FORBIDDEN – A Fictional Manuscript
By Cj Miller
© March 2014
CHAPTER ONE
"Ugh!" I huff disapprovingly at my reflection, impatiently pulling the thick headband from my hair that I had placed there just seconds earlier.
After half hour in front of the mirror, and five different hairstyles later, I decide my trademark boring ponytail is going to have to do. Boring; pretty much sums me up.
I brush my thick brown hair back tight off my face, secure it with a band, then stand back to study myself properly in the full length mirror attached to the back of my bedroom door.
Yuck!
In my entire eighteen years of life I've never been what anyone would class as beautiful – except maybe my mother. I once overheard a store lady describe me as 'pretty in a plain, natural sort of way' to her colleague while I was trying on an outfit in the store's change room.
That's probably the nicest thing anyone – outside of my family - has ever said about me. But the reflection before me now could not be described as anything other than ghastly.
My large green eyes look tired and sunken, the black circles underneath revealing the little amount of proper sleep I've actually had lately. My usually rosy cheeks are pale, in fact, everything about me looks...dull – duller than usual, that is.
My pale blue jeans hang loose over my hips, a definite sign I have lost weight over the summer. I lack enough womanly curves as it is – the last thing I need to do is lose weight. Even my favorite pale blue T-shirt sits unflatteringly over my tiny torso.
It's so unfair, I think to myself. Today is the first day of my senior year. I've been looking forward to this year since I started Hills High as a freshman.
High school has been hard enough for me trying to fit in without the added pressure of the events of this past summer.
You've only got yourself to blame, I silently scold my reflection. If only I could wind back the clock a few months. Before everyone at Hills High knew who I was, for all the wrong reasons.
Before Brad Miller...
"Emerson!" My mom calling my name from downstairs cuts my self pity party short. "Wes is here."
"I'll be right down," I shout back.
Just the sound of Wes's name manages to bring a tiny smile to my otherwise sullen face. He has been my best friend since freshman year, and the only one who has really stuck by me through everything. I've never really clicked with girls, and Wes has always said he'd rather hang out with me than a bunch of guys anyhow, so our friendship works well.
If it weren't for Wes I wouldn't be going at all today; just knowing he is at the bottom of my stairs suddenly makes me feel slightly braver.
With a sigh, I grab my bag from my bedroom floor, toss it over my shoulder, and head out the door and down the stairs.
"Hey!" Wes's cheery face beams at me from the bottom of the staircase.
"Hi," I reply, managing a small smile for my friend.
Wes looks great, as usual – refreshed and ready for our senior year. He's taller than my own average height of 5'4", so probably 5'7" or 5'8". His long, curly, tousled brown hair matches his personality of wild and free perfectly. Wes doesn't care what anyone thinks of him, which is definitely a good thing seeing as though he will be walking into school with me today.
His friendly brown eyes are framed in rectangular glasses, which sit just above a small spattering of light brown freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his small straight nose. His smile spreads the width of his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, silently inviting me to calm a little in his presence.
I take a moment to be thankful for Wes. A friend who will always stand by me, no matter what. He's the smartest guy in our year, really cute in a geekish sort of way, hilariously funny, and he chose me as a best friend. For that, I am eternally grateful.
"You ready?" he asks, enthusiastically.
"What do you think?" is my sarcastic reply.
"I think," Wes says, as he takes my hand at the bottom of the stairs, "that this is going to be a great year."
My mother smiles widely at me, but I can see the worry behind her eyes. "Have a wonderful day, honey."
I force a smile back at my mom, Carolyn Page. Looking into her beautiful, kind blue eyes, I once again curse the genetic gods for the fact I was not born more like her. She looks so beautiful with her blonde hair pulled softly back from her face, her small nose positioned perfectly above her huge wide, white, straight smile.
She has raised me as an only child on her own since I was five, when my dad walked out. About four years ago, out of the blue, he started sending my mom money – a lot of money – on a regular basis. She refused it at first, but then decided she would take it and use it to better our futures, mainly mine. That's when we moved to Beverly Hills from Michigan for a fresh start.
Now, thanks to my 'father', we can pretty much afford anything we want. To be honest, I was a lot happier in Colorado without money than I am here in Beverly Hills. I guess it's true that money can't always buy happiness. My dad may finally be providing for us, but I haven't laid eyes on him since the day he left. My mom is the one who has been there for me through thick and thin, no matter what. Loved me unconditionally, which I figure couldn't be easy, seeing as though every time she looks at me she must see him.
Everyone has always told me – albeit insensitively – how much I look like my dad. My one saving grace has always been that my nature is more like my mom's. I've always been kind and caring, a little naïve perhaps, and way oversensitive. I am a very loyal person, and I have gone through life pretty much avoiding drama – until now that is.
"How am I going to face everybody?" I ask Wes, as we begin the walk of a few short blocks toward school.
"Em," Wes says encouragingly, placing one arm around my shoulders. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"That's not what everybody else thinks," I say.
"True," says Wes with a grin, before quickly realizing it's way too soon for jokes on the matter. He rolls his eyes. "Who cares what everybody else thinks?"
I do, I think to myself. I wish I could be more like Wes, but I'm not. We are similar in the sense that we both come from the same background and are both the only child in our respective families. Perhaps the glue that keeps us together is the fact that we both know what it's like to come from nothing. Wes moved out here after his father's business that he built from the ground took off, expanding rapidly and allowing Wes's family to afford things in life they had once only dreamed of.
Most of the kids out here are born into money, but Wes and I weren't. It gives us a bond that you don't see all that often here in the – sometimes - dog eat dog world of Beverly Hills.
Unfortunately for me, that's pretty much where our similarities end. He's ultra smart; I'm just an average student, and I care what other people think of me, a lot. Too much, maybe, but I can't help it. My eyes screw up automatically as my mind travels, without my permission, to the events before summer holidays that have threatened to ruin my entire senior year.
