APRIL

I'm sitting in the middle of my bed with books from Dr. Avery's class surrounding me. It's Saturday, but I've been poring through them, trying to soak up as much information as I can.

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood is the first required reading. Following that, in no particular order is: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women and the Rest of Us by Kate Bornstein, The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir and Undoing Gender by Judith Butler.

I finished The Handmaid's Tale already, and I am absolutely fascinated with it. It isn't my first time reading it, being that I'm a women's studies minor, but every time it gets more fascinating.

I want to be well-versed in the subject matter not only because I'm interested in it, but because I want to impress Dr. Avery come Monday and I know the answers to all the questions he poses. So, after I finish my initial reading, I flip back to the beginning with plans of starting again.

I've just passed the first chapter when my door comes open, and Addison appears. "Hey," she says. "Derek's here."

I put the book down, shoving a bookmark in its spine. "He didn't text me," I say, sitting up.

She shrugs. "He's downstairs. Should I send him up?"

"Sure," I say, then clear the books off my bed and fold my legs in front of me.

I hear footsteps on the stairs, and Derek appears in my room moments later. "Hey, fireball," he says, walking inside and sitting on my bed without being invited.

"Hey," I say. "What are you doing here? I mean, not like that. What are you up to?"

"I was in the neighborhood," he says. "Thought I'd stop by and see you."

I chuckle a little. "Are you horny, or something?"

"I'm always horny," he says. "Is that even a question?"

I roll my eyes. "Well, some of us were reading. For class."

"Who?" he says, crawling closer. "You? Not you."

"Yes, it was me," I say, but lie back and comply with how he covers me. "Unlike you, I actually enjoy getting good grades."

He kisses me once, and I smile through it. "It's not that I don't enjoy it," he says. "It's just that I enjoy this more. I enjoy you more."

I smile again and hold the back of his neck, widening my thighs so he can fit between them. He explores my body with his hands, cold fingers slipping beneath the front of my shirt to hold my ribcage, running over it with one thumb.

"You're cold," I whisper.

"Then warm me up," he replies, kissing me harder.

I match his fervor, arching my back so our torsos press together. He moves the hand on my ribcage higher and cups the underside of my breast, teasing me with the near-contact. When his thumb finally rubs over my nipple, through my bra, I gasp and open my mouth over his.

He moves lower and kisses my chin, then my neck, where he leaves a sloppy trail of saliva behind. When he gets to my collarbones, he bites down hard - too hard.

"Ow," I say, crunching my shoulders to deter him. "That hurt."

"Sorry," he says, though it doesn't sound genuine at all.

He returns to what he was doing and moves the collar of my shirt to the side so he can reach more skin. He leaves loud, aggressive hickeys on my neck and shoulders, and I don't stop him. He likes to mark me, it's just one of his things.

He tries to take my shirt off, but I don't let him. I'm not stupid - I know that if my shirt comes off, it's a slippery slope from there, to say the least.

"No, stop," I say, inching away. "Derek, come on."

"What?" he says, sitting up. I see the bulge in the crotch of his pants. "Seriously?"

"I don't want to," I say. "I was studying."

He sighs, rolling his eyes too. "You're such a tease," he says.

"You like it," I purr, resting on my knees and winding my arms around his shoulders from behind.

"It's getting on my last fuckin' nerve, is what it is," he says. "You were supposed to put out by now. Aren't you tired of just kissing?"

"Kissing you is nice," I say. It's not a lie. I do like kissing. I just don't want to do anything more with him. I don't know if that makes me a bad person, or not.

"Yeah, for a while," he says. "But you're not being fair when you get my dick hard, then tell me to stop."

"I'm sorry…" I say, not knowing how else to respond.

He groans softly. "Whatever," he says. "I just rolled today. Do you wanna smoke?"

I shake my head and reach for my book. "Not really," I say. "I was reading."

"Fine," he says, getting up. "I'll go see if my sister wants to. And you need to reevaluate whatever you think you're doing with me, April. Because I could have any other girl. I don't need to be waiting around for you. You're acting like such a virgin."

