by Laura Ward
“You’d better go dance with your girl. I don’t want you to be left alone on Homecoming night, Mr. Washington. You’re far too popular for that.” I shook my head as he walked past me with a loud groan.
The last song had ended and students were leaving the area. Cammie was wrapped around Landon’s arm, but Landon stopped by the doors, noticing Amy with a smile. I tensed, wanting to run over and protect her. Landon spoke quietly to her and she looked up to him with a beaming smile. I moved behind a post as he and Cammie left and then caught up with Amy as she walked to her mom’s car.
“Amy, what did Landon Washington say? Was he being rude to you?”
She looked down shyly at first, but then met my gaze gleefully. “He said I was the prettiest girl in the room. My dress was nicest!”
I smiled even as I felt my stomach drop. He was being the good guy I had fallen for this summer. That was the Landon I knew.
Why couldn’t he be in college? Why couldn’t we have met at a different time? And why did life have to turn out so badly sometimes???
***
I HELD MY hand up to knock on her door and paused. Was I doing the right thing? She wanted me to leave her alone. But this had to be said.
I knocked… and waited. If she looked out her peephole, I was screwed. Answer the damn door, Emma.
The past months in school had been hell. My friends were pricks. I had known this and it didn’t bother me before. They’d just never picked on someone I cared about. And they wouldn’t be picking on her now if they knew how I felt. It was the ultimate mind fuck. I couldn’t say a goddamn word or they’d be suspicious. So far, I’d kept Dean out of it. He knew my ‘summer hook up,’ as he called it, was a girl named Emma. He never knew her last name. And the guys only knew our economics teacher as Ms. Harris. They didn’t know her first name. Not that I thought for a minute that Dean would betray my trust if he did know. But I had to do everything I possibly could to protect Emma and her family.
Watching her every day in that classroom was torture. Her tight ass hidden in professional looking slacks, something no one else would find sexy, but I knew what was under them. It was her. Her. God, I wanted her. Sometimes, when she reached up to pull some books off a high shelf, her shirt would raise ever so slightly. A little bit of her soft skin would show and I’d throb. I remembered how that skin felt when I rubbed it and how it tasted when I licked it.
And, then, inevitably, the bell would ring and I be forced to think about Aunt Agnes. Like the time she left the bathroom with a trail of toilet paper attached to her elastic pants waistband… and asked me to remove it for her… Yup. That did it. All good here. Boner deflated.
I knocked again, a little louder this time, on the door. I had to talk to her tonight. This couldn’t wait. I wanted to tell her that I tried to get out of Homecoming. Told Dean I wasn’t going. But as it was, Dean was getting suspicious. I wasn’t into girls at all this year. Wasn’t hooking up. Wasn’t even thinking about it. And that was… unheard of.
His slap on the back of my head when I told him I wasn’t going to the dance pissed me off. But it did make me realize that I couldn’t hide all year. It wasn’t like my parents wanted me at home on a Saturday night to play board games with them. I had to make an appearance at the dance or my friends were going to start asking questions I didn’t want to answer.
So I went to the stupid dance and there she was. And what was she wearing? She looked smoking hot in that skin tight dress and ‘fuck me’ shoes. How could that be chaperone attire? Did she really have no idea the effect she had on guys?
Cammie had been grinding against me like a stripper working her pole, and I felt nothing. Nada. Then, I see Emma and right in the middle of the gymnasium I was forced to picture Aunt Agnes last Sunday when she forgot to draw on her left eyebrow. I got a real good look as she came right at me for a big wet smooch.
That was some scary shit.
And that asshole Ford? Was he really looking to get himself knocked-the-fuck-out? He needed to remove himself from my girl. Swear to Christ, I almost took that old bastard down.
As my rage was building from these thoughts, the chain from the door unlocked, and I held my breath. The door opened just a crack and those big green eyes met mine.
“What the hell, Landon?”