It was all my fault. I mean, how could I have truly believed in a million years that Brad Miller could ever have been really interested in me?
Gorgeous and tanned with light brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. Captain of the football team, with an amazing body, he is every girl's dream. Well, almost every girl. His personality, unfortunately, does not match his obvious outer good looks, which makes him someone I would not normally be interested in.
Maybe it was the fact I have never had a real boyfriend and was starting to feel the pressure heading toward senior year. Or maybe it was because I have basically been a nobody my entire life, and quietly enjoyed the attention from someone so far out of my reach we may as well be living on different planets. Maybe I'd watched one too many re-runs of the High School Musical Trilogy in my younger years, where jocks baked delicious desserts and dated geeks. Who knows? One thing I do know is the decision to accept a dinner date with Brad Miller a week out from summer holidays would prove to be one I would regret, possibly for my entire life.
It turned out, of course, that I was to be the butt of a very public joke that started as a bet in the locker room. Molly Harper, a sophomore that Wes has been crushing on for months and whose brother Beau happens to be Brad Miller's best friend, told Wes that the guys bet Brad he couldn't 'slay a virgin'. In other words, he had to stalk out someone innocent and pure, take her virginity, and then dump her.
Guess who turned out to be the lucky candidate? Probably because I am about the only virgin left at school of legal age. Wes of course told me straight away, and my first instinct was that I should simply tell Brad that something had come up, and I had to cancel our date.
If only I'd gone with plan A.
But instead the righteous part of me took hold. I felt so humiliated for believing Brad would actually be interested in me. I became angry at being the butt of some joke, and decided I needed to take a stand for every girl Brad Miller had ever treated like dirt, but, mostly, for myself.
I still don't know what in the world came over me the night I went to dinner with Brad, and played along with all the flirtation and sexual innuendo. I played the part of seductress so well I even surprised myself – given that I've had zero experience - and practically couldn't believe my own ears when I suggested he go discreetly into a cubicle in the women's restroom, remove his pants and wait for me.
I think I was even more surprised he actually did it, although I guess he was willing to do whatever it took to win the bet. A guy will go to extremes when his pride is on the line.
I shudder as I recall heading into the thankfully empty restroom shortly after, and quietly asking from outside the closed cubicle if he were 'ready for me'. When he replied he was I told him to prove it, prompting him to wave his pants under the cubicle door. I still can't believe I grabbed those pants from under the door and fled the restaurant, leaving Brad alone in the girl's restroom, without his pants.
I skipped the entire last week of school and hoped to God it would all blow over during the summer, or that Brad would be so humiliated he wouldn't tell anyone what had happened. But in a town like Beverly Hills, news like that travels fast. Brad was understandably furious at me and, judging by the endless amount of hate messages flooding my Facebook inbox, so were a lot of his friends.
I begged my mom to let me change schools, or at least home school me for senior year. But she has always taught me to face my problems head on and to accept the consequences of my behavior and, well, I guess, as much as she felt sorry for me, she wasn't about to change that now.
So here I was, walking to school full of dread, ready, begrudgingly so, to face my consequences.
I feel as though I'm walking the plank with a hundred hungry sharks snapping at my heels as I walk the path up to the entry of our school. I can feel the stares burning unforgiving holes in my body. Wes says I'm imagining it, but I know he's just being kind. I'm so thankful that Wes is in most of my classes, and I cling to him without even realizing it as we walk together through the halls and toward our lockers.
Apart from the stares, by lunchtime I have to admit that the day has not been as bad as I imagined. Nobody really went out of their way to talk to me, but there is nothing unusual about that. I have not even yet laid eyes on Brad, making me think that maybe he isn't at school. A small part of me hopes maybe he is too embarrassed to come back, and that maybe he has changed schools. But deep down I know that isn't going to happen.
I meet Wes on a nice shady piece of lawn for lunch, our usual, favorite spot. Wes gives me his trademark goofy grin as he hands me his mobile phone.
"Check it out," he announces proudly. "Molly actually text me back just now. I haven't seen her around school today, turns out she's home sick," he says with a huge smile across his face.
"You're smiling because she's sick?" I ask, confused.
Wes rolls his eyes. "No...I'm smiling because she actually texted me back for once. Take a look," he says, gesturing toward his phone in my hand.
Wes: Hey Molly, haven't seen u round school 2day, everything ok?
Molly: Hey Wes, no, home sick, feel like crap
Wes: That's no good, feel better soon. I bet even when u feel like crap u still look beautiful
Molly: Aw thanks Wes that's very sweet
I look up at Wes, staring all googly eyed at me in anticipation.
"Well?" he prompts.
"Well...what?" I ask.
"She sounds keen, don't you think? Calling me 'sweet' means she's keen, right?"
"Uh, nooooo...it means she's politely placing you back into the friend zone you just tried so desperately to escape from," I smile. And for the first time in a while, it isn't forced.
Wes smiles back and we continue talking and laughing over lunch. Slowly, but surely, I'm settling in and starting to relax.
I feel so confident by after lunch in fact, that I happily wave goodbye to Wes as we head in different directions for the first time today. We'll be back in the same class for last period English, so I'm sure I can get by without him until then. What I don't know is that everything is about to go really, horribly wrong.
I'm getting some books from my locker when I hear the voice behind me.
It's him. Brad Miller.
"Well, look who it is," he says spitefully, as I turn slowly to face him.
He takes a step toward me, his face just inches from my own, his normally gorgeous eyes absolutely burning with anger. "You've got some nerve showing your face around here."
I'm frozen to the spot, in fact I'm not even sure I'm breathing. I take a step to the side to walk past him but he slams his hand against the lockers, preventing me from getting away.
"In a hurry?" he asks smartly, and by now a few curious students have stopped to look in our direction, although not one of them makes any attempt to help me.
"Look Brad, I'm sorry..." I begin, but he cuts me off short, slamming his hand once again into the locker beside my face.
