I cringe as his eyes sweep the classroom, waiting to be found.
His whole expression transforms when he sees me cowering in the corner, our eyes equally wide. I can practically see him putting the pieces together, realizing I lied about my age to get into that club, realizing I am a high school student, realizing I am his high school student. What are the fucking odds?
Can I leave right now? Will he stop me? Maybe I can go to the office and have my schedule changed – or, better yet, I can tell them I'm leaving and then transfer schools. I wonder if my mom will let me get away with that.
But I'm frozen in my seat, staring at Edward.
To his credit, he straightens and looks away, addressing the class.
"I'm Mr. Masen," he announces. "I'll get to know your names eventually, but I hate icebreakers, so just humor me while I take attendance."
I bet he knows my name already.
He starts calling out all the familiar names of my classmates and my heart beats even faster in anticipation.
"Alice Brandon," he says.
"Here," she says, her eyes nearly as wide as mine.
Edward's jaw clenches for half a second before he returns his gaze to his clipboard. More names follow.
Finally: "Isabella Swan."
"Here." My voice sounds strangled, almost like I'm sick.
He doesn't look up before continuing on to the next name and I feel even worse.
"Ok, everybody's here. Let's jump into reviewing the syllabus."
He passes out papers in small stacks, studiously avoiding eye contact with both Alice and me as he reaches our rows. The moment I have a syllabus in my hands, the spell is broken and I am able to avert my eyes. I stare directly downwards, pretending my hair is enough to hide me. I flip the hood of my jacket over my head for extra camouflage – like that will help. I don't hear anything he says about class expectations or the grading policy. My thoughts are too frantic, conjuring up a million possibilities.
Should I talk to him? How can I apologize? Should I just pretend it never happened? What if he says something to me first?
"All right, guys. That pretty much covers the syllabus, so you can just talk amongst yourselves until the bell rings." He seats himself at his desk in the left corner and Alice immediately passes me a note.
What are you going to do? - A
Excellent question. I don't write back, putting my face in my hands instead. When I feel a prickle on my neck, I peek out of my hands to find Edward Masen staring directly at me, his expression unfathomable. He looks away immediately, focusing on his computer instead. Fuck.
I go back to my hands.
In the instant the bell rings, I decide to talk to him. People trickle out of the class, but I straggle behind.
"I'll catch up," I mumble to Alice meaningfully. She's shaking her head at me, but it's not her choice and she knows it.
When the room is finally clear, I approach Edward's desk. He's tense and has given up the pretense of being absorbed in his screen, opting to watch me warily instead.
"Hi," I manage.
He doesn't hesitate. "How old are you?"
I swallow. "Seventeen."
He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Christ." I want to ask him how old he is.
"Look, it was my first time in a bar," I plead softly. "It was just a stupid night out and I am so sorry, ok?"
"Do you have any idea how –?"
"I know, I know," I whisper urgently. "I won't tell anyone. Please believe that I am absolutely mortified and I would never want to get you in trouble."
"Did you know who I was?"
I am blank. And then I am aghast. "No! Oh my god, no! I had no idea. I'm not insane." I think my face is shocked enough because his jaw unclenches. "I just . . . uh, I just wanted to tell you that I am more sorry than you know and that we can just forget the whole thing ever happened."
"Yeah, wish me luck on that," he says under his breath before immediate regret crosses his face.
I know the feeling. I've been daydreaming about him since Saturday. He had my nipple in his mouth, for god's sake. "Well," I mumble, "I need to get to my next class." I don't even remember what my next class is.
He nods, lost in thought.
I turn to leave.
"Bella?"
Actual goose bumps erupt on my arms at the sound of my name. He remembers I like the shortened version. "Yes?"
"Thank you for your . . . uh, maturity about this."
God, maturity. It sounds condescending and I want to barf. But I remind myself: he's old and I'm young. He's teacher and I'm student. Still, it makes me wonder what he expected. A hissy fit? Me threatening to tell people? Who would do that?
"Of course."
*V*V*V*V*V*
"Hi, Mr. Marko," I say to my guidance counselor when it's finally my turn. I, like at least eight other of my fellow students, have made use of the study hall period to visit the guidance office.
