Текст книги "Falling to Pieces"

Автор книги: Leddy Harper

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

The rest of the week went by with ease, both at school and at home. Mr. Taylor’s class went back to normal, and it was as if no one remembered the outburst I’d had on Thursday. And as for my teacher, he greeted me in the morning like he had every morning before, and taught from his podium like usual. Like I said, back to normal—except for the quick exchanging of glances from across the room. The ones where we’d catch each other’s eye, and the split second of silence that followed burned like a spark of electricity igniting in my lower belly.

He’d ended class a few minutes early and headed back to his desk. The way his eyes kept lifting to where I sat, yet not quite making contact with mine, left me to believe he’d wanted to speak to me after class. But that had been interrupted by Rebecca when she lingered at his side with her hip pressed against the edge of his desk, her jean skirt riding up her thigh.

“Is this your girlfriend? Maybe your wife?” Her question caught my attention, causing me to snap my head up. Her fingers lightly touched a picture frame while her eyes remained glued to Mr. Taylor’s face.

I watched it all closely, from his expression to the inappropriate smirk she wore. But what warmed me the most was when he moved the framed picture out of her reach and said, “She’s someone I care a lot about, and that’s all you need to know.” His confession would’ve caused my blood to run cold, thinking of him with someone, but for some reason, his eyes met mine, calming me before I could get upset. Yet it did cause me to question my initial reaction. As if I had some claim to him. The thought of him with someone else made knots form in my stomach and my head spin.

That one glance made no sense to me, and I pondered it for the rest of the day and most of Saturday morning. We’d had a heartfelt conversation on Thursday, but after that, our verbal exchanges had become nothing more than any teacher would engage in with one of their students. A part of me wondered if the connection I’d felt had only been one-sided, but then he’d catch my eye. He’d look at me, pierce me with an intense gaze as if silently telling me something, and then I’d find myself believing there was more between us.

Crazy, right? He was my teacher. I was his student. His underage student. And he was seven years older than me. It had to have all been in my head. Nothing more than a naïve girl seeing what she wanted to believe when an attractive, older man gave her attention. I was smart enough to see the truth.

Those were the thoughts that consumed me, took over my dreams Friday night, and ate away at me until I finally forced myself to snap out of it. Saturday afternoon, I decided to head up to the library. Mom had been quiet ever since her explosion on Wednesday night after coming home from work and yelling at me for the questions she had to field off. The questions caused by Mr. Taylor’s intrusion. My mother didn’t like when anyone involved themselves in our lives. I didn’t know how to take her silence, so I eased into a conversation with her. I told her I wanted to check out some books, knowing she wouldn’t have a problem with me leaving the house. The weekends were always the hardest at home when we were both trapped inside together for endless hours. Just as I’d hoped, she allowed me to go, and then agreed to pick me up at six when the library closed.

That gave me almost three hours to wander around and enjoy some peace and quiet sans the awkwardness of being in the proximity of my mother. It was heaven, so naturally, the time went by too fast.

I chose to wait outside the library doors on a bench to be picked up, foreseeing how it would end if she had to wait for me. What I hadn’t expected, though, was to have company.

“What are you reading?” A deep voice overhead startled me until I pulled my nose from the book in my hand and peered over the tops of the pages. Stunned at who stood in front of me, I couldn’t speak or move. I could only watch as he took the empty space on the bench next to me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, nearly breathless from the shock of him being so close to me, his subtle cologne consuming me.

“It’s a library, Bree.” His small laugh was enough to calm me to the point where I could finally take him in. I had seen him for five straight days, all of which he’d worn dress pants with shiny black shoes and a nice button-up shirt adorned with a tie. So seeing Mr. Taylor dressed in dark-washed jeans and a sweater was odd.

Not odd.

Nice.

He looked really, really nice, and I had to fight the urge to gawk at him. I closed the book in my hand and shrugged, wanting him to at least think I was at ease around him, even though that was the complete opposite of how I felt. My insides were shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cooling temperatures.