"I don't think you're sorry at all," he fumes. "But... you will be."
He glares pure hatred at me for a few more seconds before smiling eerily.
"You look like shit, by the way," he adds, before turning and slowly walking away. The few people that had stopped to watch disperse as well.
I stand there alone for a moment, my hands shaking and my heart pounding so hard I'm sure it might burst right through my chest.
Without thinking I run through the hallway and toward the front doors. I burst through them, sobbing, and run as fast as I can, down the path and out the front gates of the school, and I don't stop running until I'm home.
CHAPTER TWO
My phone beeps – again. I pick it up off my bedside table and look at the screen. Seven thirty pm, I must have cried myself to sleep. Seven missed calls from Wes. I'm contemplating whether to send him a quick message when there is a very quiet knock on my bedroom door.
"Not now, Mom," I call out, wiping the tears from my eyes in case she comes in anyhow.
The door slowly swings open, but instead of my mom, I see Wes standing in the doorway.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," I reply, sitting up on my bed and hugging my pillow like some sort of emotional shield.
"I heard about what happened," says Wes sympathetically, taking a few more steps closer to my bed.
"I guess the whole school is talking about it," I say.
"Well," begins Wes, "I'm not gonna lie, people were talking."
I wonder for a second if he has come here to make me feel better or to rub it in my face.
"But," he adds quickly, "that was until last period, when the hot new young English teacher walked in...then everybody started talking about him."
He grins widely, but I'm not in the mood for a joke.
"Your point?" I say, the hostility in my voice surprising even me.
"My point," says Wes tentatively, taking a few more steps toward me and sitting gently on the end of my bed, "is that people only talk about something until there's something better to talk about."
"Not this time," I say, wiping another tear that has involuntarily run down my right cheek.
"Hey," Wes says sympathetically, shuffling closer to me on the bed and taking my hand in his. "This too shall pass."
Wes's favorite saying. Usually when he said it, he was right. But this time I wasn't so sure.
"I mean it Em, those stupid jocks and their followers are only going to talk about this until someone else pisses them off or they have something else to talk about."
I sit up straighter, and hug my pillow a little tighter.
"It's not just the fact that everyone's talking about it," I admit. "You weren't there, Wes, you didn't see him. He was so pissed at me. I was...scared."
"C'mon Em, Brad Miller is all talk. You humiliated him, rightly so, of course he's going to act all tough guy around you. But he's not going to actually do anything to hurt you. He's not that stupid, and besides, I won't let him."
"That's very noble of you Wes, but you can't be with me all the time," I say.
"You really think he would hurt you Em? Look, I think your mind has gone into overdrive personally, but if you're really that worried, then I'll go with you to Mrs Beasley and we'll make an official complaint."
Mrs Beasley is our school principal. In her late fifties, she is known around the school as being firm but fair by teachers and students alike. She likes to dress in power suits with her silver hair pulled back into a tightly woven bun each day. She is tough, but very approachable. I know for a fact she would crack straight down on any sort of intimidating behavior, especially when it involves a male student standing over a female student.
But I already have just about the entire senior class offside, the last thing I need to do is snitch on Brad and give them another reason to hate me.
Plus, in order to report Brad Miller to Mrs Beasley, I would then need to explain all the circumstances leading up to the incident today in the hallway, and I definitely do not want to have to do that.
I take a deep breath and let out a huge sigh.
"Thanks," I say to Wes, my hand still comfortably in his. "But I don't want to go to Mrs Beasley, not yet anyway."
"Whatever you want," says Wes, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I smile at him. He really is a great friend. It's times like these I wish there could be something more between us. It seems so logical. We are best friends, we're together all the time, and united we stand, through thick and through thin. Unfortunately, that's where it ends.
We love each other, but not in that way. The spark just isn't there. We are more like the brother and sister that neither of us has. We did share our first kiss together, back in freshman year, but more because neither of us had kissed anyone and were curious, rather than we actually wanted to kiss each other. It was...nice. Not awkward, not amazing, just nice. Comfortable.
Comfortable is good, I hear my mother say.
She's right of course, comfortable is good. But I don't want good. I want amazing. I want that crazy, beautiful, can't live without each other type of love that you read about in novels. It's funny, even after everything that has happened between my own parents, I still believe in love. I think because my mom does too.
At the moment though, I'm just grateful to have Wes as my lifelong friend. Some people in life aren't lucky enough to find one true friend, and I will always have Wes. A real friendship, although, we did make the traditional high school pact that if neither of us were married by thirty we would have to end up together. God knows it would make our mothers happy. And life would be...comfortable.
"So," interrupts Wes, bringing me back to the moment at hand, "what are you going to do then?"
"I don't know...I can't go back to school," I say.
"Of course you can," says Wes. "Listen Em, remember why you played the prank on Brad in the first place? You were standing up to him, and every jock out there who thinks it's okay to treat women like crap. There are not many people that would have the guts to stand up to him like you did. You can't run away from him now."
Wes is right, as usual. I know he's right, but it's not going to be easy to front back at school tomorrow.
Like he's reading my mind, Wes says, "I'll be there with you, Em, I won't leave you alone. I'll walk you to the classes we don't have together and I'll be there waiting for you at the end of them."
"You're such a good friend, Wes," I say, as I pull him in for a hug.
Even though Wes's official social standing at school was more geek than sheik, he wasn't afraid of anyone. He had the guts to stand up to people in the wrong, and I really admired that about him. The truth is I've always wished to be more like him, which is probably what got me into all this trouble in the first place.
Careful what you wish for... Another of Wes's favorites...
"Listen, I gotta go," says Wes, pulling slowly away from my embrace. "But I'll be here first thing tomorrow to walk you to school, okay?"
I nod.
"This is your senior year as much as his, Em. Don't let him ruin it for you."
I nod again, and feel a renewed sense of courage knowing Wes will be by my side, no matter what.
