difficult, or to try to give you a hard time, but because we want what’s best for you.”
“I know, Mom.”
Our waitress came over to take our order, and I was glad for the interruption because I wanted to change the subject. I kept thinking about that letter I got and the fact that I’d need to somehow fit that in on top of all the other schoolwork I had.
“So,” my mother said, after our waitress left, “is there anything else you want to talk about?” she asked. “Any other good news you want to share? Have you been seeing anyone?”
I stared at her. “Seeing anyone? Why do you think I’d be seeing someone?”
“I don’t think that; I was just curious since you’d been
seeing that other person and had never mentioned it. It’s totally fine if you’re not seeing someone, but I wanted to reiterate to you that if you were, I’d hope you’d share that with me. Not all the details or anything, but believe it or not, I still remember what it was like to be your age and how exciting it was to go out on a first date.”
“Right, but the whole reason my grades slipped in the first place was because I was seeing someone.”
“That’s true,” my mother said. “Well, that’s very responsible of you—not to get involved with someone until you’ve got your grades back under control. I’m going to tell your father we had this very conversation, and that you’re committed to getting your grades back on track. I think he’ll be pleased.”
How did we keep coming back to this? It seemed unavoidable. I was actually glad when my mother started talking about Marjorie and Brynn, who had just found out she’d been awarded some grant to go study in Ecuador.
After our food came out, I mostly listened and ate as my mother talked about how nervous Marjorie was to be letting Brynn travel to a new country and how she was considering going with her, though that wouldn’t really be practical. I could tell my mother was sort of fishing, wondering if I had any big project that I was working on that she could brag to Marjorie about.
When we were finished eating, our waitress came and took our plates, and asked if we wanted to see the dessert menu.
My mother looked at me. I shook my head. “I think we’re all set for dessert,” my mother said.
“That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t need to be indulging in any extra sweets.”
The waitress nodded and said that she’d be right back with the check.
“Take your time,” my mother said, taking a sip of her wine. “Just enjoying a lovely day out with my daughter. What are you doing after this? Should we go to a museum? Do a little shopping?”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I said. “I’ve got a ton of work I need to be doing.”
