“I’ll be thinking of you, in yours.”
That night as I climbed into the shower, I did think of my teacher. I pictured him as he’d stood there in the rain, soaked to the bone, with water clinging to his cheeks.
His eyes had roved over my body the second I’d displayed it for him. I wanted him to look at me…to touch me. I turned on the warm water and raised my face to the spray, imagining just that.
He’d wanted me this afternoon and was almost tempted, of that I was certain. It was only a matter of time.
Tick, tick, tock.
Present…
“Good morning, Addison.”
I sigh as I make my way into our usual meeting place, choosing again not to answer. These sessions are pointless. I’ll never tell him what he wants to hear. I wonder if he already knows that.
“I’d like to talk to you about something different today. Maybe a little bit about Helene.”
He’s waiting for me to react. Like poking a bear with a short stick.
“You and her…there was something there. A bond, wouldn’t you say?”
What does it matter? There’s nothing now, is my initial thought, but that isn’t the truth. I know that.
“Addison?”
What? I want to scream at him. What do you fucking want from me?
But I don’t demand that. I stay still, silent.
One, two, three. One, two three.
“Did her actions…hurt you?” he coaxes.
I hate when people ask me questions they already know the answers to.
I hold his gaze and see him nod. He knows he’s getting somewhere.
“She was there at an important time in your life, that much I know. Like a sister? Or a mother, perhaps?”
I don’t answer, believing it will make all of this go away. I keep hoping that this is all some kind of demented dream, but even in my dreams I can’t escape what happened. I’m just reminded by the most unlikely source—Daniel.
Studying Doc, I see that he’s still patiently waiting.
He’s waiting for an answer. I’m waiting to leave.
“Do you miss her, Addison?”
No, is all I can think. I hate her.
Past…
The rain had passed by the next morning. I pulled into the parking lot and snuck a quick glimpse of my watch.
Good, I wasn’t late for hurdle practice even though it would just be warm-ups due to the damp ground. Making my way across the track, I spotted Brandon showing off.
“Fuck that, Nicholson! There’s no way you’re gonna beat me at the meet, but you’re welcome to try!” I heard him shout from where I was walking to the bleachers.
That was nothing new. Brandon and Luke Nicholson had been competing since they were freshmen. It seemed, however, that in these last two years, Brandon had been getting the edge every single time.
That meant he was the best, the most popular, and therefore, perfect for me.
Well, perfect if you didn’t include the new candidate, Mr. McKendrick. He’d stopped to talk to Jessica, who went from friend to rival in the space of a well-timed laugh and a perky little wave.
I kept my eyes on the two of them as I stretched out my calves, and when he responded to something she said with a genuine laugh, my heart sped up.
One, two, three.
It was beyond irritating that Jessica, plain old Jessica Garner, had him smiling at her, and I couldn’t even get him to talk to me unless he thought I had car issues.
Until yesterday, Mr. McKendrick barely acknowledged me except to answer a question, and even then it was done in a tone that was less than impressed. I knew he did it to keep me in line, but what he didn’t realize was that it made him that much more of a challenge—and I thrived on a good challenge.
I balanced on one leg and pulled my right one up behind me to stretch out my quad.
As Jessica ran over to me, she called out, “Addy!”
It’s probably a bad thing that I want her to trip and fall.
“Did you see Mr. McKendrick? Oh my god. He’s so hot.”
Pity, she didn’t.
“Nope. Missed that. Plus, he’s our teacher. Gross.”
“Oh, please. He’s sexy, like…like…oh, I don’t know. But he is and so nice.”
“To you, maybe. He’s a total asshole to me,” I reminded her.
She was in our world history class. She had to have noticed the way he treated me.
“Well, yeah, to you he totally is. But you pissed him off from the very beginning.”
The accusatory comment was completely unlike Jessica, but I couldn’t detect any real venom behind it. Maybe it was just in my head.
“How cool is it that he’s been to all of those amazing places? I mean, how unreal would it be to stand in the Parthenon? Oh, and the Colosseum? I’d die.”
Jesus, this girl needs to shut it.
I was already annoyed that he seemed to think she was worth talking to, and I wasn’t. Hearing her moon over him wasn’t helping the issue at all.
“Well, I think he’s amazing.” She paused and turned back to where she’d come from just moments ago. “Ooh, and so does Miss Shrieve, apparently.”
Spinning around, I spotted my hurdle coach and history teacher shaking hands on the other side of the track. Right then, I knew Jessica wasn’t the enemy—no—Miss Shrieve had just filled that position.
Stepping away from Jessica, who was still yammering on about European vacations, I observed the way my coach leaned into Mr. McKendrick and laughed. Her face was angled up at him, and her lips were slightly parted as she placed a hand over her chest. Bringing to his attention, no doubt, her huge breasts.
Breathe, I told myself—one, two three—but it was no use.
My vision blurred, and I could hear nothing but the blood coursing through my veins as he, too, started to laugh.
No, no, no!
Not her, not Miss Shrieve.
Not the one woman who was always in my way somehow. This couldn’t be happening.
As their introduction came to a close, she noticed us waiting and waved. She started jogging our way and at the last minute called over her shoulder to him, to my teacher.
“My name’s Helene—just so you don’t have to keep calling me Miss Shrieve.”
In that moment, I wanted to hurt her.
The final warning bell for the day rang, and as the students began to shuffle into my classroom, I wrote along the top of the board, King Henry VIII’s wives. Placing the chalk down, I dusted my hands and was about to face the class when Addison stepped through the door.
Her lips curved as she ran her gaze over me, and any kind of ease I had been feeling disappeared and my guard went up. Addison always added further tension to my class. Her very presence troubled me, and after yesterday in the parking lot, I was even more aware of her audacious behavior.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKendrick,” she greeted, much the same as the other students, but the look and walk that accompanied her words were unlike any other.
“Afternoon, Addison.”
Instead of sitting down, she made her way over to where I was standing by the board and fingered the strap of her schoolbag—a stark reminder of exactly who she was.
“I see you survived being wet. So did I,” she pointed out, her mouth twitching as she regarded me boldly. She was in for disappointment. She would get nothing from me.