After Wes leaves, I take a shower, change into my pajamas, then crawl back under the covers of my warm cozy bed. I look at the time on my phone – it's eight forty five. I roll over and try to close my eyes. Any attempt to go to sleep is in vain, as I have practically slept the entire afternoon.
I roll back over and pick up my phone. Waving my finger tentatively over the Facebook symbol, I argue with myself over whether it would be a good idea to check it or not. I'm not a massive fan of social media. I don't have Twitter or Instagram, and I only have Facebook because Wes convinced me it would be a good way to keep in touch with my family and friends back in Michigan.
He was right, as usual. I do like to use it to share stories and photos with family and old friends from home, but I do not like the dark side of social media. The part that allows people you wouldn't normally converse with, the power to converse with you. The part that invites kids who bully or intimidate you at school into your bedrooms, where they can continue to harass you long after school is out.
After convincingly losing the argument with myself, I click on the 'f' icon on my phone, and brace myself for the torrid of abuse I am likely about to be on the receiving end of.
No notifications. No one is publicly abusing me at least. Twelve new private messages; they can wait til later. I don't really care what people write to me privately, I stopped reading those hate filled messages half way through summer.
Feeling a bit more confident, I start to scroll through my newsfeed. It seems Wes was right about something I had, at the time, assumed to be insignificant. We did indeed have a young, hot new English teacher by all accounts, and he was filling up my newsfeed.
Sarah Lange: OMG! Hottest new teacher for English, think I've died and gone to heaven!
Ava Jones: English is my new fave subject! Can't WAIT for class tomorrow! #inlove
Jade Michaels: What did Mr Matthews say in English class today? Who cares what he was SAYING right?! #toobusyperving
Well, Mr Matthews certainly seems to have made an impression. Typical. These girls are so superficial, declaring their love for someone based entirely on their looks. And a teacher, at that. Part of me was angry that they were all being so inappropriate. But the bigger part of me was just thankful they had something better to talk about, like Wes said.
My mind flicks nervously to Cara Taylor. Cara is head cheerleader, drop dead gorgeous with her shiny long blonde hair and her huge sea-blue eyes. With a figure to die for – the shape of an hourglass complete with DD boobs that her Daddy paid for – she has every guy in high school drooling over her. Except the one she wants the most – Brad Miller.
Cara is your stereotypical mean, spoiled little rich girl. Her dad is a big Hollywood producer, and they often entertain big named celebrities in their home. She is definitely of the impression that she is a cut above the rest of us.
That, coupled with her undying love and support for Brad, inadvertently makes her my arch enemy number one. We aren't Facebook 'friends', but that didn't stop her sending me endless private messages of abuse over the summer, until I changed my privacy settings, that is. I was lucky enough to have not run into her today, but I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.
Tentatively, I negate my way to her personal page, which, as a show pony, she keeps open to the public, meaning even if you aren't her official 'friend', you can still access all her information and updates.
I scroll down her page with squinted eyes, my face screwed up, waiting any moment to see some other vicious public attack against me. But it seems even Cara has been sideswiped by the enigma that is 'Mr Matthews', as she too gushes about the supposedly hot new teacher.
Maybe Wes is right, I think to myself. Maybe I can relax a little. Maybe everyone has already moved on with something – or someone – new to talk about.
In any case, I say a quick thankyou prayer to God for sending the diversion that is Mr Matthews. As shallow as I find the whole topic, I'm just thankful the topic isn't me - for now, anyway. Breathing a sigh of relief – albeit a shallow one – I go to place my phone back on the bedside table...but not before it beeps at me. It's Wes.
Hope yr feeling better. Sleep tight. 2moro's a new day
It brings a smile to my face. Wes always knows just what to say and just when to say it. Tomorrow is a new day. And, maybe...well, maybe Wes is right. Maybe it does take a strong person to do what I did. The truth is I've spent so much time over the summer hating myself for what I did. Cursing my father for assumingly passing on this horrible, vindictive side to me I never before knew existed.
But maybe it doesn't mean I am horrible and vindictive after all. Maybe it means I am courageous and strong, like my mom. Brad Miller has been treating people like dirt for far too long. It's about time he got a taste of his own medicine, right?
I roll over and pull my doona up around my neck. For the first time since everything happened, I find myself giggling. I have to admit, the thought of Brad having to come out of the women's restroom with no pants on is quite funny. And so what if he's mad at me? What's he going to do in a school full of people?
With a renewed sense of courage, I close my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep, and for the first time in months, I sleep like an absolute baby.
CHAPTER THREE
I wake up feeling great; it makes such a difference to actually have a good night's sleep for once. I check my phone for the time; it's just past six thirty am. Time to get up.
After my shower, I throw on my comfy olive green cargo pants and a crisp white T-shirt. I smile at my reflection as I hear my mom's voice in my head saying 'why don't you wear a dress for a change, you look so lovely in dresses'.
I hate dresses. I've never felt comfortable in a dress. For dresses to look flattering a girl needs curves, and boobs. I have neither of those. On that note I reach down the front of my T-shirt and try to boost my B-cups up a little.
Fail.
I head downstairs to the kitchen, where my wonderful mother is making me a breakfast of scrambled eggs.
"That smells great, Mom, I'm starving."
My mother turns and looks at me surprised. "You are?" she quizzes.
I shrug. "I figure it's time to pick myself up, dust myself off and get on with things."
My mom beams at me. "Oh honey, I'm so pleased. You're such a strong, special girl."
Strong - maybe. Special? Not a chance.
"There's nothing special about me, Mom."
I'm not saying it for pity or attention; I'm saying it because it's true.
My mother crosses the room, sits next to me, and sweeps a strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail back behind my ear.
"Sweetie," she says. "I know it's a well-worn cliché, but...If only you could see yourself through my eyes, you would fall at your own feet."
I smile, only half convincingly.
"I mean it," my mom presses. "Honey, you're beautiful, intelligent, strong and funny. And, most importantly, you're a good person. I couldn't be prouder. High school is such a short part of your life; try not to worry too much, okay?"