I pushed the door open and stepped in. “If you don’t want people to know I’m here, don’t fight with me in the hall!”
As soon as I cleared the doorway, I pushed it shut and took a step closer to her. She must have just taken a shower. Her damp hair hung straight and the smell of vanilla emanated from her body.
“Dammit. What are you doing here?” She whispered, to keep Evie from waking up.
“I need to talk to you for five minutes, then I’m gone.” I whispered into her ear and then pulled back with a sharp gasp as I saw what she was wearing. “Sweet Jesus.” I couldn’t stop myself. I put my hand on her neck and then ran my fingers down the side of her body.
She shivered from my touch, but the realization of what she was wearing lit up her face. I stared at her blush colored, cotton nightgown. It had thin straps and stopped way above her knees. Like, it just barely covered the motherland. She thought she’d be alone tonight, but she wasn’t… and she looked naked.
“Landon, no…” She whispered so weakly that we both knew she didn’t mean it. I pulled her against my body, so she could feel my heart racing, feel just how much I enjoyed seeing her again. Her chest heaved against me, and I knew I had only this chance to get this out.
“I need you to know I am not with Cammie. Everyone else went to the after-party and I made up an excuse. I’m serious, Em. I would never go out with anyone else. I’m waiting for us.”
“Waiting for what, Landon?” She pulled away, frowning with confusion.
“Us. You. Me. I’m not dating, I’m not fucking, nothing—until I graduate and can have you.” I stroked her cheek and leaned in to smell her again. I needed to soak up every second of this time with her.
She closed her eyes for a moment and then shook her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is your senior year and you rule that school. You need to date and have fun. It’s only natural. You need to move on, Landon. I am.”
“You really have no idea, do you?” I stepped back and pulled at my hair with a frustrated sigh. “You aren’t fooling me. I got to know the real you this summer. I know you, and you ARE worth waiting for. And I think you feel the same way. You’re just too scared to admit it.” I put my hands on her shoulders and searched her eyes, looking for acceptance and understanding.
“Landon, that isn’t happening. You are not waiting for me. You’re not missing out on college hook-ups and frat parties next year, and all the fun that boys your age normally have. I won’t let you miss that experience. So, let’s just understand that now.”
I pulled her against me again and held her tightly. “You can tell me what to do in your classroom, and in the halls, and in the parking lot, and at dances, and apparently even on the football field, but I make decisions about my own life. I am waiting for us. You don’t really have a say in the matter.”
She didn’t respond, just stood there in that thin nightgown. I pulled her face up with both hands. I needed to kiss her. It had been so long since I felt that connection. When we kissed, she’d know for sure that what I said was true, and she’d know my conviction.
But she froze and then pulled away. She wasn’t going to let me kiss her—not while she was my teacher. She was always responsible. Always honorable. And always in control of her emotions. She was the best girl in the world—even if I suffered from her exemplary morals.
“Landon, you’re right. I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you this. Absolutely nothing physical can happen between us this year. So, if that is how you want to spend your senior year, that’s up to you. If I were betting money, I would say you’ll tire pretty fast from lack of attention, and that partying with the cheerleaders and the girls
in college next year will become too much for you to ignore.”
I didn’t drop my hands from her face—instead, I leaned even closer to her lips. “I love you. I absolutely fucking love you. So, I will honor your request and not touch you this year. But never bet against me, baby. I play hard and I play to win, and I promise you come May thirty first—I will be focused on nothing but winning you.”
I pressed my forehead to hers before I pulled away. “Remember… it’s just not yet for us.”
She closed her eyes as the memory hit both of us hard, of me telling Evie that the timing for her and Garrett wasn’t right at the moment. That the answer to them living together wasn’t a no; it was a not yet. And that’s exactly what it was for me and Emma.
Not yet.
I turned to leave, shutting the door quietly behind me. Once the lock clicked, I slid slowly down the front of the door and sat on the ground, my eyes closed, mind and heart racing. I’d done it. She listened to me. But had she really heard me? Had I gotten through to that stubborn woman?
