by Amanda Grace
But then it all crashed down as I read the next few lines: Except when the older person is in a position of power (teacher, coach, etc).
Teacher.
Surely they meant a high school teacher, right? You were a college professor.
But no matter how many times I read it—over and over and over—it still came back the same. I was sixteen, the age of consent, but you were in a position of power. Of influence.
For a moment I felt my heart being pulled into a dark blender, realizing that the possibilities that had danced before me had disappeared. But then I sat upright.
You didn’t want to kiss me until December 13th anyway. When the quarter was over. When you’d no longer be my professor.
Then you wouldn’t be in trouble professionally or legally, because you would no longer be in a position of power in relation to me, and I was old enough to consent to our relationship.
We really could be together. Soon. In December. I wouldn’t have to wait two years for it to all be okay.
And suddenly those two years—those almost-ten years—they didn’t matter anymore, not in the strictest way.
I didn’t know what you’d think, how you’d handle it, once you knew I was sixteen. That’s what terrified me most. I could wait weeks to be with you, could wait until December 13th. And then it would only be a few months until my seventeenth birthday anyway, and seventeen sounded so much older.
But I’d have to tell you, that day in December—before we became something more, something tangible—because it had to be both of us making that leap.
Making the decision.
But if you didn’t turn away that day, December 13th … we could be together with nothing to stop us.
I hung out in the library for another forty minutes, until my English class was over and it was time for Biology, because I was too hyped up to concentrate on anything but seeing you. I left for the classroom a little early, wanting a moment to catch you alone.
But when I stepped through the door, you weren’t alone. Another staff member was standing beside you. A pretty brunette with thick, curly hair and a sophisticated pencil skirt paired with vibrant heels. As I made my way to my desk, my eyes still trained on you and the back of her head, you glanced up.
But when your eyes met mine you promptly turned away, like you weren’t willing to be caught looking at me. I ignored that little needling feeling. I knew why you had to pretend not to see me, but some part of me wanted to march right over and stake my claim somehow, talk about that fantastic view we’d seen at High Rock. Something, anything, to prove to her that I was something to you.
Instead I sat and watched you nod, and as she turned her body slightly I got a better view of her pretty, pastel-pink lipstick as she spoke. She was so elegant, so pulled together, so mature.
I don’t know what you were talking about, but moments later she jokingly punched your arm and you laughed, and then she was leaving. You finally glanced at me again and I raised an eyebrow, as if to say what was that? Before I realized I was acting stupid.
She was your colleague, and I was acting like some weirdly jealous girlfriend.
And then other students were arriving, filling the room with shuffling and talking, and there was no room for another moment between us. After the last student plunked into the last empty chair, you stood and walked to the front of the room.
“Right, then. Before we start on today’s test, let’s do a quick review session.”
Test.
The word rang in my ears, over and over, as panic rose.
I’d spent all weekend thinking about today, about class, about seeing you. And not a single ounce of the weekend studying. Not a single moment. There were three tests in the quarter—two midterms and a final. Cumulatively, they were worth half our grade, with the other half being the labs.
“Who can tell me which part of the cell is known as the ‘powerhouse’?” you asked, using air quotes. You glanced over at a tall, lanky guy who sat at the farthest end of the horseshoe, the one who had two dozen football jerseys if his daily wardrobe was any indication. “Mr. Johnson?”
Mr. Johnson sat up, the desk creaking. “Uh, the mitochondria?”
“Right. And where are the chromosomes found?” you asked, turning to look around the room, waiting for someone to chime in.
“The nucleus,” someone called out.
You smiled then. In the glow of it, I forgot my panic. You liked teaching, enjoyed seeing the progress we made, like a proud dad or something. It wasn’t about proving yourself or being competitive. It was a simple sort of joy in what you did, and I had to admire it. For my dad, mom, brother, it was all about being the best at something, about showing off. With you, it was a simple pleasure.
“Good. And the ribosomes?”
Your eyes roamed the room, waiting for someone to call it out, but there was only the rustling of paper, the scraping of chairs. And then your eyes landed on me and I smiled at you, remembering High Rock, remembering the feel of the sun on our cheeks even as the crisp air stole our heat away.
And then suddenly my cheeks warmed as I pushed the memory away, realizing the entire class was staring at me, including you.
“Uh, what?” I said, coughing to clear my throat. I had no idea what you’d asked me.
“The ribosomes. What are they for?”
My mouth went dry in an instant. I knew this. It was the basics. Stuff you’d talked about on the first day. So why couldn’t I think of the answer? Why could I only picture the intense look in your eyes as our foreheads touched, moments after our almost-kiss? “Oh, um, is that the one that stores food and pigment?” I finally said.
Your lips curled up a little at the edges and I smiled back, knowing I wasn’t quite right but unable to find the desire to panic. “Perhaps someone should have spent her weekend studying instead of sitting in a salon chair,” you said, turning away.