"I…" I stammer. "No, I'm not. I just… I want things to be special between us."

"Special was a month ago," he says, lingering by the door. "And teasing me is fucked up. So, let me know what you decide."

I fall onto my back without bidding him goodbye and open my book again. This time, though, I just stare at the pages with furrowed eyebrows, absorbing none of the text.

…

The next morning, I wake up extra early and contemplate the outfits I laid on my bed the night before. I stand there in a towel and try to decide between casual jeans and a cute t-shirt, or a skater dress with Converse.

I tie my long hair into a wet bun and try on both, turning every which way in the mirror. I take too long as I try to decide, which leaves me no time for breakfast and barely any time to pack my bag before I hurry out the door wearing the dress and sneakers.

I do my makeup on the short bus ride to campus. Even though it's not yet 8am, today is a particularly hot day and I don't want to get sweaty on the walk to Dr. Avery's class.

I enter the air conditioned building and push my hair behind my shoulders, checking my mascara in a compact mirror. I check again once I sit down, knowing I'm being too vain for my own good, when I hear a voice over my shoulder.

"You look fine," it says.

I spin around to see a boy I don't recognize. "Uh, thanks," I say, flashing an awkward smile.

"Did you do the reading for today?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. "I finished the book." I don't bother telling him I read it twice over.

He raises his eyebrows, impressed. "Wow, nice," he says. "I thought we were only supposed to get to the middle."

"Oh, I don't think so," I say, and it comes out more pompous than I meant for it to. "I saw it on the syllabus. Maybe you're right, though. I just… I really liked it. I couldn't stop."

He smiles. "I feel you. I'm Owen, by the way. I think I've been to a couple of your house parties. You're April Kepner, right? You live with Amelia Shepherd and Addison Montgomery?"

"I… uh, yeah," I say. "Sorry. I don't think I've seen you."

"Well, there's always a ton of people there," he says. "You guys throw crazy parties. They're great."

"Thanks," I say, smiling.

"Good morning, everyone," Dr. Avery says, and his voice surprises me. I hadn't seen him come in. I flip around in my seat immediately without giving Owen a proper goodbye, and focus my attention on the man at the front of the room.

Today, his sleeves are already rolled up and he's wearing light blue. His biceps bulge as the fabric of his shirt is stretched over them, and I'm able to see every subtle ripple. When he turns around, there's a sweat stain on the small of his back that's barely noticeable. Probably no one else in the class sees but me. I have my eyes trained on him; there's not much I miss.

"It's a hot one out there today," he says, eyes on me as the rest of the class chats amongst themselves.

"I know," I say. "I took the bus."

"You're smart," he says, nodding while flipping through his lesson book. "I biked. Wrong decision."

I chuckle softly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I try desperately to think of something else to say, but nothing comes. And then, it's too late. Class begins.

"So, on Wednesday I asked you to finish with the book by today," he says. "The Handmaid's Tale. Be honest with me. How many of you actually did the reading?"

I raise my hand casually, then look around the room. Only a few other people join me in doing so.

"Unsurprising," Dr. Avery says. "But thanks for the honesty. Anyone have any viable excuses? Was there a death in the family, you had to work a double shift, or you got blackout drunk on Friday night and forgot about it until Sunday?"

Uncomfortable laughter circles the room.

"Right," he says. "Anyway, for those of you who participated. What are your thoughts? Why do you think I made you read this specific book for this class?"

I let a moment pass, not wanting to seem overeager. I glance around the room and see no one else is going to answer the question, so I let myself do it. I raise my hand, and Dr. Avery makes eye contact before nodding in my direction.

"April," he says.

My whole body tingles when he says my name.

"Um," I say, then clear my throat. "Well, this class is based around gender and sexuality. And the whole basis of the story was centered around the fact that women's bodies were being used as political instruments. Nothing was really theirs anymore. They had no agency or control. And honestly, that's just a heightened version of today's reality, with how much the government is trying to take away from us with the defunding of Planned Parenthood and stuff like that."