She pulls me in for a warm hug, and I can't help but smile, convincingly this time.
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Emerson."
I eat my breakfast and quickly run back upstairs to brush my teeth. Just as I grab my bag and run down the stairs the doorbell rings. It's Wes. Right on time, as usual. I can always count on him.
"Bye, Mom," I call from the front door to the kitchen.
"Have a good day, honey," she calls back. "Hi Wes!"
"Hey Miss P," Wes calls back, and then turns to me. "How are you this morning, Em?"
I smile. "Better."
"Good to hear it." He reciprocates the smile.
We chat about anything and everything as we head off on the short walk to school. As we approach the gates, the butterflies start to flutter in my stomach. By the time we reach the double front doors of the school, they are dancing the Tango.
As we walk through the hallway, people are pointing, giggling, and staring. Either that or my paranoid mind is working overtime. Probably not though. I'd be completely stupid to think everything would just blow over overnight.
I can handle the staring, pointing, and even the giggling, as long as they all keep doing it from a distance. I don't do confrontation all that well, as demonstrated yesterday.
"See," says Wes. "A new day, like I said."
I wasn't yet entirely convinced, but didn't want to rain on Wes's parade.
"I hate you when you're right," I smile.
Wes puts one arm around my shoulders. "You must hate me a lot then."
I let out a slight chuckle, shaking my head.
"C'mon," says Wes. "Let's get to class."
The first half of the day runs pretty smoothly, much the same as yesterday. I have Wes in all my classes, I don't run into Brad, and either the stares and whispers are becoming less frequent, or I'm just not noticing them as much.
At lunchtime, Wes and I head to our favorite shady spot on the lawn. We have a laugh and talk about our classes, which teachers we like and which ones we don't.
I excuse myself from Wes to go to the restroom, and laugh when he offers to come with me.
"I think I'll be okay on my own for five minutes."
"Suit yourself," he grins, and pulls out his phone.
Probably checking to see if Molly Harper has magically decided she's in love with him overnight.
A tiny smile crosses my face in the restroom as I wash my hands and check my reflection quickly. And just as I am thinking maybe nothing will go wrong today, it does.
I hear a group of girls, chatting and laughing as they enter the restroom. The chatter stops when they see me.
"I heard you like to hang out in restrooms," says the blonde girl, front and center - Cara Taylor.
The rest of the girls giggle hysterically; typical pack mentality.
My heart starts to race a little as I realize they are surrounding me.
"Let me through," I say, my eyes fixed firmly on the door.
"Or what?" asks Cara defiantly.
I go to push my way through the group but Cara puts her hand on my shoulder and stops me.
"What's wrong, Emerson? Can dish it, but can't take it?"
"I'm done here," I say, as I push my way through the pack of laughing girls.
"Oh you're done here alright!" Cara calls after me, as I push my way out the door. I walk so fast down the hallway I'm almost running, wiping my eyes of the pools of tears threatening to spill down my face at any moment.
In my haste to get back outside, I don't even see him coming toward me. With my head down, I run straight into him, sending his pile of papers flying all over the hallway.
He bends down to start gathering them, and I instinctively bend down too, to help.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and even in my fluster I notice his voice is strong, deep, and very sexy. Both still crouched on the floor, my eyes meet his, and I am immediately stunned into silence. I'm sure I must be imagining it, but he seems a little stunned too. We stare straight into each other's eyes. It's an unexpectedly intense moment, like we are the only two people in the hallway in that very instant.
He puts out his hand to help me up; my eyes are locked on his. He is without a doubt the most beautiful human being I have ever laid eyes on in my life. It feels weird describing a man as beautiful, but he truly is. When I put my hand in his, a strange sensation runs right throughout my body, like nothing I've ever felt in my entire life. I am unable to speak as we slowly rise to standing position, so I take the opportunity to study him carefully.
He is tall, with broad shoulders and what looks to be a muscly physique under a very expensive, well fitting gray suit.
His face looks to have been chiseled, with perfectly shaped, soft lips, which have opened to reveal a lovely smile of straight, white teeth. A cute, straight nose that is set flawlessly under the most intense set of piercing blue eyes I have ever seen in my life.
They are crystal clear, and I can't help but think their color of brilliant sky blue just can't be real. They are narrow, and powerful, yet warm and kind at the same time. His striking face is sprinkled with just enough stubble to look sexy, not grubby, and all this is topped off with a beautiful head of short at the sides, longish on top, sandy blonde hair.
He clears his throat and I realize I haven't answered the question.
"Um, yeah, yes, I'm fine...thankyou." I try to be discreet about wiping a tear that has escaped from the pool in my eye, but I know that he has seen.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "You look a little...upset."
I'm fixed on his heavenly blue eyes, which have narrowed, even more so, with concern. His voice is so smooth, so deep, I'm sure I must be hypnotized.
I give my head a little shake in an attempt to pull myself together. "I'm fine, really. I'm...I'm sorry, I...I didn't see you."
"No harm done," he says, and gives me a bigger smile that lights up his face and crinkles the corners of his dazzling eyes.
I've never seen anyone so gorgeous in my life. I can't think of anything intelligent to say of course, so I stupidly put my head down and hurry off down the hallway toward the front doors of the school. I can't be sure, but it feels as though he is watching me as I walk away. My body covers with goose bumps at the thought.
The bell sounds just as I reach Wes on the lawn.
"There you are," he says. "I thought you must have fallen in."
"Fallen in where?" I ask, puzzled.
"Into the toilet," says Wes, grinning. "You okay?"
I'd forgotten all about the incident with Cara in the restroom, and for some reason, can't be bothered to bring it up with Wes now.
"I'm fine...great, actually," I smile.