I don’t know how a heart can be in two places at once, but in that instant mine was in my throat and my stomach. My cheeks flamed so hot I thought I might burst.
God did I hurt in that moment. I’d spent hours picturing your look when you saw my new hair. Hours imagining your sweet smile, imagining you tugging on a lock of it as you complimented me.
And instead, you slung it back at me like I was some kind of airhead. I couldn’t believe you’d done that, Bennett. And I couldn’t figure out why. Why you would humiliate me like that, why you had to call me out in such an unfair way. I would never do that to you.
You meant too much.
The review was over then anyway, so why did you make such a point with me? You returned to the front of the class and picked up the stack of tests. Since the desks were in a horseshoe, which I’d loved so much that first day, you either had to walk around or you had to split the stack in half and start it at each end.
That’s what you did, and at first I was annoyed—so annoyed, because I wanted you to hand me that test yourself so I could glare at you, feeling more than a little bit juvenile but unable to control my emotions—until I realized I was essentially in the middle of the horseshoe and the extra stack of tests came to me from both sides.
So I held them out and stared at you with a flat gaze, a gaze empty of the emotion I felt for you, steeling myself. Your eyes were soft and maybe a little regretful, but you said nothing as you took the tests and turned away.
And then I sat there, scribbling my name on the top of the page, still angry and hurt that you’d purposely embarrass me in front of the whole class.
The first question was the first thing you’d just reviewed with us, so I felt a smidgen of relief as I filled in the bubble for C, and a little more relief as I read the second question.
But that was all the relief I got. I was only marginally confident in my third answer, and by the fourth, I was lost.
I hadn’t studied at
all, Bennett, and as I looked at one question after another, I realized that I’d hardly even paid attention to what you’d taught over the past few weeks. And there was nothing I could do. I was smart, but we’d covered a lot of ground, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was often distracted by watching you, your lips, your hair, your hands. Sometimes half of what you said didn’t even register, because I was too busy daydreaming about you.
I sunk further into despair as I flipped to the second page of questions, glimpsing plenty of terms I knew, terms I remembered from class last week and from high school Biology, but the things I needed to know, the questions you posed, went over my head.
In all my life I’d never taken a test like this, one I couldn’t breeze through, and it was miserable. Was this what it was like for students who weren’t naturally smart? Who struggled to understand the basics while I soared right on past them, aced the AP courses, and enrolled in college two years before they’d ever have the chance?
I read the questions over and over as the students around me slowly got up, delivered their tests, and left.
I knew, statistically, that C was the best answer, so I used that every time I guessed.
And I guessed a lot.
By the time I looked up, I was startled to realize I was one of two students left, and the other was already handing you her test and slinking out of the room, looking about as happy as I felt.
I pushed my binder into my backpack and zipped it up, emotions swirling in my gut like it was a big blender. I slung my pack over my shoulder and squeezed through the gap between my desk and the next one, my flats quiet on the tiled floors, and then I was standing in front of you.
You sat back in your chair and looked at me, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as if you were searching for the words.
“Why?” I asked.
You blew out a long breath. “Sorry. I just … got nervous and overreacted.”
“Nervous about what? I was the one who was put on the spot like that,” I said, holding on to my frayed nerves.
“I don’t know. I’m worried people will realize what we’re doing, so I was trying to treat you like anyone else … ” Your voice trailed off and you looked so genuinely worried, with the space between your brows creased, that I believed you. “And then I went totally overboard.”
“That was completely embarrassing,” I say.
“I know. Like I said, I’m sorry.”
I wanted to stay angry, but it was slipping away. “We’re not even doing anything, anyway. We’ve just talked. And hiked.”
“We haven’t done anything yet,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be flirty or seductive, just an honest truth. You stood up and started to walk toward me, and then in a blink you’d stopped, gone back to your seat, and sat down. And I realized you had the same instincts as I did, the same magnetic pull, and then I felt stupid for worrying about the woman in the pencil skirt. You wanted me, not her. “I promise you it won’t happen again,” you said. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Deal.”
You pursed your lips for a long moment, and I stood there waiting, unsure of where we went from here, where we were supposed to take this next. We couldn’t kiss, we’d agreed on that, but couldn’t we be something else? Something in an area just gray enough that we could ignore the things that pushed us apart and allow ourselves to be pulled together?
“Can we hang out again?”
I’d wanted to hear those words so much that for a second I thought I’d been the one to say them aloud, but it wasn’t me, it was you, and you were waiting for an answer.
My lips curled into a smile before I could stop them and I nodded, my streaked hair sliding over my shoulder. I reached up and twisted a strand around my finger as you spoke.
“We don’t have to hike or anything. I live on Green Valley Road … maybe you could come over and we could go down to the river?”
It was hard for me not to jump up and down or clap my hands or … something to show how excited the idea made me. Your house. You wanted to show me the real you, the one outside of the college.
“Yeah, that would be great,” I said, letting go of my hair. “When are you thinking?”