I bite my lower lip, not feeling very confident in my answer. I hope it was good enough.

"Very good," he says. I fill with warm pride, knowing I pleased him. "Why don't you expand on that? Give me more."

"Okay…" I say, gathering my thoughts. "The society of Gilead was created because of dramatically decreased birth rates. Everyone was going sterile, so they gathered the fertile women and put them to work. By the way, this puts the weight of the blame on the women's shoulders, which comes into play when Luke is the one who's not fertile," I say. "It wasn't Offred's fault, but she was blamed. The goal of the society is to control reproduction. The handmaids aren't human in the eyes of the families they work for. They're treated simply like a pair of ovaries and a womb, that's it. Society wants to take away women's individuality in order to make them docile carriers of the next generation. Carriers of babies they won't get to claim as their own, but ones that they'll have to care for. It's stripping these women of a quality that should be a choice, and now it's forced upon them. Like I said, it's not much different than what's happening today. Conservatives want to take away Planned Parenthood, but they'd rather die than support a single mother on welfare. Society hates treating women like humans."

"And why do you think that is?" he asks, a bit challengingly.

"I…" I say, mouth hanging open. "I don't know," I say, but then counter back. "Why do you think so?"

He shoots me an amused expression. "Because the white male has a superiority complex much like a raccoon trapped in a corner," he says. "The closer you get, the more likely you are to take its power, which means it becomes threatened. And the raccoon, or in this case, Mike Pence, will lash out and try to kill whatever's threatening that ever-so-delicate power." He gives me another look, but breaks away to scan the class. "Would you agree?"

The 90 minutes pass incredibly quickly, and it consists mostly of Dr. Avery and I volleying back and forth with questions and answers about the book. I'm seemingly the only one who absorbed as much as I should have, and it's easy to see he's impressed. And because of that, I'm walking on air when time is up.

When class ends, Owen taps me on the shoulder. "You sure know your shit about The Handmaid's Tale," he says, laughing.

"Yeah," I say, matching the smile.

"Would you wanna go grab-"

"April," I hear, then turn my head quickly to the source of the voice - it's Dr. Avery, standing behind his desk. "May I have a word with you?"

"I gotta go," I say to Owen, breathily. "See you Wednesday."

He purses his lips and gives me a curt nod, then ascends the stairs to leave the lecture hall. Now, it's empty save for me and the professor.

"Hi," I say, backpack over one shoulder. I'm not sure what else to say. The look on his face is so serious; he has me wondering if I did something wrong. Maybe he didn't like the way I took control of the classroom, and he's about to tell me I should share the floor. I would understand if he said that, but I tell myself not to freak out.

"I couldn't help but notice how much of an interest you took in the novel," he says. "Quite obviously, more than anyone else in the class. Seeing as you actually read, and took the time to analyze it."

"Oh," I say, trying to control my blush. "Yeah. It's a favorite of mine. This isn't the first time I've read it, but I, uh… I actually read it twice."

I have no idea why I told him that. But now that it's out, I can't put it back.

His eyes sparkle with a amusement. "Oh, really?" he says.

Butterflies flutter around in my stomach. "I guess I care a little too much," I say, shifting my weight to one hip.

"No such thing," he replies smoothly.

"If you say so," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear.

He looks at me for a brief moment before speaking again. He says, "I wondered if you'd be interested in a bit of extra reading," he says. "I have a couple books I think you'd appreciate."

I think of all the reading I have yet to do for other classes. But as I'm standing here with those seafoam eyes on me, those biceps bursting from the periwinkle shirt, none of that reading matters. Plus, I want him to keep offering me things. If I decline, it'll seem like I'm shutting him down. And that's the last thing I want. I want to impress him.

"Sure," I say. "Of course. I'd love that."

"Perfect," he says. "Come with me. They're in my office. It's just down the hall."

"Oh, okay," I say, and follow his lead out of the classroom.