His gaze dropped from mine to my hands before reaching out and taking the book from me. “Animal Farm. This is one of my favorite books. Have you read this before? Or are you getting it for school?”

Embarrassment filled me as I searched for the answer that wouldn’t make me sound anything like the teenager I was. “I’ve read it before. I really liked it and wanted to read it again with fresh eyes. Sometimes, when I have to read something for class, the essence of the story is lost on me. And reading it for fun allows me to see it differently…like with a different perspective, I guess.”

He tilted his head as he stared at me, his eyes locked with mine, his mouth remaining closed. Finally, he shook his head and looked away. “Are you sure you’re a high school student?” He pulled his attention back to me with squinted eyes and a furrowed brow.

“Why?”

“Because I never remember sixteen-year-olds talking like you when I was in school. They were always worried too much about their appearance and who they dated instead of reading books for fun to get a different outlook on them.”

“Seventeen,” I corrected. “I’ll be seventeen in a month.”

“You think that makes a difference?”

All the wind in my sails deflated, leaving me insecure all over again. “I guess not.” My shoulders dropped and my head fell forward. No matter how much I wanted to hide my reaction, it seemed impossible to keep my body from betraying me.

He shifted on the bench to face me, squaring his shoulders in my direction. “I only meant that even at seventeen, kids don’t think like you. They didn’t when I was your age, and since I started teaching, I haven’t noticed any. Why aren’t you challenging yourself more? Why aren’t you in better classes? Honors classes are good and all, but you could be doing so much more.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“What do you mean? What time do you need for accelerated classes?”

“My mom has these…expectations of me at home, and if I took more than I am right now, I would fall behind. I’m only taking these honors courses because I needed the weighted GPA. My mom expects nothing less than a solid four, so I figured the added weight would help me get there.”

“What kinds of ‘expectations’ does your mom have of you?”

“Normal house stuff. Cooking, cleaning, laundry.”

“You do it all?”

I nodded, fearing where this conversation was headed.

“So you never get to do anything normal?”

“I’m at the library, aren’t I?”

He shook his head and peered out at the parking lot. His lips scrunched up as if he’d tasted something sour. His obvious disgust at what I’d told him was written all over his face. “You’re going to college, right? You plan on getting out?”

“Of course. She doesn’t want me there any longer than I have to be.”

“That makes no sense. I mean, if she has you doing all her work, pretty much taking care of her, why would she want you gone? Don’t get me wrong—I want you out of there, and I hate the thought of you having to wait another year, but your mom doesn’t make much sense.”

I shrugged, contemplating my next words. “I’ve already told you, she hates me. She resents me. She makes me do everything because she can, not because I’m her built-in maid. I make her look bad. Because of me, she’s been labeled the single mom. When I leave, she can pretend I don’t exist—until it benefits her to have a smart kid in some fancy school. And then she can have that perfect image again.” I licked my lips and whispered my next words. “She wants her cake and eat it, too. Just as long as I’m not there when she has it.”

He turned his head away, his voice matching mine when he murmured, “I hate that I can’t protect you from her.” Then he smacked my book against his leg and handed it to me. “Did you know that Orwell didn’t disagree with socialistic ideas? His entire point of Animal Farm was to show the corruption of those in power.”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, studying the book in my hands. “I like how he was able to tell about the Russian Revolution in a way anyone could understand. Sometimes, it’s hard to explain history to people, because we’ve never experienced those things, or we have a hard time wrapping our minds around certain events. But he did a really good job putting it into perspective for even younger minds to understand.”

“I really think you should consider doing dual enrollment next year.”

His sentiment warmed me, but I shook my head. “I would have to take public transportation to the community college. And that would only cause more problems if I missed a bus or something.”

“Why would you have to do that?” he asked in disbelief.