A quiet banging, three times in a row, came through from the opposite side of the door. The knowledge that she sat just like me, pressed back on her side of the door, overwhelmed with emotions was a comfort. And that banging could only mean one thing… My girl heard me loud and clear and she did feel the same way. She knew how hard the rest of this year would be, but we were worth the wait.
***
THE NEXT TWO months went by as well as I could have expected. Dean and his comrades toned down their sexual references—either out of boredom or fear of Coach Stone—but some inappropriate comments continued. I could handle them. I just had to work really hard for them to not realize how funny I thought they actually were. Landon had become a model student. He seemed to enjoy economics and his attitude toward the class was far different than what I had feared. As much as I think it startled his classmates and friends, Landon wasn’t afraid to use his brain in class. It was nice to see him thinking with the head on his shoulders.
Standing at the white board, drawing graphs of consumer and producer surplus, I detected Ricky Martinez’s drool pooling onto his desk. Dean was zoned out, and Stephanie and Cammie were texting, probably each other, underneath their desks. Fabulous. They were bored out of their minds.
“Come on, guys. This isn’t that bad. Help me out here.” I paused and searched the room, seeing no change in the faces of my disinterested seniors.
“Jon, tap Ricky, please, and wake him up. Who can give me a real life example of consumer and producer surplus? Show me you care about economics, people.” Radio silence ensued. “I know you do! I know you care!” I pled, with more than a little desperation.
Looking up, Landon wore an amused expression and raised his hand. I almost fell backwards. While Landon had been extremely well mannered and performed exceptionally on his assignments, the guy did not raise his hand. He wasn’t a participant in class discussions. He wasn’t a student who demonstrated active involvement in the room. This would shake things up a bit.
Jon smacked Ricky again on the back of the head and elbowed Dean in the ribs as they caught sight of Landon’s raised arm.
I tried, I truly did, but I couldn’t keep the delighted grin off my face. “Landon, is there something you would like to share with the class?”
Landon raised his eyebrows dramatically before beginning. “Well, you asked for examples, Ms. Harris. And since most of the students in the room look like they are in a freaking coma, I thought I’d help you out.”
“By all means, Mr. Washington. Have at it.” I propped myself up on a desk and crossed my legs. This should be good. He seemed pretty sure of himself, but this was a tricky concept to convey to high school students. I was fairly certain they would remain as disinterested for him as they did for me.
“Dudes, it’s like this. Take my Raptor truck.” Grunts burst from the room as the innate primal instinct in males erupted from the mere mention of Landon’s large ass, sexy-as-hell vehicle.
“My dad doesn’t sell too many of them at the dealership. They’re effing expensive. We had this one jerk-off come in, and he offered, like, forty grand for a new one. My dad really wanted to sell it to the guy, ‘cause like I said, they don’t move too easily.”
Surveying the room, each male was nodding aggressively—right with Landon. The girls appeared to be listening eagerly as well, perhaps not as motivated by the truck talk, but with eyes fixated on the boys growing enthusiasm. All this happening during economics class of all times.
“So, my Dad says, ‘Man, base model, stripped bare and shit, is like forty-four grand. I can’t sell it to you for forty. I’d take a loss.’ Dude hems and haws. You know he has a hard-on for that Raptor.”
I cleared my throat loudly and shot Landon a look of warning at his crude language. Hollering ensued from the room, because evidently, all males agreed that this truck would give them a hard-on.
“Now, what the dude doesn’t know is that my Dad will actually make money off the sale if he can unload it for forty-two grand. It’s not as much as he wants, obviously, but he will make money. So, he offers the guy forty-three grand. Guy takes it happily. See everybody, what happened here is that forty-three grand was the price that made them both happy. The consumer surplus was one grand for the dude because he thought my Dad needed to sell it for forty-four grand to make a profit. He walked away thinking he saved himself a surplus of one grand. The producer surplus is one grand also cause my Dad was able to make an extra grand than he needed to make money off the sale.”
