"It sounds to me like you're thinking an awful lot about him," says the voice over the phone. I sigh.
"No, I'm just curious. He's made me curious," I say, trying to keep any edge of irritation out of my voice. My retired band director laughs on the other end of the line.
"For the past four weeks?" he asks incredulously. I roll my eyes to no one in particular. It had been a month since the first day in Morse's class, and I was getting more and more convinced that he and I would get along very well. But I couldn't approach him like I do my band directors. I didn't know what to do, which is why I was now talking to B, who true to his nature, was making a very insignificant molehill into Mount Rushmore.
"You know that I won't rest until my curiosity is sated," I said mentally laughing at myself. Really, I just want to know about the man. I'm not looking for his social security number and blood type, just some basic info. How long was he drum major, did he go to all-state, things that are important to a band kid, like me.
"Well, then God save him. If he's caught your curiosity it can only end in ruin," he laughs.
"Gee, thanks, B. I'm so glad you have such confidence in me. And no one said he's caught anything. I'm just… intrigued. That's all," I plop down on my couch with a bowl of Goldfish and a Coke. My comfort food. I switch the phone from my left ear to my right and curl into the corner of the couch.
"Well, he's your type. Smart assed, confident, and a hell of a horn player," I almost laugh at B's idea of 'my type' but then I realize what he's said.
"B, this is my teacher. I'm in his class. There's no way I'd even look at someone like that," I say, popping a few of the cheese crackers in my mouth.
"Darlin', do you know who you're talking to? You think I can't tell when you're interested in someone? I can't even see you and I know it's written all over your face," he laughs some more. I frown.
"B, no! You- you know me. I don't have time for being interested in anyone anyway," I say, nearly pleading with him to take his accusations back. I know better, but I can't help but think that he's got me pegged wrong.
"I'm not wrong and you know it," he says, reading my thoughts. I hate it when he does that.
"Fine. But this doesn't leave this conversation. You don't know it and I don't know it," I say.
"Fine. When you're ready to admit it, or when you graduate then we'll have this chat," he says with a tone that I don't like. Graduate? He doesn't think that even if I am a little interested, that I'll still be that way next semester?
"Are you off your rocker? I'm not still gonna be-"
"Sorry, sweetheart, I have to run. The grandkids are running through the door. I'll talk to you later," he says quickly and I heard the girls squealing as only children under ten can.
"Alright, tell the girls I said hello," I say, smiling in spite of myself at the mental image of the three girls running in and jumping on their Pawpaw's lap as he hung up the phone. "Bye".
"Bye."