Sweetest Taboo (4 page)

He held his hand out, the silver necklace and pendant dangling from his fingers, and I realized that this was the first time that I had forgotten about my jewelry. I stared at the necklace and blinked a couple of times, feeling bad that I hadn’t even missed them until now, when Mr. Stevens was standing in my living room holding them in his hand.

“I completely forgot about them,” I confessed. “Thanks so much for going out of your way to drop them off.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied. “I gave a few swimmers a ride home and one of them told me that you lived right down the road so I thought, why not? It’s on my way. I didn’t want you to panic thinking you had lost them.”

As he spoke, he gently pressed the jewelry into my hand, lightly caressing my wrist as he released them. We locked eyes for a moment and I felt the instant heat of an all-too-familiar blush appear on my face. He must have noticed it too, because he looked away and added, “At least now you can rest well knowing that your grandmother’s necklace is safely back with you.”

I frowned in confusion then remembered that I had told him that it was my grandmother’s necklace the first time I asked him to hold it for me. “Yes, I’m glad to have it back,” I answered quickly. “It’s really sweet of you to drop these off. I really appreciate it.”

We walked to the door, and Mr. Stevens stepped out to the porch. He looked back at me before he walked away, paused, and then winked and said goodnight. I walked back inside, still stunned, my grandmother’s necklace clutched in my hand, and closed the door behind me. I was promptly pounced on by a very excited Liz, who had apparently been eavesdropping on my conversation with Mr. Stevens from the hallway.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe it! Izzy, he is
so
into you!” she gushed. “Oh my God. Can’t you see? He drove out of his way to give you the jewelry, when he could have just given it to you tomorrow at school. Don’t you get it? He wanted to see you, that’s why he came to your house!” She bounced up and down, fizzing with excitement, and my lips turned up in a smile. I couldn’t believe that he had come to my house, and I certainly wasn’t going to guess at his intentions, but maybe she was right. Had he come all this way – even made up an excuse to do so – just to see me again, outside of school?

Was this the start of more meetings? Could I dare to hope for something like that?

Before I could reply, my dad appeared again, standing in front of us in the hallway. I wasn’t concerned about whether he’d overheard Liz squealing or understood what she’d said -- he did not speak or understand English well, despite having lived in California for over ten years. He didn’t need to speak English for work, and had stubbornly refused to adapt to his new homeland’s culture, despite my mother’s pleas. He didn’t know what Liz had said, or what had passed between Mr. Stevens and me. His face was stern as he asked to speak to me in private, though, and I wondered what he thought. Liz glanced at me and quickly scurried off to my bedroom.

When Liz was gone, my father asked bluntly who that man was. I explained that he was my swim coach from school, and that he had stopped by to drop off the jewelry that I had forgotten at practice.

My father didn’t seem moved by the explanation.

“I don’t like him,” he told me in Spanish, his tone deadly serious. “I don’t want you spending time alone with him. Do you understand me?”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. I couldn’t believe that my father would pass judgment on Mr. Stevens so hastily, and with so little reason. He hadn’t even been introduced to the man, and this was one of my coaches! I began to defend Mr. Stevens, telling my father that he this was my swim coach, that he was a good man, and that he’d just given other swimmers a ride home from practice. Why was my father being so unreasonable?

“I know what I’m talking about,” was my father’s sharp reply. “Be careful, Isabel.”

I paused, trying to decide what to do; in my family, an order from my father was law, and it was difficult to get around it. My father took my silence for agreement and turned away. I stood where I was and watched him go, my heart and mind racing.

Chapter Four

Sowing the Seeds of Love

B
y the middle of the term, I was surreptitiously stalking Mr. Stevens. I arrived at school early each morning to sneak a peek into his classroom. If he was there, and the door was open, I sat across the hall, pretending to read, and watched him through my lashes. If he wasn’t, I went to another area of the school, where everyone would have to pass me to enter. If I hadn’t seen him by first or second period, I did everything I could think of to track him throughout the lunch period. Sometimes I saw him standing outside his classroom, looking my way as I walked toward my faded brown locker between periods. Sometimes I saw him standing in the hallway across from the locker itself. Sometimes I even saw him standing outside one of my classrooms.