“I don’t have a car. Mom never bought one for me, and I don’t have any money to get one. She won’t let me work to finance one, and at this point, it’s kind of pointless. I mean, once I leave for college, I will be staying on campus, so I wouldn’t need a car. It sucks right now, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well, I think that’s a ridiculous reason to not take college courses next year. You definitely seem smart enough to do it. And it would even help your credits once you start college full time. You could start ahead of others your age. I really do think you should consider it—maybe find a ride or, at the very least, take a chance on the buses.”

No one had ever expressed their belief in me this way before. My mother often pushed for more, but not once did she ever do it because she thought I was worth it—or at least she’d never told me so. It was always to get into better schools, probably so she could take the credit of having such a smart child. But Mr. Taylor…he genuinely seemed to believe in me, and he wanted a better future for me.

“I–I’ll think about it.” I’d hoped to control the emotions in my voice, but I got a catch in my throat, making me sound hoarse.

He scanned the parking lot before turning back to me. “The library is about to close…how are you getting home? Do you need a ride?”

“No, but thank you. My mom is picking me up. She should be here soon. And if she sees you sitting with me, it probably won’t look too good.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said with narrowed eyes.

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Taylor, but I’ll be okay. I’m serious, though. If she pulls up and I’m sitting next to you, talking to you, I’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll think I snuck off to meet you, and I wouldn’t put it past her to accuse us of screwing around together inside.”

“She would really do that?”

I tilted my head at him and raised my eyebrows. “She often makes comments about me doing things behind her back. As if I have the time to fuck random guys. She says things like, ‘Getting pregnant in high school will ruin your chances of getting into college.’ Or, ‘Take it from me, there’s nothing worse than having a baby before you’re ready—it’ll ruin your life, just like you ruined mine.’ She’s never seen me with anyone, so I have no idea why she thinks these things. But if she sees you here, I’m sure it’ll give her more ammunition to assume I’ll get knocked up before graduation and ruin her image even more.”

“Okay. Then I’ll wait in my car and watch to make sure she comes.”

“Really, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t give up.

After flashing me a quick smile, he stood and headed out to the parking lot.

A car pulled alongside the sidewalk and someone ran from the building to the passenger side door. I glanced over, searching in the direction Mr. Taylor had headed, and I realized I needed to use this opportunity to my advantage. I couldn’t risk him being there when my mom came, not trusting that he wouldn’t say anything to her. So as the car door closed, I ran to hide behind a pillar near the front of the building.

The car drove off, and a minute later, a red Jeep slowed by the curb. It appeared to be the same one I’d seen Mr. Taylor driving a few times when he’d arrived at or left school. I crouched down, hiding behind the brick pillar until he pulled away. I waited, making sure he was gone before slinking back to the bench to wait for my mom.

Five minutes came and went, and then the library closed down. Someone exited, locked the doors, took one look at me, and then left without a word. Another five minutes alone without my mom coming. Then ten minutes.

It quickly turned into half an hour.

The library had closed at six, and by seven, I gave up hope that she’d come. I hadn’t thought to bring any change with me for the bus, so that left me with the only option of walking home. I lived just a few miles away, and had walked it before, but never at this time of day. The sun had long since left the sky, and the temperature had dropped dramatically.

It didn’t take long before I regretted hiding from Mr. Taylor.

I wrapped my jacket around my body tighter and shoved the book into one of the pockets, bundling up as best as I could to protect myself from the cold. But no matter how tight I crossed my arms over my chest, or how deep I buried my hands into my pockets, nothing kept the chill in the air from seeping into my skin. My teeth chattered violently with every step.

I only had about a half a mile to go when it started to rain. It sprinkled to begin with, but not long after the first drop landed, the sky opened up, pelting me with ice-cold drops that felt like glass slicing at my face. It didn’t take long before I became completely soaked and numb. My fingertips tingled, my toes burned from the cold, and my insides convulsed with the shivers that racked my body. Everything hurt.

