Authors: Missy Johnson
It was the psychological
trauma that took the longest to get over—that I’m still getting over. The
first few weeks after the accident, it didn’t feel real. It was like I was
locked in a nightmare, just waiting to wake up. Even at the funeral, I
struggled to comprehend that they were gone. I buried three family members in
one afternoon, and there was still a part of me expecting Mom to come in and
kiss me goodnight. Or for Jordan to call, begging for a lift home. Or to have
Dad yell at me for using his car without permission.
The moment I began to accept
what had happened was in the fourth week, as we were packing up the house. I’d
stumbled across some photos taken during the vacation we took to Hawaii the
summer before. We all looked so damn happy, lazing around the pool without a
care in the world. Back then, my biggest problem had been deciding which shoes
to wear with my new black and red sundress.
I just lost it. I sat on my
bedroom floor crying for hours, calling my voicemail over and over just so I
could hear their voices once more. Even now, I still have those messages saved.
Sometimes all I needed to
hear was my mom saying ‘I love you’ to remember I was lucky enough to have had
them at all.
***
After the excitement of
first period, the rest of the day paled in comparison. I saw Mr. Reid in the
halls a few times. My palms would begin to sweat and my face would heat up, but
he never even glanced at me. I was invisible and I liked it that way. I could
look at him and fantasize from a distance without looking like a sex-starved
maniac—like every other girl in school.
The truth was, boys had been
the last thing on my mind since the accident. Mr. Reid was the first guy I’d
actually let myself be attracted to. That scared me a little, but knowing it
wouldn’t go anywhere was comforting.
On the way home, I stopped
to use the bathroom. I was about to leave the stall when the door opened.
Fucking great: it was Paige and her buddies. I quietly sat down, not game
enough to leave until they had.
“How hot is Mr. Reid? I’d
let him fuck me any day of the week,” giggled Paige. Her friends laughed and
agreed he was hot, arguing over who would have the best chance with him.
“Have you seen my tits?
Obviously I’m going to win. No guy can resist these.”
I covered my mouth,
smothering a laugh. That had to be Stacie. She was always going on about her
breasts, which, in my opinion, weren’t all that.
“Whatevs. You’ll all be
paying up when I win. And I’ll be using that money to buy some sexy lingerie
for when I fuck him,” Paige retorted. They all laughed and left the bathroom.
What the hell
was that about?
Fumbling in my backpack for my phone, I texted Kass.
Held up in the bathroom. Bitches talking about a bet and Mr.
Reid. Gossip?
Kass might be an outcast,
but she knew everything that was going on in this place, and usually right
after it happened. My phone beeped.
Lol yeah. Who is going to kiss him first. Puke. Winner gets
close to a grand. Think I’ll win? ;)
I sniggered and shoved my
phone in my pocket. Only here would this happen. These girls were insane.
Someone should really warn the poor guy. He really had no idea what he was in
for.
Dalton
I pulled the classroom door
shut, trying to ignore the group of giggling girls standing to my left, staring
at me. I was slowly getting used to the attention—being the only male
teacher at this school under the age of fifty, it sort of came with the
territory. They eventually moved off down the hall, but not before more
whispering and giggling. I shook my head and locked the door.
“They have a pool, you
know.”
I turned around. She was
leaning against the opposite wall, her head tilted to the side as she studied
me with her deep green eyes. Her long dark hair hung in waves down her back.
She looked familiar, but that wasn’t surprising, considering she was probably
in one of my classes.
“A pool?” I repeated,
bemused.
“Yes. Like, a betting pool.
On who is going to be the first to kiss you.” She shook her head and smiled as
she rolled her eyes. “The winner gets nearly a thousand dollars.”
I laughed. That explained a
lot, actually.
A week ago I was an
unemployed teacher fresh out of college. Ready to take on the world, I could
handle anything—at least, I’d thought I could. After less than a week
here, I was beginning to regret my decision to teach high school
students—especially when those students consisted only of hormonal
teenage girls. This place was my idea of hell.