I began to think that he was tracking my whereabouts as well.

I fell behind in my studies, because I spent most of class time daydreaming, creating lengthy and vivid scenarios where Mr. Stevens’ desire for me was so intense that he was willing to risk everything – including his career and his marriage – to be with me.

These scenarios became progressively more intense, and signified a progression in my imaginary relationship. Today, I knew that I would find my way into a deeper and more taboo sort of daydream. Several days earlier, I had dreamt that Mr. Stevens finally confessed his attraction to me. On the next day my fantasy involved him whisking me off my feet in a deep, passionate kiss. Today, I knew, would be no different. I hadn’t seen him since arriving at school, and it was now third period. I was missing him terribly, and couldn’t wait to sit down and start thinking about what we would be doing if we were together. I spent most of Algebra II class fantasizing about what might come after the kiss. Would he decide that he could no longer live without me?

After third period, I made my way to my locker alone. Liz and I had third period together, and she usually walked with me to our fourth-period class, but she was out sick today. I walked quickly toward my locker to begin the age-old process of dropping off one book and picking up another, and ducked down to fish a new pen out of the case at the bottom of the locker. As I straightened, I realized that someone was watching me. I stilled, throwing my senses out, and realized that someone was standing right
behind
me. I smiled to myself; I recognized the smell of his cologne, a clean and masculine scent, and didn’t even need to turn around to know who was there.

I turned, my eyes cast down so that I could feign surprise when I saw him. Mr. Stevens was standing closer to me than he had ever stood before, leaning toward me as though he was about to speak. I breathed out, trying to keep my cool, and looked up at him.

“Are you looking for me, Mr. Stevens?” I asked coyly.

He looked at me for a moment, then leaned forward and reached into my open locker to thumb through my books. I turned to stare at his hand as he poked through my neatly organized set of schoolbooks, utterly confused.

“I’m looking for my letter,” he replied quietly, so that only I could hear. His breath was warm against my neck, his chest nearly touching my back, and my heart began to race. What was he talking about? A letter? What letter? I didn’t keep any letters in my locker. Did he think that I had stolen something from him?

“What letter?” I finally asked, feeling somewhat unnerved. “I was under the impression that my locker contained
my
belongings--”

As soon as those words escaped my mouth, I realized exactly what Mr. Stevens was trying to say. He wanted a letter
from
me! He expected that I had written a letter to him, and he was looking for it in my locker.

There was no letter, of course, but he was telling me what he wanted. He was
asking
me to write him a letter.

I felt a warm flush on my cheeks and raised my hands to them, seeking to rub away the blush that would give me away. Looking across the hall, I noticed one of the boys from my English class looking at us, and looked down again. When I looked up at Mr. Stevens, he was smiling down at me. He must have seen my confusion, because he chuckled slightly and drew back, gazing down at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. He had thick, dark eyelashes that framed his eyes, and drew them down now to look at my feet. Fireworks were going off in my stomach, and I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there.

“Sure,” I heard myself saying, “I can do that.”

Mr. Stevens smiled and reached out to touch my bare shoulder in thanks, then stepped back. As he turned and walked toward his classroom, he looked back at me and said, meaningfully, “I’ll be expecting it soon.” before disappearing into his classroom.

I gasped and watched him walk away, trying to regain my senses. I had no memory of any conversation taking place. What had I just agreed to? And how much trouble was it going to cause?

***

Halfway through fourth period, I remembered exactly what I had agreed to. I was sitting in class, staring out the window, still trying to recover from the intensity of my physical reaction to him, when the whispered phrase echoed through my mind. It came in Mr. Stevens’ low voice, whispered against my ear. “Write me a letter,” he had murmured quietly. And I had told him that I would.

My mind flew through the possibilities. Maybe I was reading too much into it, maybe he was teasing me because he knew that I had a crush on him, maybe he was trying to get me in trouble. But maybe, my heart said, maybe … he was interested in me the way I was interested in him. Maybe he just wanted to hear me say that I was interested.