"Hey, Bella," Mr. Marko says amicably, though he seems a bit flustered. "Need a schedule change?" I suppose it's hardly surprising considering it's the first day – everybody needs a schedule change.
"You guessed it." I seat myself beside his desk in the cramped office.
"Give me just a minute to pull up your file," he says, staring at his computer and absentmindedly resting his other hand on his rounded belly. "Ok, what seems to be the problem?"
"I was wondering if I could take a different English class."
"Let's see . . . you're in Advanced Placement Literature and Composition right now. Do you have a scheduling conflict?"
"Um, no. Not exactly. I just wanted to see if there was another English class I could be in."
His brow wrinkles behind his glasses. "What's wrong with your current class?"
"I'm worried it might be too difficult," I lie. I don't know what else to tell him.
Now he's frowning at me. "Bella," he says blankly, "you're the student English tutor."
Oops. "Well, yeah. I just am taking three AP classes this year and I figured I already can read and write pretty well so I might as well drop English before statistics or psychology. I'm not worried that the class will be hard in that I won't understand, but more like it will be a lot of homework to keep up with on top of my other classes." I'm proud because my lies sound halfway decent.
He's smiling knowingly at me, but he doesn't know at all. "Now, now, I get this all the time. I know you're a perfectionist and you want to do everything well, but I don't think you need to sell yourself short. Why don't you give it a try with your current load this week to get a feel for it and if it's too much, we can meet again next Monday to talk."
It's not the answer I want to hear; I don't want to be stuck in Edward's class until then. But I will just have to wait out the rest of the week. "Ok, I'll give it a try. Thanks, Mr. Marko."
"Any time!"
*V*V*V*V*V*
The next morning is not kind to me. I stayed up too late last night talking to Alice, going over every detail of this clusterfuck to the point of absurdity. It's not like we solved anything though, so I wake up with anxiety, lust, and guilt. It's a lot of emotion to deal with before I've even had cereal.
As I ready myself for school, I wonder if I can fake strep throat for a week to avoid going. After Edward's acidic reaction yesterday – not to mention my own embarrassment – I am not feeling optimistic about class. Nevertheless, I continue on blearily, tiptoeing around the house to avoid waking my mother and shutting the door quietly behind me.
Alice is waiting by my locker again when I arrive, bouncing in place. Even without seeing her guilty face, I know something is wrong.
"What's up?"
"Please don't hate me."
"Spit it out."
"I went to Marko like, fifteen minutes ago and he switched me out of AP Lit immediately."
"Oh my god. Seriously?" That asshole.
"Well, I don't take AP classes like you do," she explains apologetically. "He doesn't think I'm smart, so he let me leave. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone!"
I shake my head. "I'm not mad. It's ok. I'll only be stuck there for two more days." Ok, I'm a little bit mad, but not in a rational way. I'm mad because I'm terrified at the thought of not having Alice with me – not having someone in there who understands how truly fucked up the whole situation is.
"Just hang low and it'll be over quickly."
I let my head fall forward. "Ok."
She kisses my cheek in that easy way of hers and excuses herself to what I can only assume is a far less stressful English course.
With little choice left, I trudge to my own classroom, almost backing out at the doorway when I realize I'm the first one to arrive – with the exception of Edward.
He's writing on the whiteboard, turning his head as I enter.
Not wanting to embarrass either of us with my flight response, I suck in a breath and take a shuddering step forward.
"Hey," he greets me. His voice is soft, tense.
"Hey." I probably sound even worse.
Capping his marker, he asks, "Why did you try to drop my class?" He sounds angry, but I don't know why.
I suppose I should have guessed that Marko is a narc. "Isn't it obvious?" Truly, I can't fathom why it's a mystery to him.
"Look, if I was too . . . I don't want my behavior yesterday to make you feel like you can't get the most out of your education."
He sounds like he rehearsed it, but his guilt assuages me, calms some of my anxiety about how badly I ruined everything. I didn't spare a second thought for his supposed behavior yesterday – if anything, he was much more composed than he could have been. "I was just trying to make your life easier. Well, both of our lives."
"Seeing each other for one period instead of two every day doesn't seem like it's that much easier and I'd rather you be taking an English class that challenges you."
"What do you mean two?"
