She blushed. “Why, thank you.”
As he opened the door, Lane kissed her parents. “See you later,” she told them, and they wished her a good time. Then she was on the walkway with Mr. Kramer. His station wagon, parked at the curb, looked empty.
He didcome here first!
Lane hoped it wasn’t just a matter of geographical convenience, hoped he’d chosen to pick her up before the others so they could have some time alone.
“Are you warm enough in that?” he asked.
Did he realize she was trembling? “Oh, I’m fine,” she said. Her shivers, she thought, had little to do with the chilly night air. “I’m just excited,” she added.
He smiled at her. “It’s great to have a student actually excited about going to a play.”
That isn’t it at all, Lane thought as he opened the passenger door. She climbed into the car. He shut the door, walked around the front, and got in behind the steering wheel.
“Excuse me,” he muttered. Leaning sideways, he reached in front of Lane to open the glove compartment. “Don’t want anything happening to the book.” For just a moment, as he slipped the paperback into the compartment, his shoulder pushed against her upper arm. “There,” he said. “Safe and sound.” He sat up straight and started the car.
“Have you read it yet?” Lane asked.
“No, unfortunately.” He pulled away from the curb. “I should be able to get to it next week, though.”
“After you read that, you may want to reconsider having Dad speak to the class.” She grinned. “You may not want him anywhere near a group of high school students.”
“That bad, huh?”
“That nasty.”
“He seemed like a very nice man,” Mr. Kramer said.
“Oh, he is. You’d think he was a monster, reading that stuff, but he’s awfully sweet. He had kind of a bad time today, though. In case you thought he was acting a little... weird. See, he went out shooting in the desert. With our neighbor, Pete.” I’m running off at the mouth like a kid, she thought. He doesn’t care about any of this. “Anyway, Pete had some kind of an accident.”
“Not shot, I hope.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. But he fell off some rocks and got knocked out cold. He actually broke his nose. Dad had to take him to the emergency room. So anyway, he wasn’t exactly himself after he got done with all that.”
“It doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“No. It wasn’t. So, how have you been?”
“No complaints. How about yourself? You haven’t had anymore run-ins with Benson, I hope.”
“No.”
“He’ll probably leave you alone. But let me know if he causes you any trouble.”
“I think you put the fear of God into him.”
Mr. Kramer shook his head. “You never know, a guy like that. You’ll have to keep your eyes open. Don’t let him catch you alone. There’s no telling what he might do, and I’d sure hate for anything to happen to my best student.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said.
“Speaking of which, maybe you’d better buckle up.”
“Planning to crash?” she asked, and reached up for the safety harness.
“I’ll sure try not to. But you may have noticed, you keep getting hurt when you’re around me.”
“Yeah. Guess you’re bad luck.” She drew the strap down between her breasts and snapped its metal tab into the buckle by her left hip.
“Now you won’t have to worry about a rendezvous with the windshield.”
“Yeah. I’d look lousy at the play with blood all over my clothes.”
“I do like that outfit,” he said, glancing at her. “You haven’t worn it to school, have you?”
“Not this one.”
“I’ve seen you in something similar, though. A blue denim jumper with white lace. A mini, as I recall.”
“Oh, that.” She felt a warm stir, pleased to find out that he actually remembered what she wore to school, but slightly embarrassed that he recalled the jumper. “Probably too short,” she said.
“I wouldn’t say that. You’ve got the legs for it.”
“Thanks,” she said, heat rushing to her face.
He swung the car to the curb and stopped. Lane gazed at him, her heart pounding. Why’d he stop? He turned on the overhead light. He smiled at her. Then he reached inside his blazer and took a sheet of paper from his pocket.
Just checking directions, she realized.
“Okay,” he said. “Aaron’s at 4980 Cactus. Should be just on the next block.”
Lane felt a pull of disappointment. Their time alone was almost done.
* * *
She hoped she would get to sit with him in the theater, but it didn’t work out that way. Sandra, bending his ear about something, followed him down the aisle and into the row. There was no way for Lane to get past her without making a spectacle of herself.
Mr. Kramer took a seat beside a college student. Sandra sat beside him, and Lane found herself between Sandra and George, with Aaron at the other side of George.
She felt cheated.
I’m here to see Hamlet, she reminded herself. Not to be with Mr. Kramer.
He likes me, though. He really does. He likes me a lot.
George, squirming in his seat, brushed against her arm. “Excuse me,” he whispered.
“That’s okay,” she said without looking at him.
“I didn’t mean to do that.”
She looked at George and nodded. “I know. It’s okay.”
“I guess guys are probably always bothering you, you know? It must get annoying.”
Lane shrugged. “It all depends on the guy.”
“Yeah. I guess it would. That makes sense. Well, you don’t have to worry about me. These seats are kind of close together. That’s the problem.”
“You shouldn’t worry about it.”
“I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
“I won’t.”
