That one glance made no sense to me, and I pondered it for the rest of the day and most of Saturday morning. We’d had a heartfelt conversation on Thursday, but after that, our verbal exchanges had become nothing more than any teacher would engage in with one of their students. A part of me wondered if the connection I’d felt had only been one-sided, but then he’d catch my eye. He’d look at me, pierce me with an intense gaze as if silently telling me something, and then I’d find myself believing there was more between us.
Crazy, right? He was my teacher. I was his student. His underage student. And he was seven years older than me. It had to have all been in my head. Nothing more than a naïve girl seeing what she wanted to believe when an attractive, older man gave her attention. I was smart enough to see the truth.
Those were the thoughts that consumed me, took over my dreams Friday night, and ate away at me until I finally forced myself to snap out of it. Saturday afternoon, I decided to head up to the library. Mom had been quiet ever since her explosion on Wednesday night after coming home from work and yelling at me for the questions she had to field off. The questions caused by Mr. Taylor’s intrusion. My mother didn’t like when anyone involved themselves in our lives. I didn’t know how to take her silence, so I eased into a conversation with her. I told her I wanted to check out some books, knowing she wouldn’t have a problem with me leaving the house. The weekends were always the hardest at home when we were both trapped inside together for endless hours. Just as I’d hoped, she allowed me to go, and then agreed to pick me up at six when the library closed.
That gave me almost three hours to wander around and enjoy some peace and quiet sans the awkwardness of being in the proximity of my mother. It was heaven, so naturally, the time went by too fast.
I chose to wait outside the library doors on a bench to be picked up, foreseeing how it would end if she had to wait for me. What I hadn’t expected, though, was to have company.
“What are you reading?” A deep voice overhead startled me until I pulled my nose from the book in my hand and peered over the tops of the pages. Stunned at who stood in front of me, I couldn’t speak or move. I could only watch as he took the empty space on the bench next to me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, nearly breathless from the shock of him being so close to me, his subtle cologne consuming me.
“It’s a library, Bree.” His small laugh was enough to calm me to the point where I could finally take him in. I had seen him for five straight days, all of which he’d worn dress pants with shiny black shoes and a nice button-up shirt adorned with a tie. So seeing Mr. Taylor dressed in dark-washed jeans and a sweater was odd.
Not odd.
Nice.
He looked really, really nice, and I had to fight the urge to gawk at him. I closed the book in my hand and shrugged, wanting him to at least think I was at ease around him, even though that was the complete opposite of how I felt. My insides were shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cooling temperatures.
His gaze dropped from mine to my hands before reaching out and taking the book from me. “Animal Farm. This is one of my favorite books. Have you read this before? Or are you getting it for school?”
Embarrassment filled me as I searched for the answer that wouldn’t make me sound anything like the teenager I was. “I’ve read it before. I really liked it and wanted to read it again with fresh eyes. Sometimes, when I have to read something for class, the essence of the story is lost on me. And reading it for fun allows me to see it differently…like with a different perspective, I guess.”
He tilted his head as he stared at me, his eyes locked with mine, his mouth remaining closed. Finally, he shook his head and looked away. “Are you sure you’re a high school student?” He pulled his attention back to me with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow.
“Why?”
“Because I never remember sixteen-year-olds talking like you when I was in school. They were always worried too much about their appearance and who they dated instead of reading books for fun to get a different outlook on them.”
“Seventeen,” I corrected. “I’ll be seventeen in a month.”
“You think that makes a difference?”
All the wind in my sails deflated, leaving me insecure all over again. “I guess not.” My shoulders dropped and my head fell forward. No matter how much I wanted to hide my reaction, it seemed impossible to keep my body from betraying me.
He shifted on the bench to face me, squaring his shoulders in my direction. “I only meant that even at seventeen, kids don’t think like you. They didn’t when I was your age, and since I started teaching, I haven’t noticed any. Why aren’t you challenging yourself more? Why aren’t you in better classes? Honors classes are good and all, but you could be doing so much more.”
“I don’t have the time.”
“What do you mean? What time do you need for accelerated classes?”
“My mom has these…expectations of me at home, and if I took more than I am right now, I would fall behind. I’m only taking these honors courses because I needed the weighted GPA. My mom expects nothing less than a solid four, so I figured the added weight would help me get there.”
“What kinds of ‘expectations’ does your mom have of you?”
“Normal house stuff. Cooking, cleaning, laundry.”
“You do it all?”
I nodded, fearing where this conversation was headed.
“So you never get to do anything normal?”
“I’m at the library, aren’t I?”
He shook his head and peered out at the parking lot. His lips scrunched up as if he’d tasted something sour. His obvious disgust at what I’d told him was written all over his face. “You’re going to college, right? You plan on getting out?”
“Of course. She doesn’t want me there any longer than I have to be.”
“That makes no sense. I mean, if she has you doing all her work, pretty much taking care of her, why would she want you gone? Don’t get me wrong—I want you out of there, and I hate the thought of you having to wait another year, but your mom doesn’t make much sense.”
I shrugged, contemplating my next words. “I’ve already told you, she hates me. She resents me. She makes me do everything because she can, not because I’m her built-in maid. I make her look bad. Because of me, she’s been labeled the single mom. When I leave, she can pretend I don’t exist—until it benefits her to have a smart kid in some fancy school. And then she can have that perfect image again.” I licked my lips and whispered my next words. “She wants her cake and eat it, too. Just as long as I’m not there when she has it.”
He turned his head away, his voice matching mine when he murmured, “I hate that I can’t protect you from her.” Then he smacked my book against his leg and handed it to me. “Did you know that Orwell didn’t disagree with socialistic ideas? His entire point of Animal Farm was to show the corruption of those in power.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod, studying the book in my hands. “I like how he was able to tell about the Russian Revolution in a way anyone could understand. Sometimes, it’s hard to explain history to people, because we’ve never experienced those things, or we have a hard time wrapping our minds around certain events. But he did a really good job putting it into perspective for even younger minds to understand.”
“I really think you should consider doing dual enrollment next year.”
His sentiment warmed me, but I shook my head. “I would have to take public transportation to the community college. And that would only cause more problems if I missed a bus or something.”
“Why would you have to do that?” he asked in disbelief.
“I don’t have a car. Mom never bought one for me, and I don’t have any money to get one. She won’t let me work to finance one, and at this point, it’s kind of pointless. I mean, once I leave for college, I will be staying on campus, so I wouldn’t need a car. It sucks right now, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”