All I can think about is that beautiful guy, actually man I just met - and by met I mean bumped - in the hall. Who is he? Will I see him again? I sure hope so. Wes is walking alongside me, talking about English, and what I missed yesterday, but his words are in vain. I'm way off the planet, daydreaming about my handsome stranger. I can't believe the effect he has had on me.
I mean, I've seen good looking guys before - although he was a huge cut above any of the guys around here – in fact, in Beverly Hills good looking guys are everywhere. But something about him is different. I can't explain it, but when our eyes met, it's like something clicked inside me.
Not that a guy like that would ever be interested in a girl like me, I quickly remind myself. Nor am I ever likely to lay eyes on him again, but for some reason I just have the most bizarre feeling somewhere deep inside of me that I just can't shake.
"Are you even listening to a word I've said?" asks Wes, cutting into my daydream.
"Um...no," I answer honestly.
"What is with you?" asks Wes.
I know I can tell Wes anything, and part of me wants to share that I've just come across the most beautiful creature on our planet. But there is another part of me that wants to keep him as my little secret. Something I can turn my mind or attention to whenever I like, instead of all the dramas of late.
I smile a beaming smile as I continue walking to English with Wes. "Nothing, in fact I'm the best I've been in ages."
And that is the truth.
Wes and I walk slowly, in no hurry to get to English. It's our last class together for today, which forces me momentarily to entertain the fact of bumping into Brad on my own. Cara is the one I'm really worried about. At the end of the day, Brad is furious at me, but he's not going to physically attack at girl – not at school anyway. But for some reason it's more socially acceptable for girl to attack another girl, even at school, it happens occasionally.
Handsome stranger, handsome stranger. My mind wanders off on its own to protect me from my own thoughts.
We walk into our English class and find two seats together. I pull out the notes Wes took for me yesterday, which are basically just a course outline and what will be expected of us throughout the year. A few seconds later Cara walks in with her friend Montana. To my distaste they take the empty seats directly behind Wes and me.
Great, that's all I need.
I'm just about to ask Wes something when the door to the room swings open. I see a flash of gray through the paneled window on the door as he enters the room.
As the door swings shut, everyone in the room stills. There are a few giggles and whispers from the girls, especially the two behind me. I can't believe my eyes. My heart skips a beat as he crosses the room and stands to face us, scanning the faces and making eye contact with each of us at least once. I blush and look away when his eyes meet mine. My heart is racing now as I take in the entirety of what has just happened here.
It's him.
The beautiful, handsome stranger from the hall. And then the penny drops. The teacher that everyone was raving about and I, at the time, had paid so little attention to, is the same man I ran into in the hall today.
I suddenly get all the hype.
"For those of you that weren't here yesterday, or for those who can't remember, my name is Jake Matthews. I'll be your English teacher this year having replaced Mr Peterson after his recent retirement."
That voice, I think to myself. It's as smooth as silk.
"I see some new faces today, so, just like we did yesterday, we might go round the room and introduce ourselves. You'll have to bear with me while I learn everyone's name..."
Whatever else he says, I do not hear. I'm lost in those dreamy blue eyes and that oh so smooth and sexy voice. I feel a strange tingle go through my entire body, making me shift in my seat. Similar to when his hand touched mine briefly in the hall.
I can't believe he is my teacher. He's so...young. Although, I guess you don't need to be that old to be a fully qualified teacher. I find myself wondering exactly how old he is.
It doesn't matter how old he is, I sternly remind myself.
He's your teacher.
I find the fact he is my teacher so bittersweet. I mean, I'm quite happy about the fact I get to see him every day. But, on the other hand, I know there's no chance of anything more than a strict teacher/student relationship.
Not that a guy like that would ever want anything to do with a girl like me anyway.
My eyes dart to his wedding ring finger – nothing there! I mean, surely he's taken, but at least he doesn't seem to be married.
I'm in the middle of imagining what it would be like to be on a date with him - to have him lean over the table and tell me I'm the most beautiful girl in the room - when I faintly hear my name in the distance. As I slowly drift out of my sweet daydream, I realize he is staring straight at me.
"Emerson!"
The urgent whispering of my name comes from beside me. I turn to see Wes, gesturing with his head toward Mr Matthews. In other words, pay attention you twit!
I look back to my teacher, who is still looking at me, smiling, obviously waiting for me to say my name.
"Sorry," I say quietly, and lower my eyes embarrassingly from his. "I'm...I'm Emerson." I clear my throat. "Emerson Page."
I hear a snigger from behind. I don't have to turn around, I know who it is.
"So, Emerson," says Mr Matthews. "Tell me one thing about yourself – something you like to do."
"Um," I start, brushing the loose strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail back behind my ear.
"She likes to take boys into female restrooms," shouts Cara from behind, which encourages a roar of laughter from most people in the room.
I can't even bring myself to look anyone in the eye, as I feel my cheeks turn red and burn with embarrassment. Without a thought, without collecting my books or my bag, I run from the classroom, and continue aimlessly down the hallway. I don't know where I am running to, just as far from that classroom as I possibly can.
CHAPTER FOUR
I knew Wes would find me at our favorite spot on the lawn; perhaps that is what subconsciously took me there. So I'm not surprised when I look up a few minutes after arriving to see him walking toward me with my bag slung over his shoulder.
He is about the only person at the moment I wish to see.
"I'm not going back in there," I warn.
"I don't expect you to," he says sympathetically. "But you can't let girls like Cara get to you, Em. You know how it works; she'll keep going as long as she's getting a reaction."
"It's easy for you to say, you weren't the one humiliated into the next century," I say. "I guess it's what I deserve though, right?"
I'm referring to the fact obviously that I humiliated Brad, so this is Karmas way of catching up with me. I just wish Karma had better timing...
Even though he means well, before Wes can give me anymore 'feelgood' advice, I speak again.
"Look, I'm gonna go home. I know I shouldn't run away and I know what you're going to say, but I just can't go back in there, not right now."
Wes gives an understanding nod and pulls me in for a warm hug.
"I'll call you later, okay?" he promises as he releases me.