The weather made my hour-and-a-half walk turn into two hours, yet it seemed more like four. By the time I made it to my front door, I was exhausted and I could swear I was on the verge of freezing to death. I didn’t think anything could get worse…but it did.

Things got a lot worse.

By Sunday night, I’d found myself praying for death just to ease the pain and suffering. Come Monday morning, I was miserable. The shakes and shivers hadn’t left me all weekend, and they eventually took over my whole body, leaving me in a constant freezing state. I couldn’t get warm no matter how many layers of clothing I wore, or how many blankets I bundled on top of me when I slept. I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and my raw throat made it impossible to swallow.

But when my alarm sounded early Monday morning for school, I knew I had to get up. I couldn’t miss any classes. I wore a knitted undershirt beneath a long-sleeved sweater, and then topped it off with a pullover hoodie. I even kept on my knitted long johns I’d slept in beneath my jeans and added an extra pair of socks to my feet. I also made sure to bring an entire box of tissues with me in my backpack, knowing I’d need them throughout the day.

“Morning, Bree,” Mr. Taylor said as soon as I made it to my seat. He took one look at me before I could respond, and frowned. “You sick?”

“I’ll be okay. Just a cold.” I sounded nasally from the heavy amount of blockage in my sinus cavities. “I blame it on the weather.”

“Yeah, this cold front has been pretty awful. Why didn’t you stay home today?” he asked with concern, his head tilted as his eyes glazed over with sympathy.

I shrugged and pulled my notebook out of my backpack. “I’ll survive. It would take a lot more than a cold to keep me down.” I injected as much nonchalance into my voice as I could muster, hoping to give him the impression that I was a lot stronger than I felt.

He nodded at me, but his eyes said something else. They focused on mine with a furrowed brow, studying me as if he could see inside my head and know how sick I truly was. Mr. Taylor had a way of reading me, and as he analyzed me with his steady eyes, I’d hoped he wouldn’t be able to see what I’d been trying to hide from him. I didn’t want him to ask me any questions, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer them with enough conviction to make him leave me alone.

Thankfully, he didn’t say or ask anything else. Class began and he moved to the podium up front, preparing to teach the day’s lesson. Everyone settled into their seats and opened their books, ready to learn, but then Mr. Taylor switched things up. I could tell by his expression that it was an unprepared and last-minute decision. He glanced over at me and squinted his eyes before scanning the rest of the class.

“We are going to have a test on Friday, so I’ve decided to let you all use this time to review what we’ve already learned from last week. You can discuss things amongst yourselves, as long as it’s quiet and you stay on topic. No talking about what you did this weekend. If you can’t do this, I won’t offer this option again. So use this time to your advantage—share notes, read the chapter, do whatever you have to do to study. Whatever you do, don’t make me regret it.” He then moved away from his podium and walked back to his desk, keeping his focus on me the entire time.

Everyone silently looked around, wondering what’d just happened. There were notes on the chalkboard for the new chapter, yet we wouldn’t get into those today. It seemed odd that our teacher would randomly give us the class off, but no one complained. They all seemed excited to be given free time, yet I wasn’t. Sure, I didn’t feel good, and the thought of a timeout from schoolwork seemed like a good idea, but there was something in the way he looked at me that made me wonder about his motive.

Once Mr. Taylor sat in his seat, he began to write something down on a piece of paper. I turned away, not wanting to give him a reason to say something to me. Then he slid the paper across his desk. I glanced up, wondering what he’d passed to me, and noticed the handwritten note. I scanned the room quickly, hoping no one had paid any attention to this exchange. Yet everyone seemed to be in their own worlds. Rebecca and Jill were shoulder to shoulder, carrying on some conversation about Ricky, the school’s quarterback. Andy, the kid that sat next to me, had his head down and eyes closed, as if this was nap time instead of study time. I turned my attention back to Mr. Taylor, wondering if he had any intention of disciplining the other students for not following directions, but his eyes were laser-focused on me.

He nudged the paper a little more in my direction until I grabbed it to read it.