What the
fuck
had I been thinking?
Teaching at a prestigious
girls’ boarding school was a role I hadn’t contemplated, nor did I think I’d
ever stand a chance in hell of getting—and I probably wouldn’t have, if
it hadn’t been for the headmistress being an old friend of my mother’s. Yes,
even though I was twenty-three, Mom was still interfering in my life. One call
had gotten me an interview, and from there I had scored the job. My perfect
grades, outstanding recommendations, and great outlook on life were just what
they needed, apparently.
It was ironic, all things
considered, that they saw me as a fresh, look-on-the-bright-side kind of guy
when the reality was so different. I guess I was better at internalizing my
feelings than I thought.
I looked at the girl again,
trying to place her. She was in one of my classes, but so early on, all the
girls blended into one another.
That’s right.
Wrenn . . . something
.
Quiet and studious, she was
one of the few girls I had crossed here who seemed to have some sort of plan
for her future. Of course, that assessment was based off a couple of lessons
and one homework assignment, but I got the feeling that most of the girls
couldn’t plan past their outfits for the next weekend.
“You’re in my history class,
right?” I asked her.
She nodded and smiled,
adjusting the strap on her backpack over her shoulder. “Wrenn. I’m in your
Monday morning and Thursday afternoon classes. History and Sociology.” She
blushed suddenly, her eyes growing wide with horror. “I’m not part of the
pool,” she added quickly.
I laughed as her face went
red.
“I mean, not that I don’t
think you’re attractive, but—”
“It’s okay,” I
interrupted—mostly to stop her from digging a deeper hole for herself.
“Just quit while you’re ahead.” I chuckled as she cringed again. “Anyway, I
appreciate the heads up.” I winked and walked past her down the now empty hall.
“See you Monday,” I called.
I made my way to the
teacher’s lounge, thinking about what Wrenn had told me.
A betting
pool.
God, as if things weren’t
hard enough, now there was money on who could make me act inappropriately
first? I’d had girls requesting one-on-one tutoring, girls leaving me gifts on
my desk, and the number of girls “dropping” things while I was in their close
proximity so they would have to retrieve them, asses high in the air, would almost
be funny if it were happening to anyone else.
Hell, one girl had her
father make a sizeable donation to the History department, stating that my
techniques had encouraged his daughter to take her education more seriously.
I’d been here a week! She was taking something seriously, but I doubted very
much that it was her
education
.
Taking my lunch out of the
fridge, I smiled and sat down next to Mark. At twenty-seven, he was four years
older than me, yet the only one even remotely close to me in age. Every other
teacher here was over thirty—with some having taught at the school for
more than thirty years. Talk about feeling out of place.
Don’t get me wrong. Everyone
was nice, but the difference in age made it difficult to evolve relationships
beyond the usual small talk. At least with Mark I could talk about football, or
cars, and whatever else. The other teachers and their talk of politics and
evolution intimidated the shit out of me.
My first impression of
Tennerson Academy had been
holy fucking
shit.
Tennerson has consistently
been in the top twenty preparatory schools in the country. As a senior school,
it accepted students aged between sixteen and eighteen.
It had been exclusively a
boarding school until 1983, when it began accepting day students as well.
Today, the hundred and thirty-eight residential students were divided among
five houses—each house accommodating up to twenty students. In each
building there was a leader and two teachers. The remaining teachers either
lived on or off campus.
As a new teacher, I was
living on campus in my own unit, which somewhat resembled a hotel
suite—modern and clean—located in the teachers’ quarters.
Thank
fucking
Christ they hadn’t put me in one of the residential houses.
I wouldn’t rule out being attacked in my sleep by some of these
girls—girls who were used to getting exactly what they wanted.
This was so much more
pressure than your usual teaching job. Here, you’re around it 24/7. That’s a
hard thing to adapt to when you lack experience.
All you had to do was look
around the teacher’s lounge: Tennerson’s liked experience, and
lots
of it. That made me feel
nervous—like everyone was wondering what I did to get the job. Hell, I
sometimes wondered
myself
how I got
this job.