We walk side-by-side down a narrow hallway with office doors lining the walls. "Tight squeeze," he says, smiling modestly at me. "You get used to it."

"It's not too bad," I say.

He smiles again and unlocks the door when we get to the one that belongs to him. While I watch him go inside and set down his things, I stay hovering by the doorway with my hands wrapped around my backpack straps.

He glances up while bent over his desk. "You can come in, you know," he says, eyes twinkling.

"Oh," I say. "Right."

I take a few steps inside but don't bother pulling out a chair. I'm frozen, so intimidated by being in a small space with him. I don't want to be, but it's hard to ignore the crazy things my body is doing. While I watch his fingers rifle through the books on the bookshelf, I bite my lip and force myself to look away.

I clench my thighs together for good measure. Watching him in the cavernous lecture hall is arousing enough; this is nearly debilitating. And the silence is deafening.

"I like your office," I finally say, if only to break it.

He glances around. It's decorated in a mod fashion, very sleek and minimalist.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're very tidy," I say, swiping a finger along the surface of his desk.

He chuckles. "To a fault, maybe."

"Maybe," I respond, under my breath.

"Ah, here they are," he says, and picks two books from the shelf. A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf, and Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde. I'd love for you to read these, take them in, then come back and tell me how similar and different they are from each other. Take your time, let them soak. I think you'll appreciate what they have to say. Take notes, get angry. Let them inside you."

Let them inside you. I shouldn't take that sentence in the way I do, but I can't help it.

"Okay," I say, then take the books as he hands them to me. Our fingers brush, and a bright, powerful electricity shocks through me. He shoots me a look, and for a moment I'm sure that means he felt it, too.

But then, I scold myself for being stupid.

I hold the books against my chest, feeling the closest to him yet. I'm holding something of his, he's letting me take something personal home. He wants to know my thoughts.

"What are your office hours?" I ask, biting my lower lip. "Just so… I know when I can come in and talk to you."

He looks at me, holding heavy eye contact. "Tuesday and Thursday afternoons," he says. "But for you, that door is always open."

I practically jolt forward with emotion and heat, but I keep my composure. For right now.

"Okay," I say, quietly. "I'll remember that."

"Please do," he says.

I turn to walk out the door and feel his presence following me. When I get to the hall, just a short walk away, I look over my shoulder and grin.

"Thank you for the books," I say, running my pointer finger along the spine of one.

"Anytime," he says.

I start down the hall until he stops me. "And April," he says. I turn back again. "Enjoy."

…

I'm sitting at the dining room table that night poring over A Room of One's Own when Addison comes home from work. She's a barista at the Starbucks on campus, and she always comes in smelling like coffee.

"Hey, Bean," I say, using the nickname I gave her when she started there two years ago.

"Fuck you," she says, laughing. She pretends not to, but she likes the nickname. "What're you reading?"

I show her the cover.

"Okay, baby feminist," she says.

I roll my eyes. "I know more about feminism than you ever will," I say. "Miss bio major."

"Yeah, whatever," she says, drinking orange juice out of the carton. "You're only reading that because you're hot for teacher."

I widen my eyes at her. "Shut up. I am not."

"Yeah, sure," she says. "Then, can I see it?"

"No," I say, protecting the book from her.

"Why not?"

"Why do you want to?"

"I just wanna look at it," she says. "You're making yourself look more guilty than not right now, by the way."

"Fine," I say, handing it over.

She marks my place and opens the front cover, nodding as she goes. "Property of J. Avery. Wouldn't you know?"

"Give that back, you bitch," I say, smirking.

"What's his first name?" she asks, walking back to the kitchen. "What name are you gonna be moaning in the throes of ecstasy? Jason? Jeffrey? Jonathan?"

"Jackson," I say.

She wiggles her eyebrows. "That's sexy."

"I know."

After she makes a sandwich, she leaves to eat dinner in her room. I sit at the table until the rest of the house goes quiet and dark, and my eyes sting by the time I finish the book. But it's not enough, I need to read the second one, too.