He's puzzled, tilting his head. "You're the English student assistant, right?"
I understand his meaning instantly. "You're taking over tutoring for Mr. Berty, aren't you?" I am going to be trapped in a tiny office with this man every day for the rest of the year.
"I thought you knew."
I can't stop myself from laughing. It's borderline hysterical, probably a sign of my stress, but uncontrollable. "What are the fucking odds?" I ask him through my giggles. "Of course you're tutoring. Of course you're my English teacher. Of course you're the person I happened to knock over in a club of hundreds of people. Of course you happened to be at the same place at the same time a week before school." It spews out from me and I'm fully aware I sound like I'm having a mental break. Maybe I am having a mental break.
He looks distinctly on edge. "Let's go to my office to talk about this."
The surge of guilt that electrifies me is enough to sober my paroxysms. He doesn't want anyone to overhear my hysteria. I'm putting him at risk by not having my shit together. Swallowing the dying titters, I allow myself to be led to his office directly across the hallway.
It looks like they repurposed the janitor's closet when they hired a new English teacher. Although the new carpet, off white paint, and smattering of desk plants do much to spruce up the place, there is little to be done to disguise its diminutive size. He gestures for me to sit in the only spare chair and closes the windowless door behind us. It's positively claustrophobic. I already want to leave.
"Are you ok?" he asks solemnly, sitting in his more comfortable wheeled chair.
I nod, swallowing again. "I'm sorry. I just, uh, I don't know what came over me. This is so unreal."
He's quiet, waiting for me to elaborate, I think. How open am I supposed to be? I feel like I'm back on that dance floor again, unsure what to say, what to do, desperately wanting a cue by which to be led.
"It won't happen again," I promise him. Maybe he wants reassurance that I'm not going to get him fired.
"Obviously," he agrees with a hint of panic. "I hope you understand I never would have . . . well, it never would have happened in the first place if I knew how old you are."
"Wait, I meant I wouldn't lose my head again, not about hooking up with – I mean, not about what happened."
His face reddens. "Oh."
I glance between his legs and I'm pretty sure he's hard. I feel lust reap my body – because we're alone and my illusion of him as an authority figure was broken before it even formed, unable to help my attraction. And, despite everything, he – physically, at least – wants me, too . . . I think.
He sees me look at his lap, but does not shift to hide, our eyes locking. His expression changes to something unreadable, something intense and chiasmic. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it?" He doesn't sound upset by the idea.
The five-minute warning bell rings, signaling an imminent start to the day and effectively breaking whatever tension churns between us. I remember that it's not even seven-thirty in the morning and we're at school with a few hundred students and staff milling about in the hallways on the other side of the door.
Edward shakes his head as if to clear it, straightening in his chair. "I'm supposed to meet with you today during the study period to go over tutoring and being the English assistant." He says it as if everything is completely normal, like his erection is not now glaringly obvious to me.
I clear my throat, realizing how dry my mouth is. "Where are we meeting?"
"My office is fine for now. I haven't reserved any other spaces yet since tutoring doesn't start until the second week of school."
I dread and relish the idea of being in this windowless shoebox with him again. "Ok," I choke out. "I guess I'll see you then."
We both stand and maneuver awkwardly to the door, having difficulty in the small space. I pretend I don't see him adjust himself in his pants out of the corner of my eye.
I have my finger grasped around the handle, ready to open the door and step into the hallway, when he presses his hand to the wood, holding it shut.
"Bella," he says.
He's so close to me and I remember how he braced me against that bathroom door, devouring my mouth and neck. Ah, my neck.
"Yes?" I wonder if he notices my goose bumps.
"I'm sorry."
I'm taken aback. "For what?"
"For . . . for not acting professionally." His eyes flick down for half a second and I know what he is thinking about.
"I think, everything considered, you're doing fine." I wouldn't want to be an untenured male teacher discovering his hookup is his underage student.
He quirks his head at me, his mouth twisting in reluctant admiration. "You are not what I expected."
It's the most puzzling thing he's said to me. "What did you expect?"
He shakes his head, but I can't tell if he doesn't want to answer or doesn't have an answer. "Don't drop my class, ok?"
For some reason, I breathe, "Ok."
*V*V*V*V*V*