I couldn’t believe that my fantasy was merging with reality. The very idea was completely overwhelming, and I didn’t know if I could deal with the repercussions. He was onto me. He knew exactly what I was feeling, and probably what I was thinking, and he was commenting on it. But hadn’t that been my intent all along? That thought made me pause and I frowned. Had I really intended for something to happen between Mr. Stevens and me? I had to admit that I’d never thought about that aspect, and I didn’t actually know the answer to the question. That alone bothered me; I’d always known exactly what I wanted, and gone after it. The idea that I hadn’t known what I wanted in this case …

***

My heart continued to race through the end of the day, and I rushed to swim practice to find that everything there was business as usual. The girls were full of their daily jokes and laughter and had no idea that the whole world had changed, at least for me. I slipped into my suit and got in the pool with the other girls to start our daily workout, wondering what the practice would bring.

Nothing different, as it turned out; we went through our standard reps of freestyle, breast stroke, back stroke, and butterfly, with a long warm-down at the end of practice. I looked up at the coaches every time I came to the edge of the pool, but never caught Coach Stevens’ eyes on me. Perhaps I had over exaggerated, I thought. Maybe it was all in my head.

By the end of practice, I was too tired to think about anything at all. I finished my last lap and drifted to the edge of the pool, then grabbed the concrete coping and pulled myself out onto the deck. The March sun was warm and inviting, and I laid back, letting my feet dangle in the cool water. The sun was bright and warm above me, drying the drops of water on my skin, and I threw myself backward to rest on the deck and rested my arms over my eyes to shade the sun. The warmth of the concrete seeped into my back and shoulders, relaxing my overworked body. I sighed deeply and allowed my mind to rest, focusing simply on the nice warmth on my body.

Suddenly, though, someone came between the sun and me, casting a shadow across my face and bringing the chill of shade. I moved my arm and cracked one eye, then opened both eyes wide. Mr. Stevens was standing over me, holding my towel. He dropped it over my face, laughing, and turned to talk to Natalie. She returned his small talk, then strolled away toward the locker room. Mr. Stevens and I were alone. This was nothing new; we generally stayed together after practice, talking as we walked toward the locker rooms. Normally, though, I walked to the girl’s locker room and he went toward his truck.

Today he reached out to take my hand at the gate.

“Isabel, do you want a ride home?” he asked quietly. “I can drop you off at Liz’s house, if you’d like, instead of yours.”

That was a good idea, though Mr. Stevens couldn’t have known the reason for it. I knew that if my dad saw Mr. Stevens dropping me off at home – especially after his stern warning to me – he would completely freak out. I’d be in for a long lecture about obedience and the importance of safety, and lectures from my father were never pleasant affairs. If Mr. Stevens dropped me of at Liz’ house, on the other hand…

“Sure,” I said lightly. “Liz will be happy to get a visit, she’s home sick today.”

“Yeah, I know,” he answered wryly. “I figured she was, since she’s not here. I haven’t seen the two of you separated in weeks. I need to change, but I’ll be out in ten minutes – we can meet at my truck.” He began to turn around, then paused. “Isabel,” he said quietly, “it would probably be best if people didn’t see you getting into my truck. Let’s keep this between us, okay?”

I nodded wordlessly, wondering what on earth he meant by that.

I got into the locker room and rushed through my usual routine – pulling off my wet and clingy suit, jumping in the shower to wash the smell of chlorine in my hair, and struggling with the challenge of slipping my damp legs into tight leggings. I paused on my way out and sprayed on some of my
Exclamation
over my wrists and on my neck.

I trotted out of the locker room and toward the parking lot, hoping that no one was watching me. Unfortunately, my luck wasn’t that good.

“Isabel!” one of the other swim coaches shouted. She came toward me, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. She held it out to me when she arrived, and took a moment to catch her breath. “Your times at the last meet. I wanted to tell you how surprised – and impressed – I was at your performance. You’ve improved so much over the season, and we’re all quite … proud of you.” Her voice caught on the last phrase, and I knew that it bothered her to have to say it. The two female coaches had made it clear that they didn’t like me from the start, and my fast times were forcing them to do exactly what they didn’t want to do – acknowledge my progress.