I manage a small smile, lips pressed together, before I turn and walk away from him. I can feel him watching me, probably hoping I'll change my mind and turn around, but I defiantly keep walking, down the school path and out the double front gates.
My heart sinks as I see my mom's car in our driveway, as I'm just a few doors away from my house. She's home from work early. I can't talk to her about this, not right now, anyhow. Besides, she was so happy and relieved this morning when I told her I was feeling better about things, I just don't have the heart to tell her it has all gone horribly wrong again.
So as I open the door, and mom calls from the kitchen, "Emerson, is that you? Is everything okay?"
I do what anyone would do in that situation – I lie.
"Um...not really," I call back.
Okay, that's not really a lie.
My mom appears seconds later. "What is it?"
"Um, I just...I just don't feel so great."
Also not really a lie.
She walks toward me and instinctively puts her hand to my forehead. "Hmm, you do feel a little warm," she says.
I'm not surprised.
"Come into the kitchen and I'll fix you some tea," she says.
"Um, thanks, Mom, but I think I'm just gonna go lie down," I say.
The last thing I want at the moment is to sit down with my mother. I just want to be alone.
She looks worried. "Okay then, well, go lie down and I'll check on you in a bit."
I smile warmly at her, with an appreciation that she isn't the type to pry even when she may suspect there is more to the story than I am actually giving her. I guess she knows I'll tell her when I'm ready; I always do.
I head upstairs, take a shower, change into some comfortable pajamas, and climb into bed. And that's where I stay. Apart from mom coming in a couple of times to check on me and see if I want dinner, and a few calls – that I don't answer – from Wes, nobody bothers me. And I'm happy about that. Just me and my self pity, once again.
Eventually, although I'm not sure what time, I drift off to sleep. And, not that it's helping, but for some reason I have Wes's mantra running through my mind over and over.
This too shall pass. Tomorrow is a new day.
My eyes slowly begin to flutter under my lids as I become aware of the light flickering through the blinds of my bedroom window. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and roll over to check the time on my phone by the bedside table.
As my focus gradually becomes clearer, the numbers before me transfer from one blurred mess to figures I can actually recognize. Seven forty five am. I can't believe I slept so late, I guess that's what happens when you're emotionally exhausted.
I hop up out of bed and check outside my bedroom window. My mother's car has gone, meaning she has left for work already, obviously allowing me to have the day off school.
Since my dad has been taking care of us financially mom doesn't need to work, but she does because she says without her job she'd go stir crazy. She is a part time receptionist for a local lawyer's office. She loves her job, and often gets to travel away on weekends as her boss's personal assistant.
I doubt she brought the whole 'I feel sick' routine and I make a mental note to sit down and tell her everything tonight.
My phone starts to ring. I know it will be Wes and rush to answer it, seeing as though I selfishly ignored all of his calls yesterday afternoon and evening.
"Hey," I answer.
"You're alive!" he says, only half joking.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I just...needed some space yesterday."
"From me?" asks Wes, feigning shock.
"From everybody."
"Fair enough," says Wes. "You're not coming to school today, are you?"
It's more a statement than a question.
"Nah," I admit. "Not today, but...I promise I'll come tomorrow," I say, hoping to avoid a lecture.
He doesn't give me one.
"I'll take notes for you again," offers Wes. "But, Emerson, you know to pass senior year...you actually have to attend."
Wes brings a smile to my face as usual.
"I know," I say. "I'll be fine, I just need a day."
"Okay, well, I'll call you this afternoon. Bye."
"Bye."
After a fair few hours of wafting around doing not much at all, I decide to take a walk and get some fresh air. Fall has only just started, but you can already feel the nip in the air now that summer is over. Because the weather is so unpredictable at the best of times, I grab my coat before heading out the door.
Just being out in the fresh air makes me feel a little better. Looking around at all the stunning homes and landscapes of this beautiful area, I try to remind myself, even though a little superficial, how lucky I am to live in an area like this. It's true money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you a decent neighborhood at least.
After an hour or so of walking aimlessly around, I wish I had also brought an umbrella, as a bunch of dark clouds roll in from apparently nowhere. As the temperature drops noticeably, I decide I should probably turn around and head home. And just as I do, the rain starts to come down.
Damn it.
I pull my coat over my head and run for the shelter of the nearest tree; although it doesn't offer full protection, I figure it is better than nothing. I just can't help but feel this is so typical of my life lately; just as I'm starting to feel a little better about things, it rains on me. Not always literally, but, well, this time...
As the rain sets in, so too does the idea that I am going to be stuck here under this tree for a while. I'm contemplating just making a run for it when a very stylish black convertible BMW – top up of course – pulls up alongside the curb, right in front of me.
The tinted window winds down just enough for me to see who is behind the wheel.
Oh my God - Mr Matthews!
My heart starts racing.
"Jump in," he calls out in his smooth sexy voice.
My heart is now pounding, and I suddenly regret the decision to have not made an effort with my appearance at all this morning.
He winds the window back up and opens the door from the inside. With only the slightest hesitation, I run from the shelter of my tree and climb in the car next to Mr Matthews.
I'm immediately enveloped by the warm, black leather seating. It molds into my body shape as I sink myself comfortably into it. It smells delicious in here. Part new – or well looked after at least – car interior, and part expensive aftershave.
"Thanks," I say shyly, as my eyes wander cautiously over to him, smiling back at me. "I live on Delvine Drive."
He is dressed in a gorgeous black pin stripe suit, with a bright blue tie that matches his eyes perfectly.
"What are you doing out here?" he asks, as he concentrates on pulling away from the curb.
"Oh," I say, remembering all of a sudden I am absent from school and this is my teacher. "Um, well, I wasn't feeling very well, and I thought some fresh air might help, I guess."
I decide to change the subject quickly, before his suspicions raise anymore questions. "How about you? Shouldn't you be in school too?"
He smiles a cheeky smile, as though he recognizes a good deflection when he hears one.