I move to my room for that. I lie on my bed with the intent to finish it in the same way I had the first, but I fall asleep with Sister Outsider open on my chest.

But the next day, between my two other classes and after I get done for the day, I spend all my time with that book. I rush through my other homework without giving it the attention it needs, and give that attention to what Audre Lorde has to say. By the time I finish, I regret thinking I didn't have the time or energy for these books.

I'm overflowing with information during Wednesday's class, anxious for it to end so I can talk to him. Without waiting for everyone else to leave, I hurry from my desk to his so I can start talking.

"I loved the books," I say. "I have so many thoughts. I don't even know where to start."

He smiles while packing up his things, carefully sliding his Macbook into a messenger bag.

"First of all, the black and white perspectives are so vastly different. I know - oh, wait." I stop myself. "I'm sorry. You don't have office hours today. You probably have stuff to do. I'm sorry, I'll wait until tomorrow."

"No," he says, locking eyes. "I'd like to discuss them with you now. I hoped you'd finish by today; I was anxious to hear your thoughts. I just didn't want to rush you. Let's go to my office."

I match pace with him while we walk the same path as last time, holding the two books between my hands. When we get to his office, I don't linger outside the door. I walk right in and pull out a chair, sitting across from him.

I swipe my hair over my shoulder, being as it easily gets in my way. I regret it instantly, though, because Dr. Avery's eyes flit to my neck that I know is covered in the hickeys Derek gave me. Without being covert at all, I put my hair back where it was. I don't exactly know why, but I don't want him seeing those.

I clear my throat, trying to pretend that never happened.

"So, the difference of perspectives in these two books absolutely floored me," I say. "Did you do that on purpose?"

He leans back in his rolling chair, giving me a look that I don't need an explanation for.

"I thought so," I say.

"You're a smart girl, April," he says. "I knew you'd figure it out. Tell me what you noticed."

"A lot of things," I say. "I read them so fast, though. Is it okay if I keep them for a bit longer, so I can read them again?"

"Of course," he says, eyes warm. "Now, talk to me."

"Woolf tries so hard to remove herself from the narrative," I say. "She never gets mad, she doesn't really let herself, I don't know, feel. She writes about the empathy or sympathy, I guess, she feels for other people. Like, when she was talking about what an awful life William Shakespeare's sister had. That was so rough. I never knew that, I couldn't believe it."

He gives me a look. "Life isn't always what it seems on the surface."

"So true," I say. "But I mean… Woolf separates herself from the narrator. And Lorde does exactly the opposite. She lets herself feel everything, she's so in-tune with her emotions. I felt her anger through the pages; it was so raw and eye-opening. It was… it was invigorating, and infuriating."

"I hoped you would feel that way," he says. "Let me ask you something. Who do you relate to more?"

"Me?" I ask, wide-eyed.

"You," he echoes.

"Well, I don't know if I could answer to either of them," I say. "I think that'd be a little ludicrous. It's-"

"I don't," he says, calm as ever. "Go ahead and answer."

I lick my lips slowly, letting out a shallow breath as we watch each other, gauging the next move. My heart hammers inside my chest, so hard I'm convinced he must be able to see the beat through the fabric of my shirt.

"I don't know," I say, timid at first. "I'm tempted to say Virginia Woolf. Maybe."

"Take away the skin color, and what do you get?" he prompts. "Look deeper. Stop seeing the surface."

"But skin color is such an important-"

"I'm fully aware," he says. "But that's not the question I'm asking you to answer, is it?"

"No," I say, muscles tensing. "I guess not. Then, I guess I'd have to say Audre Lorde. There was so much about her that I aspire to be. She was so confident in everything she is, and she let herself feel. As I've gotten older, I've become more like that. And the quote… her quote. She said, 'women are powerful and dangerous,'" I say. "I'm powerful."

His eyes flash. Now, he's the one to lick his lips when he says, "And dangerous."