Oh wait,
that’s right: my interfering mother.
“Tuna fish?” Mark screwed
his nose up as he glanced over at my sandwich.
“
You
don’t have to
eat it,” I told him, taking a big bite and washing it down with a soda.
“Yeah, but I have to smell
it,” he retorted, moving a seat down.
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Are you going to Layna’s tonight?” I asked him. Layna—the
headmistress—and her husband, Dan, lived in a house behind the main
building. Every Friday night, she and Dan hosted a dinner for the staff.
I’d known Layna for years, though we had
only met a handful of times at big family events. She and Mom spoke regularly,
but living so far away from each other made catching up hard. It was those big
events—like Dad’s funeral—where I had actually met her.
Mark nodded. “Probably.
Nothing better to do, may as well get a free feed, huh?”
“My thoughts exactly.” I
chuckled.
“Glad your first week is
over?” he asked.
I groaned. “That would be an
understatement. I just found out there’s a betting pool on which one of my
students is going to kiss me first.”
Mark laughed, banging his
fist down on the table. I glowered at him. Was it really
that
funny?
“Seriously? Watch out, dude,
these girls are brutal. That’s the trouble with rich kids—they’re used to
getting whatever they want, no matter the cost.” He glanced down to his beer
belly. “Not sure why they’re not trying to hit me up, though.” He grinned.
“No idea, dude.” I laughed.
“But I have to admit, I’m glad this is only a short-term contract.”
“You say that now, but give
it ten years. A pretty girl paying attention to you then will be the highlight
of your week.” He laughed again as I shook my head. There were so many things
wrong with what he’d just said that I didn’t even know where to start.
“I don’t know about that,
but I do wish girls had paid this much attention to me in college.” I chuckled.
Mark snorted. “I find it
hard to believe college girls were doing anything other than throwing
themselves at your feet. And think about this: all those pretty college girls
you were fucking last year? They were
these
girls only a year or two earlier.”
I rolled my eyes as Mark
guffawed loudly. He was trying to wind me up, but there was some truth to his
comment, and it made my inexperience and close age to these girls even
more
obvious to me.
Last year I wouldn’t have
blinked an eye at the thought of making out with a hot freshman. Hell, my
friends and I used to
prey
on ‘fresh
meat’ as they called them.
They
would
be these girls in a few short months, and guys just like me
would be all over them. I stood up, tossing my half-eaten sandwich in the
garbage can, suddenly not that hungry.
I sighed, thankful there
were only eight weeks of the school year left.
Surely I could handle eight
little weeks?
Dalton
The one good thing about
living on campus? Two minutes and I was home.
Back in L.A., I’d still
lived at home with Mom and spent half the day in the car getting to and from my
classes. Here, I could get up fifteen minutes before my first class and still
be early.
I made my way over to my
unit on foot, crossing the sprawling green lawns that separated the school from
the residential units. Trees lined the border of the entire property, most of
them hundreds of years old, creating a feeling of privacy. My unit was in a
cluster with fifteen others within an old, dated, red brick building.
Inside was a complete
contrast. Everything had been remodeled, with modern new furniture, and
finishes in grays and neutral tones. The living room was huge—as was the
bedroom. The kitchen, though cramped, was complete with all the latest
appliances. I even had a small balcony, which overlooked the entrance of the
school.
I slapped my keys down on
the counter and went straight for the fridge, grabbing a soda and some leftover
pizza from the night before. Walking over to the sofa, I flopped down and
flicked on the TV. My first week was officially over, and I had survived.
Barely.
Eight more
weeks.
If I could get through that,
I could secure a job anywhere. That was what this was really all about: the
security of a permanent job with benefits—such as health
insurance—was something I needed. Not negotiable. This job on my resume
was as good as a free pass to any teaching position I wanted. It put me one
step above the other twenty thousand graduates who would be applying for the same
positions I would be.