"Touché," he says quietly, more to himself than to me.
"Well," he continues. "I wasn't on any classes after lunch and there's a staff meeting later this evening, so I got permission to duck home to get a few things done in my downtime."
I realize my fingers are fidgeting, and make a conscious effort to stop by placing my hands on my lap. Once again I can't think of anything intelligent to say, so opt for silence. After a few seconds, Mr Matthews speaks.
"So," he starts. "Do you want to talk about what happened in class yesterday?"
I'd rather stick pins in my eyes.
I look down at my once again fidgeting fingers. "Not really. I'm sorry I skipped out on class though."
"Don't worry about it," he says, and I detect an almost sympathetic tome to his voice. "Did it have anything to do with the incident in the hall? You know, when you ran into me?"
Wow. Two of my finest moments, being played out in front of me by someone I really would prefer knew nothing about either.
I shrug my shoulders. "I don't really want to talk about it."
He nods understandingly. After driving along in silence for a few more moments he shocks me by saying, "Do you have to be home anytime soon?"
His question both baffles and excites me. I notice the time on the clock in the car says two fourteen pm. My mom won't be home until at least four thirty, and I can't pretend to not be curious at his question.
"Not til around four," I say shyly.
He smiles. "I'd like to show you something, if that's alright."
Excitement flutters throughout my body as I picture spending more time with the most beautiful man I've ever seen, a man I'm sure I ought not to be in a car with, making it somehow all the more exhilarating.
"Sure," I say, perhaps a little too quickly, my stomach dropping as he quickly manoeuvers his sporty little car in the opposite direction.
We are both silent - surprisingly not awkwardly so – as Mr Matthews glides the car effortlessly toward his destination. Excitement looms deep in the pit of my stomach as we turn onto Mulholland Drive and ascend the famous roadway littered with glamorous houses behind huge locked iron gates. This road leads to the top of LA, a famous make out spot for teenagers and adults alike. I find myself foolishly daydreaming that is why he is taking me there.
Don't be so stupid, I silently scold myself, although the rain outside somehow makes the notion all the more romantic. Eventually, Mr Matthews pulls into a large, deserted area, and as the wipers briefly clear the windscreen for a couple of seconds at a time, I can see that wherever we are, we are overlooking the city which – even on a day like today – looks beautiful.
What in the world are we doing here, I wonder.
"It's a shame about the rain," says Mr Matthews, finally breaking the silence.
"It's really beautiful," I say, still wondering what on earth we are doing here.
"You should see it at night," he says, his deep, smooth voice once again almost hypnotizing me.
I smile shyly. "I can't believe how big the city looks from up here."
"Well, that's why I brought you up here," says Mr Matthews, turning to face me.
In the small confines of his car, we are just inches from one another, and in that moment, I really wish he would kiss me.
"You see," he continues. "Whenever I'm down, or everything's just...getting on top of me, I take a drive up here and just sit for a while."
I'm not sure I'm following.
"The city looks so vast up here, and it's just one city, in one part of the country, in one part of the world. It reminds me how small my problems really are. Puts things into perspective, I guess."
He smiles at me, and it feels as though my insides have turned to hot liquid, oozing from the top of me right down to the bottom. I'm sure my face blushes some sort of shade of crimson.
Somewhere inside of me, what he's saying makes sense. Although it's hard for me to objectively determine if it's what he's saying...or the fact it's him saying it.
"I know it's none of my business, and I've only known you for a day, but from what I've seen, there's obviously something bothering you. I just want you to know...I've been there."
"You have?" I ask, somewhat surprised.
"Sure," he says. "Almost everyone has. The important thing to remember is, high school is a very small blip on the grand radar that is our lives. I can almost guarantee that whatever is causing you grief now, will be laughable in a few years."
"You sound like my mom," I smile.
"Well," he says, smiling playfully. "Moms are very wise, so I'm going to take that as a compliment."
His face turns serious as he looks me straight in the eyes.
"The truth is there are Cara Taylor's everywhere in this world. People who like to play mind games with you. You – you're different, you're better than them Emerson. I could tell that the first moment I saw you; you have a kindness...a maturity in your eyes that girls like Cara will never have. What you need to do is take yourself out of the game...they can't play by themselves."
I'm completely lost in his eyes, and for one split second, there is something between us. Nothing concrete, or even definable, but something. Definitely something. I'm almost certain he feels it too, as he looks quickly and awkwardly away from me.
"Okay," he says suddenly. "I'd better get you home."
I don't want to go home; I want to stay here with him. If only I had the guts to say it out loud.
The drive home is quiet, but the rain continues. It's definitely a good thing that my mother isn't yet home as Mr Matthews pulls into my driveway. The last thing I need to be explaining to her is that I spent the afternoon with my teacher...in his car, no less.
"Am I going to see you at school tomorrow?" asks Mr Matthews, as I open the door to his car.
"You are," I say, smiling.
"Good," he says, smiling back at me.
Our eyes connect and once again, something sparks between us, only this time Mr Matthews doesn't look away. His look turns serious, his eyes burning holes into mine. I could swear he is about to kiss me when suddenly, he looks away.
"I'll...see you tomorrow," he says, looking straight ahead.
I don't know what this is, but whatever it is I'm almost certain he's feeling it too.
"I'm sorry if I've taken you out of your way," I say.
"You haven't," he says, still not looking at me. "I live right round the corner on Seaview."
"Okay, well...thanks again," I say, closing the car door as gently as I can.
I feel light as a feather as I drift up the staircase and into my bedroom. The smile on my face is a mile wide as I go over the afternoon, detail by minute detail.
There's an unfamiliar fire within me, and Mr Matthews is the fuel. My mind is warning me to douse it before it starts to burn out of control. But deep down I know I don't want it extinguished.
There was a definite moment between us and I know he felt it too. There is only one thing on my mind right now, and that is getting to school tomorrow to see him again.