My breath catches and I'm not sure how to respond, or if I even need to. The air in this small room is charged and hot, and I don't want that to change. Without physical contact, I've never been so turned on in my life. By simply looking at the man across from me, there's a wet heat pooling in my core. I fidget because of it, trying to quell the buzzing inside.

"I have a couple more I'd like to pass by you," he says. "To cultivate your reading list, in a way."

"Okay," I say, standing up as he does.

"Borderlands / La Frontera by Gloria Anzaldua, and The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan," he says, then points to the latter. "This one kicked off the second wave of feminism in the United States. You'll notice the scope is limited, but the content was germane to its time. Keep that in mind while you read. And this one," he says, pointing to the former. "Deals with the subject being multiracial. I'm not sure if you're bilingual, but even if you're not, you should give it a try. It's worth it."

I take the books and nod slowly.

"Is everything alright?" he asks.

I smile breathily. "Fine, everything's fine," I say. "It's just my workload. I want to read these really bad. I have a lot of other things to do, but I don't want to disappoint you, I guess. I want to read these, and reread the others, and discuss them, but…"

He touches my arm. His hand comfortingly holds my bicep, fitting around the entire thing. I'm being branded; he doesn't move his hand away when I gasp.

"Don't worry about rushing," he says, unmoving. "Take all the time you need. You don't have to try and please me."

I chuckle under my breath. That's easier said than done.

"We're not on a schedule," he says. "When you finish, you finish."

"Okay," I say, and he moves his hand away. Immediately, I wish he hadn't. "Thanks for letting me come talk, even though these aren't office hours."

"You don't have to worry about those," he says. "I told you that."

"I know," I say, then pause. "Thanks for these."

He reaches across the divide and takes my wrist. "You're welcome," he says quickly, then notices my eyes flit down to his hand. When that happens, he jolts away like he was the one burned.

There's a flash of a moment where we just stare at each other, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, because his phone rings and splits the air in half, tension oozing out like melted butter.

"I gotta take this," he says, glancing at the Caller ID.

"Of course," I say. "I don't mean to keep you. I… uh, I'll see you next class."

"You will," he says, and I leave the office feeling more than I've ever felt.

…

I don't stop thinking about Dr. Avery for the whole bus ride home. And when I walk into the townhouse, I don't stop, either. I keep picturing his strong hands, the way one felt on my arm, the way one felt on my wrist. It's obvious he wanted to keep touching me, but censored himself the second time.

Did he think what he was doing was wrong? Was it wrong?

I don't know and I don't care. All I care about is the pulsing in the pit of my abdomen, tucked tight between my thighs, that I need to get rid of.

With Dr. Avery's books in tow, I hurry up the stairs after nonchalantly checking if Addie and Amelia are in their rooms. Finding they're not, I go into my own room and push the door shut behind me. After carefully depositing Dr. Avery's books on my desk, I collapse onto my bed and don't waste much time.

I close my curtains not only because I'm paranoid about my neighbors, but because I don't want my innocent little plant watching me, either. I talk to her, so she's become sentient in a way. And her watching me masturbate feels weird, so she gets covered up.

I don't bother with taking my jeans off, I just unzip them. I smooth one hand down my stomach until I get to the waistband of my underwear, that of which my fingers sneak under to touch the skin that's much warmer.

I sink two inside myself and let my knees fall open. I close my eyes and listen to my breathing, hearing it change and quicken when I use my middle finger to draw loopy, loose circles on my clit to tease myself. I don't want to come fast, I want to come hard. And in order for that to happen, I have to take my time.

I think about Dr. Avery while I touch myself. I picture him in much less than what I've seen him in. I envision him shirtless, skin glistening, muscles bunching underneath. I picture his strong thighs, pretend I hear his voice rumbling low into my ear as he tells me all the dirty things he's going to do to me.

"Oh," I whimper, involuntarily.

My hips start working against my hand, partnering with its rhythm. I press down harder on my clit, rubbing tighter circles, using more force. I see Dr. Avery between my legs, mouth open, tongue inside me. I don't know what oral feels like, but I imagine he'd be the best teacher.