My mouth dropped open as a chorus of ‘got its’ and ‘yeahs’ and ‘makes total sense’ echoed around the room.
Landon grinned cockily adding a, “Booyah,” in my direction, before he settled back into his relaxed posture in the back of the classroom.
“Well played, Mr. Washington. Thank you.” I acknowledged him genuinely and continued on with my lesson on equilibrium.
Landon was smart—and he wasn’t afraid to show it anymore.
He also never crossed the line with me again. He stayed away from my apartment and respected my boundaries in school. He heard my pleas to maintain our distance and he accepted them. I wish I could say I was pleased, but I missed his smart ass like crazy.
What got me through was the teaching itself. I came alive in the classroom. I loved thinking of humorous stories and examples to make both history and economics interesting and discernable to my teenage students. I faltered occasionally, like with my surplus lesson, but more often than not I felt like I made connections for them. The freshman, like me, were falling into a routine in school and becoming more comfortable. The seniors were, for the most part, maturing, and I loved hearing their theories on why economics was personally important to them and their future.
It probably surprised no one more than me, not true—it would have surprised Ashley the most—that I liked teaching high school. As much as I dreaded and resented leaving college for this job, I was having fun in my classroom each day. I woke up and was excited to teach. I decided that, career-wise, teaching was my calling. I was almost… happy.
Christmas season had all of Zionsville in jolly spirits. The building was decorated with gaudy paper trees, ornaments, and snowflakes, and my students could focus on nothing but excessive amounts of presents and a break from classes. Even the seniors were mellow. Tis’ the season, I guess.
I arrived home on Christmas Eve with bags of presents for my mom and Evie, proud that I could finally afford to get them a few nice things. Leaning against our apartment door was a small, decorated tree. I picked it up and carried it inside, noticing the note attached.
Oh my. I clutched the note to my chest and wiped my tears away. I had never had a man do something nice for me at Christmas or any holiday in my whole life. I had never even received a card from my own father. I wanted to hug him and thank him. Who the hell was I kidding? I wanted to do a lot more, but I couldn’t. I adored that his gift was unique. Typical teenagers gave junk j
ewelry or other mementos to girls they liked. Gifts to remember what they shared in the past or what they were experiencing currently together. Landon’s gift signified the future. He was anything but typical.
My mom burst through the door, dragging Evie behind her. “Emma! Emma! We have news!” Evie was smiling, too.
“Tell me!”
Mom took a deep breath. “We just left the McMurphy Agency. Evie has been placed in an ALU and has a job with Garrett at the supermarket!” All along we had been waiting for approved funding for an Alternative Living Unit. Now she would have her chance at independence.
“Oh my God! Eves!” I pulled her into my arms, hugging her and dancing, while tears ran down my face.
Evie wiped my tears away. “S’okay, Emma. I’m not leavin’ til January. You still haf me for a while.”
I hugged her tight and took in my mom’s expression. We were both so happy for Evie and her opportunity, but we were also scared out of our minds. We knew she was struggling with forgetfulness and confusion due to the Alzheimer’s, and now she would be out of our care. Who would protect my sister? My mom and I had done that our whole lives. Now, we had to give that responsibility to someone else. A complete stranger.
Later that night, after sharing a holiday turkey dinner that we prepared side-by-side, I crawled into bed with Evie to snuggle and chat. Growing up, Evie had to work on her communication skills and her ability to speak clearly. When she was ten and I was seven years old, my mom gave us a Dictaphone and we pretended we were news reporters. We would talk about events in our schools, friends, the weather, and even our favorite television shows. Evie would play back those recordings, over and over again, giggling and listening to our conversations. Her teachers insisted that the time we spent doing this together had significantly helped her ability to enunciate. Even as we grew older, on many nights, one of us would still climb into bed with the other for our “reports.”
