*V*V*V*V*V*

Alice is literally quivering in her seat by the time I see her at lunch, frantically waving her hands to catch my attention and point out the seat she has saved for me.

"How did it go?" she asks without preamble. "Did you stay under the radar?"

I hardly know where to begin. "Um, no."

This answer makes her eyes bug out and her plastic chair gives a pained shriek as she scoots closer to me. "Oh no, what happened?"

I launch into my story, relaying as much as I can remember in hushed tones – despite Alice's frequent interruptions: oh my god, he got hard? He said what? What did you say back?

"Are you going to stay in his class?"

I shrug. "I . . . I don't know. I think so. I have until Monday to decide."

"And what are you going to do otherwise?" she asks meaningfully.

"What do you mean?"

She leans in even closer, our cheeks almost touching. "Are you going to have sex with him?"

"No," I respond immediately before adding, "I mean, we can't. He would get fired."

"I'm just saying that you guys clearly have chemistry and I doubt being holed up in his office together is going to help that."

I bite my lip, hating the truth of her words because I have already thought these things.

"You know I wouldn't judge you. I mean, it's not like you guys met under normal circumstances. Plus, you are way more mature than most people our age."

I shake my head. "None of that matters. I just want to get through my senior year without ruining anybody's life and if he happens to be single when graduation comes around, fine. But otherwise, I am going to be good." I sound much more decisive than I feel, knowing the attraction I have for him.

Alice holds up her hands in surrender. "I'm here for you either way."

"Thank you. Sharpies, right?" I joke to relieve my own anxiety. At least I'll always have Alice.

She laughs. "Sharpies."

*V*V*V*V*

Study hall immediately follows lunch, meaning I bid Alice a hesitant farewell, promise to tell her everything afterwards, and wind back towards the English hallway where Edward's office is squirreled away.

The door is slightly adjacent when I arrive, but I knock anyway.

"Come in."

He looks calmer than when I last saw him, leaning back in his chair, twirling a black pen absentmindedly with one hand and resting his jaw on the other.

"Hey."

"Hey, have a seat."

I oblige, tucking my backpack underneath my legs and resting my unfinished brown bag lunch on my lap, hating the way the paper crumples noisily, drawing unwanted attention to me. I spent so much time talking to Alice that I didn't get to eat.

"So, I know you were the English assistant last year for Mr. Berty," Edward says, all business. "What were your responsibilities?"

"I helped with all the tutoring and if we didn't have anybody coming in during tutoring hours, I pretty much did secretarial work like photocopying stuff or filing. Otherwise, I helped him grade."

"He had you grading other students' papers?" He sounds a bit incredulous.

"Only if they were students that I had already tutored so I could get a feel for how they were doing on assignments. It's not like I decided the final grade or anything."

He nods. "Well, obviously, I'm still getting a handle on everything, but that arrangement sounds fine to me for now. Did you do after school hours with him?"

"We did two-thirty to four-thirty on Fridays." I forgot about the after school hours. I am going to be spending so much time with this man.

"Just a second," he says, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen several times. "Ok, I don't have anything scheduled on Fridays yet, so we can keep those hours if that works for you."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"We'll start that next week then."

"Ok."

"Other than that, I think we'll figure it out as we go." His tone sounds like I'm dismissed, like he's expecting me to leave.

"Should I go then?"

"Aren't you supposed to be with me the whole period?"

"Yeah, I just . . . I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, I break through his wall of professionalism and I see that same scrutinizing expression.

"You're fine. You can work on homework or whatever you need to do."

Relieved, I ask, "Do you mind if I eat my lunch?"

He frowns. "Go ahead. Did you miss lunch?"

"Um, no, not exactly. I was just talking too much and didn't get a chance to eat it."

"Hmm," he hums at me. "What's for lunch?" I get the distinct impression that he is nervous and talking too much to cover it.

"Nothing fancy," I admit, pulling out my turkey sandwich, grapes, and pretzels.

"I guess this is technically my lunch hour, too," he mutters, as if just remembering.

"What's for lunch?" I repeat back at him, trying to make conversation. Maybe I'm nervous, too. Forget the maybe.

"Nothing. I didn't pack one."

Without thinking too hard about it, I toss my bag of pretzels onto his desk. "Here."

"That's ok, I really don't –," he begins.

"I wasn't going to eat them anyway," I lie.

The bag sits between us for a long moment, holding more weight than it should. But he makes up his mind and opens the bag, crunching down on one as he turns to his computer.

I bite into my sandwich and look around his office openly, examining the nooks and crannies I didn't notice before. His desk sits in the back left corner and a filing cabinet is squeezed into the back right, a large, leafy plant with hanging tendrils draped atop it. I wonder how long it will survive without any sunlight, though it does make the place more inviting. The back wall contains a narrow bookcase just small enough to fit between the desk and filing cabinet. The book titles range from education manuals to philosophical treatises to poetry, though some of the shelves are still unfilled. There are no personal pictures or accents, but I imagine anything hanging on the cinderblock walls would only make the space seem smaller.

"You literally have the smallest office in the entire building," I inform him.

He snorts, looking away from his screen. "I thought they were pulling a prank on me when they showed me."

"You know this used to be the custodial closet, right?"

"Wow, that explains a lot."

"You don't even have –"

"A window – I know. It's going to drive me crazy without the sunlight."

We're comrades.

"At least you don't have much of a tan to lose," I tease, testing the waters.

His eyebrows rise, both surprised and pleased. "Ok, Snow White."

"Hey, I have a little bit of a tan."

He shakes his head, grinning. "No way. You don't even have tan lines."

We both pause at the realization of what he has said, our postures tensing again. Some part of me is thinking he must have paid incredible attention on Saturday to know I don't have tan lines. I didn't see enough of his body to remember how it looks – though I certainly remember how it felt.