I come as I think about it, how good he'd be, how attentive and skilled with his tongue, and the orgasm ripples throughout my entire body. Every nerve ending feels it, from my fingertips to my toes, and I'm panting by the time it's over.

"Shit," I whisper, then open one side of my curtains back up so my plant is on display again. "Sorry about that," I say to her.

Before I have a chance to zip up my jeans, the door comes open and Alex appears.

"God!" I say, clambering to make myself decent. "Does anyone know how to knock around here?"

"No need," he says. "Anyway, I waited 'til you were done. Took you long enough."

"Oh, my god," I say, cheeks flaming.

"Don't worry about it, A, we all do it," he says. "Thought I'd give you a little privacy. Sounded like a nice session, and I'm not a total asshole."

"But you have horrible timing," I say, still mortified.

"I'd argue with that," he says. "Anyway, what got you all hot and bothered that you couldn't even come say hi?"

I screw up my face. "Number one, why are you asking me this? And number two, what are you doing in my house?"

"I was in Addie's room," he says.

"Why?" I ask. I hadn't seen him, but admittedly I didn't look too hard.

"Yeah, we're kinda sleeping together," he says. "Not sure if it'll turn into anything, but it's cool for right now. So, answer the question. Who's got you all horny? Dere-Bear?"

I cringe. "No, and don't call him that."

"Aw, your guys' dry-humping sessions aren't as fulfilling as ours were, are they?" he asks, ribbing me.

"Shut up," I say. "I'm gonna kill you."

He laughs, and I shake my head. "Nah, I already know," he says. "Don't kill me. But Addie told me you're hot for teacher."

"What the…?" I say, eyes bugging out of my head. "Do I get any privacy around here? Any at all?"

"Apparently not," he says. "But hey, it's out of the bag now. Addie told me about the dare, too. Dude, when are you gonna tell them that you're a...?"

"Don't," I say emphatically.

"Just because you pretend you're not a virgin doesn't make it true," he says. "And you can't hide it forever. They're your best friends, or whatever. Why are you lying to them? Are you that ashamed? Because if you are, we can fuck right now. It's no big-"

"Stop being an ass," I say, rolling my eyes. "I know you just say shit like that so you don't come off too nice."

"I can't have people knowing the real me," he says, scoffing. "Come on, now. But seriously, are you gonna fuck your teacher?"

I shrug.

He scoffs again. "Okay, big-ass talker," he says. "You won't even sleep with someone on your level, your own age. What makes you think you're gonna fuck this guy?"

"What do you mean 'my level?'" I ask.

"There's a weird split of power there," he says, motioning with his hands. "And you're gonna try to fuck with it. Literally. Seriously?"

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know."

He sighs, standing up. "Well, it's your business. But I don't wanna see you get your ass hurt, Kepner. Okay? So, don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid," I say.

"I know," he says, eyeballing me. "But there's a difference between being stupid and acting it. So, just remember that while this guy might be totally dreamy or whatever, don't lose your fuckin' head."

"I won't," I say.

He keeps looking at me.

"What?" I say.

"Are you like, just horny for this guy, or what? Or is this a legit crush you've got going on?"

"Why do you wanna know?" I ask.

"Maybe because I'm your friend, I don't know," he says. "Quit being so defensive and just talk to me, damn it."

I give in. "I like him," I say. "He's smart and he treats me different."

Alex narrows his eyes. "He's not grooming you like some Lolita shit, is he?"

"How do you even know about that book?" I say.

"I'm smarter than you think," he tells me.

I nod, impressed. "No, he's not," I say. "It's not like that."

"Well," he continues. "Then what is it like?"

I spend a long moment thinking, then find I can't put it into words. Not yet. Not for Alex, at least. If I say too much, it feels like what Dr. Avery and I have is no longer kept just between us. And right now, that's how I like it.

So, I keep my answer simple.

"I don't know," I say.