“It was nice talking to you, though.” George turned his face forward, leaned the other way and scanned the audience ahead of him. His lips were pressed together. With his far hand he adjusted his glasses and brushed some stray hair off his forehead.
“George?”
He jerked his head toward her so fast that Lane feared he might’ve hurt his neck.
“If it makes you so nervous sitting next to me, maybe you should trade places with Aaron.”
For a moment he looked hurt. Then he said, “Sure. If you want me to.”
“I don’t.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You don’t?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“Me? No. I mean...”
“You sit way in the back of the class. I don’t think we’ve ever even talked to each other.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“You’re really good in English.”
“You, too. You’re the best in the class.”
“When I don’t lose my place?”
He smiled. “Oh, that was nothing. I lose my place all the time. I get to daydreaming, and that’s all she wrote.”
“I’ll bet you want to be a writer, don’t you?”
His head tilted. He frowned. “How did you know?”
“You have that look about you.”
He wrinkled his nose, making his glasses rise slightly. “The look of the nerd.”
“Don’t let my dad hear that. He’s a writer.”
“A realwriter?”
“He likes to think so. You’ve probably never heard of him. Lawrence Dunbar.”
George’s frown deepened. “No. I don’t think so.”
“He writes penny dreadfuls. Or, as he likes to say, $3.95 dreadfuls.”
George laughed. “That’s a good one,” he said.
“I really liked the story you read in class. The guy whose bones dissolved?”
His face went bright red. “You did? Thanks.”
“Have you got any more?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve got piles of them. My parents think I’m doing homework all the time, but I’m actually up in my room writing stuff. Boy, would they be pissed.” He cringed. “Excuse me. That just slipped out.”
“I say it all the time.”
The theater lights went dark.
Lane leaned toward George. “I want to read some of your other stories, okay?”
“Do you mean it?”
“Sure.” The curtain started to rise. “If you want, I’ll even have Dad take a look at some of them.”
“Jeez, I don’t know.”
On the stage it was night and two sentries stood on the parapet of Elsinore, looking very cold.
George settled back in his seat. When his shoulder brushed against Lane, he leaned away to break the contact. Lane swept her elbow up past the arm of the chair and nudged him. Again he snapped his head around.
“I don’t bite,” she whispered.
She tried to pay attention to the play. But her mind kept drifting.
She felt good about her talk with George. He seemed nice. A little like Henry. Not as weird, though. Those two should really hit it off.
Awfully shy, but he would get over that once they knew each other better.
And we will, she thought.
Maybe it was fate that she ended up sitting with him. And fate that she’d broken up with Jim last night.
George would never act like Jim. He probably never even would’ve had the nerve to talk to me, she thought, much less ask me out. Probably stillwon’t ask me out. I can ask him, though. Why not?
I never would’ve gotten anywhere with Mr. Kramer, anyway.
Thinking that, she felt a hollow ache.
He’s a teacher, she told herself. He can’t get involved with me even if he wants to.
But her mind dwelled on him, lingering on the way he looked, the things he’d said to her, the way he’d handled Riley Benson, the way he’d caught her when she fell from the stool, how his hands had felt when he touched her bare ribs and leg, when he’d accidentally touched her breast as he took the books from her yesterday.
He remembered her denim jumper, though she hadn’t worn it for nearly two weeks. He recognized her car in the lot yesterday. Didn’t those things prove that he cared for her?
Maybe he likes me as much as I like him.
She wondered how it would feel to kiss him.
The lights came up for intermission, and she realized she’d hardly paid any attention at all to the play. Not that it mattered. She’d read it a few times, and seen both the Olivier and Burton movies.
Mr. Kramer stayed in his seat and talked to Sandra. Aaron went off, probably to find a bathroom since he couldn’t be going for refreshments — the theater had no snack counter. Lane turned to George. He was looking around the auditorium, but not at her. Intentionally not at her, she suspected.
“How do you get to school?” she asked.
“Me?” Now he looked. Straight into her eyes.
“Yeah, you.”
“Oh, my mom drives me.”
“Your place is just a few blocks from Henry Peidmont. I usually give him and Betty Thompson a lift to school in the mornings.”
“Oh yeah, I know.”
She smiled. “Spying on me?”
“No! Uh-uh.”
“I was just joking.”
He kept staring into her eyes. For a few moments he was silent. Then he smiled. “Me, too. I mean, I don’t spyon you, exactly. But I notice you a lot. All the time. Whenever you’re around, anyway.”
“Really?”
“If you want to know the truth...” Grimacing, he shook his head. “Never mind.”
“No, what?”
“You’d think I’m a dork.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Come on.” She elbowed him gently. “Spill it.”
“It’s stupid. Never mind.”
“All right. Anyway, what I was going to say is you can ride with us if you’d like. I could pick you up Monday morning on my way to Henry’s. I’ve got room for one more passenger. It’d save your mother a trip, and we’d be glad to have you along.”
George looked confused. “Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why would you want me along?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“We don’t even know each other.”