"Shit," he sighs. "Sorry, it just sli—."

"Don't worry about it." I mean it. I try to ignore the fluttery feeling in my heart because he remembers.

I want to reassure him further, try to revive the banter, but he is gone to me, studiously and definitively turned to his computer screen. I understand, but the bell signaling an end to our time together comes as a relief.

"Uh, thanks for the pretzels," he says softly. He's eaten the whole bag.

It's an olive branch, I think. "Any time. See you tomorrow."

"See you."

*V*V*V*V*V*

The rest of school passed in a blur because even after two days, I mark time around periods I spend with Edward. However, turning on my phone as I walked to the parking lot reminded me that I have other problems, too.

Can we talk? – Emmett

I am still staring at my phone – I have been for the past fifteen minutes, sitting in my truck cab, unmoving. What am I supposed to say? If he wants to talk, he could have talked to me a month ago when I was begging him for an explanation.

What do you want? – B

Immediately, my phone lights up with his call.

"Shit," I mutter to myself, letting it ring for a moment. Ugh, suck it up. "Hello?"

"Izzy?"

Fuck. His stupid nickname. I hate that I don't hate it.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk . . . you know, about what happened."

I'm clenching my steering wheel so tightly that my knuckle pops, though even the pressure in my hands is nothing compared to that of my gritted jaw. "Ok."

"I miss you."

Fuck.

"Emmett, I don't want to hear it."

"I freaked out, ok?" He sounds desperate, unusually serious for his jovial personality. "I was . . . I got scared of how I feel about you and I just started school and I was worried about . . . about being held back."

"And you don't think I could have handled hearing that a month ago? I knew it was a possibility you would want the freedom to go have a college experience without a high school, long distance girlfriend. I would have accepted that, but instead –."

"Izzy, I'm an idiot. You know that. I was a coward and ran away instead of making a commitment to you."

"I didn't ask you for some big commitment! You were the one that kept talking about our future together and how I could come visit you at college and what we would –." I cut myself off, tears stinging my eyes. Hearing his voice again, arguing with him is refreshing so many of the ugly, angry, hurt emotions I have repressed.

"I know and I meant all of that. I still do. I just got scared because . . . because of how much I love you, Izzy."

We haven't said those words to each other. I can hear in his tone that this is his linchpin, his way to win me back.

"You are way too late," I tell him, my voice quivering.

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"I believe you. But that doesn't change anything."

"Are you serious?" He's angry now, shocked that I'm spurning the monumental effort it took him to tell me how he feels.

"Yes."

"Great," he hisses, "so now what?"

"Like I said, nothing has changed. Just do college and date and –."

"And what? You'll just fuck the next guy that pays attention to you like I did? Or girl?" he adds, acidic. I've never heard him like this before.

The urge to punch him is immediate, intense. How dare he throw Alice in my face?

"You know what? It's none of your business! I can have sex with whomever I want!"

"None of them will be as good as I am."

I laugh. It's sarcastic and vitriolic, but I laugh. I want to hurt him. "They already are." Those few minutes making out with Edward were better than all the times with Emmett.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I've moved on. That's what it means."

"You're seeing someone?"

Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. "Again, none of your business."

"Didn't take you too fucking long, did it?"

"And I suppose you have been completely celibate since we broke up?" With all those college girls around and his infectious smile? No way.

He's silent for a beat.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't call me again." I hang up and chuck my phone at the passenger seat in a huff, though it bounces to the floor.

It only takes half a second longer for me to start sobbing. My heart is pounding and I'm the worst mix of furious, self-righteous, guilty, and broken. I rest my forehead against the wheel, my shoulders hunched and quaking. Honestly, I just want my mom. I want her to hug me and tell me how much better I am than Emmett and that I don't need a stupid boy like him in my life because I am smart and I'm the student tutor for English and I have that internship at the printing house because I'm so accomplished and ready for college and I'm funny and don't I realize how popular I am?

A knock on my window startles me. Bolting upright, I want to die when I see who is peering into my truck.

Nonetheless, I roll down the window, wiping at my tears. "Hi, Edward."

He squints at me, but doesn't correct my usage of his first name. "I was just heading to my car and I saw you here. What's up?"

I shake my head. "Rough day, that's all."

"Is it . . . is it something I did?"

For a moment, he looks so unsure and incalculably sweet that I actually laugh – a genuine one this time. "No, nothing like that." The awkward encounter in his office feels like forever ago.

"Do you need anything?"

I think about kissing him and pulling him into my truck with me, but shake off the intrusive thought. I'm snotty and gross and we're in the school parking lot.

"I'll be fine. I just need to calm down a bit." In more ways than one.

From the floor, my phone starts to buzz loudly again. Even though the screen is facing down, I know it's Emmett.

"You need to answer that?"

"Not a chance." My tone is more cutting than necessary.

"Boyfriend?" he asks casually, but, of course, it's weightier than that.

"Ex," I say emphatically. Unable to help myself, I add reproachfully, "I didn't cheat, if that's what you're asking."

"Sorry." He doesn't deny the motivation behind his question.

Emboldened and far too reckless after my conversation with Emmett, I say, "I suppose I should thank you. I got to truthfully tell him I've had better – without naming names, of course." So much for being good. That objective lasted all of four hours. But I don't want to be good right now – not when I am feeling dangerously impulsive and emotionally volatile.

Edward chokes on his own saliva and I feel a flash of guilt.

"Well, see you tomorrow." Without waiting for him to speak again, I turn my truck on, avoiding eye contact and peeling out the parking lot.

When I glance back, he is still rooted in spot, watching me drive away.

*V*V*V*V*V*