The dream to be a teacher
had been with me for as long as I could remember and it was something that my
father had
hated
when he was alive. I
had so much potential, why did I want to waste it on a sub par career? Why
didn’t I want to follow in his footsteps and study Law? Why was I such a
disappointment? Why wasn’t I trying harder? All that when I was barely in
middle school. Talk about pressure. In spite of all that, I knew he loved me
and wanted the best for me.
When he found out he was
sick, his entire outlook on life changed.
It had been a complete
one-eighty turnaround. After his diagnosis, it was all about following my
dreams, not settling for anything, and doing what made me happy.
Happy? Happiness was
overrated. How could I ever let myself truly be happy knowing how easily
everything I worked for could be ruined? Happiness was a trait that had eluded
me for a long time. The best I could do was try and float with my head above
water and hope I didn’t drown, and some days even that was hard.
Some days, all I wanted to
do was say ‘fuck everything’ and disappear, move some place where nobody knew
me and start afresh. The only thing stopping me was Mom, and knowing I could
never do that to her. Losing Dad had broken her. She couldn’t handle losing me,
too.
That, and I was smart enough
to realize you can’t run from your problems—they always catch up with you
in the end.
***
Skype on my computer buzzed
as I was getting ready to go out. It was Cam, one of my best friends from
college and high school. Also a teaching graduate, he had ended up subbing for
some of the roughest schools in Los Angeles. I reached over and clicked Accept,
and turned on the mic.
“Hey man,” I said, dropping
into my seat.
Cam’s big goofy grin filled
the screen, his messy hair falling in all directions.
“How’s it going?”
“Heeeeey. How’s the private
school boy going?” he yelled.
I sighed. “I can’t wait for
this to be over, actually. I’d rather be subbing in the worst school in the
country than here. These girls are fucking insane, man,” I said, stretching my
arms behind my head.
Cam laughed. “Insanely hot,
you mean. Am I right?” He laughed hysterically. Cam hadn’t changed in the eight
years I’d known him. He had way too much energy and nothing to burn it on. He
was one of the most genuine people I knew, and had been such a support when my
dad had died. At that stage we’d only been friends for a few months, but he was
there for me when all my other friends deserted me, not knowing what to say or
how to act. It was amazing how in the face of tragedy, it all became about
them.
I shook my head. “Don’t go
there, man. God knows I won’t be. How are you, anyway? Any more interviews?”
“Yeah, I had one yesterday
for a pretty decent school not far from me, so fingers crossed, huh?” I heard a
faint voice in the background. “Amy says hi.”
“Hey Amy,” I said back. Amy
was his girlfriend of three years, and a real sweetheart. She kept him
grounded. “Listen, I gotta go. A work thing, but I’ll catch you soon, okay?”
“Sure, don’t work too hard,”
he warned me.
“I never do,” I shot back.
***
As I approached the house I
adjusted my black sweater and my leather jacket, trying to steady my nerves. I
wasn’t a shy person by any means, but this was my first real job and I felt
intimidated. I walked up the path leading to the porch and knocked on the door.
Dan answered. He flashed me a grin.
“Dalton, good to see you
again. Come in.” He ushered me inside, patting me on the back. I followed him
through to the patio out the back where the rest of the staff had gathered.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Dan was one of those guys
I’d instantly liked when we’d first met. He was the type of guy who everyone
liked. He was funny, social, friendly, and he worked hard—complete with
stupidly long hours—in his job as head of the Engineering department at
Hallbrook University, just a few towns over.
“Sure, just a soda will be
fine, thanks.”
This was one of those
occasions where I wished I drank, just to calm my nerves. I stood awkwardly,
smiling at anyone who made eye contact with me while I waited for Dan to
return. I felt out of place, like the new kid in the playground. I’d literally
spoken no more than a few words to these people. Some of them I didn’t even
recognize. Layna spotted me and waved me over.
At forty-two—the same
age as Mom—Layna was tall, slim, and attractive. Her shoulder-length
blonde hair was cut into a sharp bob that framed her angular face. Her piercing
brown eyes made her look harsh—like someone you wouldn’t want to cross.