“We do now. And I want to know you better.”
His face went crimson. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“Jeez.”
“How about it?”
“Sure. Fine. I’ll have to check with my parents, but...” He shook his head.
“Why don’t you give me your telephone number?”
“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
Lane opened her purse. She took out a pen and a small notepad. George told her the telephone number. She wrote it down, then wrote her own number on the next page, tore off the sheet and gave it to him. He stared at it.
“You find out if it’s all right with your folks, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“You don’t haveto ride with us.”
“No, I think... that’d be neat. Henry’s a cool guy, and...”
“I’ve never heard him called that before.”
George grinned. “Well, yeah, he is. I think so, anyway.”
“Me, too.”
“Betty’s kind of obnoxious.”
Lane laughed. “Ah, you know her.”
“To know her is to fear her. But you’re not so bad.”
“Why, thanks. You’re not so bad, either.”
Thirty-eight
“Would you mind if we stop at the marina for a minute?” Mr. Kramer asked after he’d dropped off the others. They were back on Shoreline Drive, still a mile from the turnoff to Lane’s house. “It’ll save me an errand in the morning.”
“That’s okay with me,” she said.
“Great. It won’t take long. I just need to pick up a couple of things I left on my boat.”
“You have a boat?”
“She isn’t much, but she’s mine.”
“Gee, that’s neat.” Neat, Lane thought. Dumb. Stop talking like a kid.
He pulled the station wagon into the parking area in front of a hardware store, turned around and headed back the way they’d come. Lane was well aware that they had passed the marina shortly after leaving the college. Either Mr. Kramer hadn’t wanted the rest of the kids to know about his boat, or he’d just remembered whatever it was that he needed to pick up. Either way, she was glad. This would give her a little while longer to be with him. And it made her feel special that he was willing to take her along, to let her have a glimpse of his real world.
I’m more than just a student to him, she thought. He wants me to see that he’s not just a teacher.
“So,” he said, “I guess you made a new friend tonight.”
“George? Yeah. He’s nice.”
“He’s a good student. He seems like quite a young gentleman. Did he ask you out?”
“No, not hardly.”
“Well, then, he missed the boat. No pun intended.”
“George is pretty bashful. But I might start giving him rides to school. He has to check with his parents.”
“Always a good idea. Speaking of parents, it’s almost midnight. I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”
“Well, they know it’s a long play. I don’t think they’ll mind if I’m kind of late. Especially since I’m with you. Since you’re my teacher, and everything.”
“Good. That’s good. This won’t take long.” Soon he turned into the marina parking lot. A few other cars and pickups were there, but Lane saw no people. “Come on down with me,” Mr. Kramer said. “I’ll show you the pride of my fleet.”
“Great.” She climbed out. She met him in front of his station wagon. Side by side they walked toward the dock. A chilly wind, blowing in off the river, swept her hair back and pressed the front of her blouse
and skirt against her skin. She leaned into it. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Here.” He started to remove his blazer.
“No, no. I can’t take that. I’m fine. Really.”
“I insist.” Turning to Lane, his white sport shirt flapping, his necktie whipping this way and that, he draped the jacket over her shoulders. She clutched its lapels to keep it from blowing away.
“You’re gonna freeze,” she warned, her voice trembling.
“Naw. I’m of hearty, seafaring stock.”
“If you say so.”
He unlocked a chain-link gate and held it open while Lane stepped onto the dock. When he came toward her, his shoulders were hunched.
“You arefreezing.”
“Me?” Arching his back, he threw his chest out and pounded it with his fists.
Lane laughed. It felt strange to laugh with her lungs feeling so tight and shaky. It left her breathless.
“You can shield me,” Mr. Kramer said. He turned her around. Holding her by the shoulders, he pressed himself against her back and steered her forward. She twisted her head to look at him. Their faces nearly collided. “Careful,” he said. “Or we’ll have still anotheraccident.”
The dock swayed under her feet. The boats moored along both sides bobbed and pitched on the rough surface of the river. Most were dark, but lights glowed from the cabins of a few. She wondered if there were people inside the lighted boats. She didn’t see anyone. And hoped that no one saw her.
What if it got back to Mom and Dad that I was out here fooling around like this with Mr. Kramer?
“Hard to port,” he said into her ear. Turning Lane to the left, he pushed her along an arm of pier. Past a rocking, dark sailboat. Past a catamaran. He halted her at the bow of a powerboat that must’ve been at least twenty feet long. Moonlight gleamed on its foredeck and cabin windshield.
He hurried ahead of Lane, and she followed him up a narrow strip of pier that reached alongside the boat. Near the stern he stepped onto the gunwale and hopped down. “Watch your step,” he said. He held out a hand to her. She took it, hung onto his jacket with her other hand, and planted a foot on the rail. As she thrust herself up, he pulled. She dropped, landed on the pitching deck and staggered against him.
The Stake Page 33