You really don’t seem okay. Do you have a fever?

Without taking my eyes off his words, I snatched up my pen to respond.

I have no idea. But I’ll be okay. I have to study.

I pushed the note back to him, glancing around to make sure no one saw. My heart hammered viciously inside my chest at the mere thought of getting caught passing notes back and forth with the teacher, but Mr. Taylor seemed unfazed by it as he shoved the paper in my direction.

I’m sure someone might question me if I felt your forehead, but it looks to me like you’re running a fever. I really don’t think you should be here today. You should be at home resting. Put your head down. I’ll wake you up before the bell. I’m sure your teacher won’t mind.

My eyes snapped to his, wondering if this was some kind of joke. I knew without looking into a mirror that I had a worried expression on my face. I could feel it in my forehead, but Mr. Taylor wore an easy grin and his eyes sparkled with humor.

Really? Were we friends now or something? I shook my head and folded the piece of paper, making the decision to end the childish notes between us. I wouldn’t take a nap, even though he said it’d be okay. He’d given us the time to study, and that’s exactly what I’d do.

But as the day drew on, I began to regret that decision. My head grew fuzzier and my skin burned hotter and hotter with each passing class. By the time lunch came around, my eyes watered and felt as if they were on fire, and before the last period of the day, all I wanted to do was fall asleep and never wake up.

My feet dragged against the carpeted hallway as I made my way to my locker. I pressed my forehead to the metal, garnering some strength to turn the dial. The locker door pressed cold against my skin, but it didn’t take long before the chill disappeared and heat radiated off it, consuming the space around my head. All I wanted to do was cry in defeat, completely worn out from the long and exhausting day.

I must’ve been sicker than I thought, because time seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. Once I finished with my locker and made my way to the bus line, I watched as the last of the yellow buses pulled out onto the main road in front of the school.

Shit!

I’d missed my bus in my attempt to pull myself together long enough to make it out of the building. But I hadn’t been fast enough. I knew I’d have to call my mother to pick me up. The last time I’d missed the bus, she told me to find my own way home—which meant to walk. Fearing her response would be the same this time, I collapsed to a bench in defeat. I just needed a moment to garner the courage to trek down to the office to use the phone and call her to pick me up. I hoped and prayed she wouldn’t make me walk—knew I didn’t have the strength for that. Hell, I’d barely had enough energy to walk from my locker to the bus line.

“What’s with me finding you on benches?”

I raised my head, seeing Mr. Taylor standing in front of me. My eyes stung from the heat radiating off my face, and it made his appearance blurry, but it was no doubt him.

“Did you miss the bus?” he asked, and all I could do was nod once in response—even that caused the pounding in my head to increase. “Is your mother coming to get you?”

I shrugged as the first tear fell. I wanted to believe it was because my eyes stung from the heat, and that’s what eyes do when they burn—they tear up. But I knew better than that. I’d started to cry because I’d become consumed with defeat. “I haven’t called her yet.” I dropped my head into my hands, hoping to hide my tears from him.

“This may sound like a stupid question, but will she come pick you up if you call her?”

I wanted to lie to him. My brain begged and screamed at me to say yes, but the hopelessness and despair that filled me wouldn’t allow me to do that. I shook my head as more tears flooded my eyes before slipping to the concrete at my feet. My shoulders trembled as I finally gave in, completely surrendering to the misery I’d fought all day long.

“Stay right here. I’ll pull around and give you a ride home.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I said without lifting my head.

He took one step and then stopped, his shiny black shoes directly in my line of sight. When he spoke, I heard his soft words dangerously close to my ear. “Stay here, Bree. I’ll be back in a minute to take you home.”

Normally, I would’ve been concerned with someone catching me in my teacher’s car. I’m sure that wouldn’t look good to anyone. But at that moment, I was too desperate, too tired to argue or care. I needed a ride, and he’d offered. Anyone that wanted to say something about it could go to hell.