In reality, she was one of the most sincere, understanding people I’d ever met.
“Dalton.” She smiled,
touching my arm. “How are you settling in? Glad the week is over, I bet.”
“Yeah, I’m loving it, but
happy the weekend is here,” I chuckled. Yes, a lie, but telling my boss how I
really felt probably wasn’t a great career move.
“Good to hear. Grab yourself
a drink and mingle.”
She took off, already
talking to someone else before I could respond. Glancing around for Mark, I saw
him standing by the bar, talking with the English teacher, Gary. I slipped out
the door, trying to remember where the bathroom was from last week.
After I’d finished, I headed
back toward the patio. Passing what looked like a living room, I heard the
unmistakable sounds of Alfred Hitchcock’s
The
Birds
playing. I stopped and smiled.
God, I wish I
was in there watching movies instead of trying to impress a bunch of strangers.
I pushed the door open and
ventured inside.
Wrenn sat sprawled out on a
large leather recliner. Her eyes widened when she saw me. She sat upright,
straightening her skirt. My eyes were drawn to her bare calves as she tucked
them under her thighs.
“Mr. Reid,” she said, her
lips curving into a smile. She pointed to the TV. “Sorry, is it too loud?”
I jumped at the sound of her
voice, forcing myself to focus on her face.
Great, now I
feel like a creep.
But I was a
twenty-three-year-old guy, and she was a pretty teenage girl who was only a few
years younger than me. It was in my DNA to appreciate that.
“No, not at all,” I replied,
stepping further into the room. “And call me Dalton. We’re not in class.
Anyway, I was just passing, and I had to see who was watching one of my
favorite movies.”
“You’re a Hitchcock fan?”
She grinned, her face lighting up.
“More of a classic horror
film buff,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the leather armchair nearest to
the door.
“Really? So am I. Nothing
better than a horror movie that actually focuses on the story, you know? All
the horror flicks these days seem to just be slash, blood, and gore.” She
shuddered and shook her head.
I laughed. She was right.
Horror films today had nothing on their older counterparts; it just wasn’t an
argument I was used to hearing from someone under the age of fifty.
“So, I didn’t realize you
were going to be here,” I said casually. There was really no polite way of
asking her what the hell she was doing here.
She blushed. “Layna is my
aunt. I live with her. That’s why I’m at this school,” she explained.
“Wow, I didn’t know that,” I
said.
Wrenn looked at me
strangely.
“My mom and Layna are old
friends. They went to school together,” I explained.
“Then your mom probably knew
my mom,” she said quietly. Her eyes dropped.
I’d obviously hit a nerve,
and I noticed her use of past tense when talking about her mom.
What happened?
“So, how do you like it
here? A bit of a change from what you’re used to?” she asked, a less than
subtle change of subject.
I laughed. “Different is an
understatement. I thought I knew what to expect. Honestly, the reality is
so
much worse,” I said. “I’d forgotten
how many hormones teenage girls have.”
And there was
something to add to my list of things not to say to my teenage student.
“Forgotten?” she teased.
“Weren’t you just in college, like, last year? Didn’t they have teenage girls
there?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling, her green eyes sparkling.
“You’re right, but it wasn’t
my job to control them,” I said, laughing.
“Yes, and they seem to go
even crazier all cooped up in boarding school.” She rolled her eyes. “This is
my outlet,” she added, gesturing to the TV. “Horror movies. It’s a good escape.
And often less scarier than reality,” she quipped.
“If you like this you should
try and get your hands on
Dawn of the
Dead
. That’s one of the best horror movies of all time,” I said, ignoring
how nerdy I sounded.
“Thanks for the tip,” she
said with a grin. “You better get back.” She pointed to the door, her eyes
piercing me. “They’ll come looking for you.”
“Yeah. I should,” I
muttered.
Even though I’d much rather stay
in here
. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday?”
“I guess you will. ‘Night,
Dalton.”