“Maybe on Friday afternoon? I just have office hours in the morning and then I’m free … if you are.”
I was supposed to help my dad pump up a bajillion new basketballs, something he loathed for some reason, but I would come up with some fake excuse to be with you instead. Dad could get one of his derelict students to help him, and in doing so feel that he was saving the kid. Like he was some Disney movie teacher, saving the day, and the kid goes on to become a doctor instead of a gang member.
Not that we even had gangs in Enumclaw, but that was how my dad saw his job—it was the only way he could find bigger meaning in a career that he thought was beneath him.
“Yeah, that would be great.” I beamed at you and you smiled back.
“Good.” You pulled out one of your cards and scribbled down your address, then slid it across the desk. “Don’t let anyone see that, okay? It’s gotta be … ”
“A secret,” I finished.
“Yeah.” Your nose crinkled up. “Wish that didn’t sound so … ”
“Dirty?” I asked, and then laughed. “I know it’s not like that. It would just get … complicated if we didn’t keep things quiet. I get it.”
“Good. Because earlier, when Zoey was here … ”
The pencil skirt woman. “Oh, no,” I said. “I mean, I get that you have colleagues or whatever … ”
“Right. She’s a Chemistry professor. We share the lab and have to work out scheduling conflicts and stuff.”
“Uh-huh. I get it.”
“Good. I didn’t want you to think … ”
I didn’t supply a fill-in answer that time, because I didn’t know what you wanted to say, but I wished you’d finished that sentence. Did you already see how much I’d fallen for you, and you needed me to know that you were saving yourself for me, not dating anyone else? Were you telling me to wait for us, that you wanted things to be exclusive?
You didn’t finish the sentence, though, so I’ll never know what you meant. Eventually I just said, “No, it’s fine, I get it.”
“Cool. So, see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. See you at the lab.” I stepped away, feeling suddenly … lighter, more sure of us, of what we were becoming.
“Looking forward to it,” you said. And by the tone of your voice, I knew you meant it.
On Thursday, just a day away from our upcoming time alone together—a day I couldn’t stop thinking about—Katie plunked down next to me in class with a sad-puppy face. “So, before we get those tests back, I was thinking I needed to put some pre-emptive good-test karma out there. We need to plan some study sessions because, holy hell, I think I’m going to get a big ol’ F.”
I sighed as I flipped open my Biology book. “Yeah, me too. I guessed on two-thirds of it. I hadn’t even read the last chapter and I totally forgot that we even had a test, so I didn’t study.”
Katie leaned over like she wanted to share a secret or juicy gossip. She lowered her voice and said, “Yeah, I wondered, because you’re way smarter than me and I knew that answer, and he totally called you out. What was that even about?”
My heart tumbled all over itself and my smile turned a little forced. Had she picked up on the fact that you were treating me differently than everyone else? I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I don’t know, I guess he was trying to make a point of it or something. Like to scare everyone else into taking it seriously.” I flipped another page of my Bio book even though I hadn’t read the one I was on. “I mean, I won’t make the same mistake again, that’s for sure.”
She snorted. “Yeah, maybe that was his plan, like make sure people know he’ll call you out if you’re not paying attention. K
inda harsh, you know? I’m totally paranoid now that I’ll forget an assignment and he’ll totally embarrass me like he did you.”
“He didn’t totally embarrass me or anything,” I said, suddenly defensive even though she was speaking the truth. “I mean, he’s right. I didn’t read the chapter or anything and I completely flunked that test. There’s no way I got more than half of them right.”
Before we could talk any further, you stood up and walked to the center of the room, a thick stack of papers in your hands. “All right, guys. I’ve got your tests back, and I’ll be returning them. Remember that the three tests in this course represent forty percent of your grade, and some of you have some real catching up to do.”
With that, you glanced down at the first test and walked to the jersey-obsessed guy at the end of the horseshoe, placing the test face down on his desk. I watched as he jokingly made a cross on his chest before flipping over the test, then fist-bumping his seat mate.
“God, I am so screwed … ” Katie whispered under her breath.
I laughed, but my palms had turned sweaty. My parents would kill me if I got a poor grade in this class. In any class. To them, failing wasn’t even something that existed. It was something that happened to other people, people who didn’t care about their futures or some crap.
You walked by, sliding Katie’s test onto her desk before proceeding to someone three desks down.
“How’d you do?” I asked, resisting the urge to lean over in case Katie didn’t want to share.
“Ew. Sixty-one,” she said, frowning.
“It’s a pass,” I say.
“Barely! It’s totally going to drag down my grade, and I want to be a nurse! Biology is kind of important.” She looked up at me, her pretty eye shadow bringing out the green hues of her hazel eyes. “We really have to study.”
“For sure. I can’t do another test like that. My grade will shrivel up and die.” I was joking around, trying to pretend like I wasn’t freaking out.
I’d never gotten a bad grade. Ever. Perfect little Madelyn Hawkins, Ivy-bound since the first grade, didn’t fail.
