Blurry: A Student Teacher, Age Gap Romance

by Michelle Hercules

The email came with an attachment, a list of all the students who volunteered to help. Vivian isn’t expecting me to say no.

  I shake my head. This is what I get for always being the dependable guy.

  Naturally, I’m going to say yes, but a sliver of apprehension takes hold of me. I open the document she sent, quickly scan through it, and then curse under my breath.

  Chiara is on the list.

  22

  Chiara

  Last week I signed up to help with the Annual Film Festival organized by the school. Every year they focus on a specific country, and this year is Italy’s turn. I couldn’t pass it up. My film history teacher, Mrs. Weiland, is spearheading the project.

  I’m excited as I head to the kickoff meeting. But the moment I step foot inside the lecture hall, the grin I had on my face wilts to nothing. Instead of finding Mrs. Weiland, Alistair is in her place.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  He turns around and stops talking. My steps falter, and I clutch the strap of my backpack tighter. Unprepared for this unexpected encounter, I’m not quick enough to put on an indifferent mask. In fact, me standing rooted to the spot is not helping my case either.

  “Miss Moretti, please take a seat.”

  “Am I late? The email Mrs. Weiland sent said four o’clock. It’s ten to.”

  “No, you aren’t late.”

  The corners of his lips pull up in an attempted half smile. His eyes are soft as he watches me, and my stupid heart rejoices.

  I force my legs to move, sitting in the nearest chair, which means front row and much too close to Alistair.

  “Hey,” Valerie greets me.

  Jesus, I was so stunned by Alistair’s presence that I didn’t even notice I took the seat next to hers.

  “Hi.”

  Alistair looks down at the sheet of paper in his hand and says, “It seems everyone is here. As I was explaining before, Mrs. Weiland had a family emergency and asked me to cover her classes and take over the Annual Film Festival project.”

  My heart begins to beat faster in panic. Film history is a biweekly class. How am I going to deal with seeing Alistair more than once a week?

  He approaches my chair, and I immediately tense up. He frowns slightly, which tells me he noticed. Cazzo.

  “Here’s the list of tasks. Your name is already assigned to them. Would you mind?”

  He gives me the stack of papers, again watching me as if I’m on the verge of breaking.

  Oh God. Is he feeling guilty?

  With a nod, I take the stack from his hand, careful not to brush my fingertips with his. I keep one copy and pass the rest to my neighbor. While the list of tasks is being distributed, I glance quickly at them to see what I have to do. I gasp out loud when I see my name next to interviewing the cast and the director of one of the movies showcased in the festival. That’s the best task on the list, in my opinion. Did Alistair do this to redeem himself?

  I look up to find him watching me closely.

  “Ugh, I can’t work on the archives. I’m highly allergic to dust,” a guy complains. “Can I do something else?”

  Alistair frowns at him before glancing at the list again. After a moment, he says, “You can help with the setup and cleanup during the event.”

  “Oh great. Labor work. Why can’t I be the one interviewing the movie cast?” He turns to me, glowering. “I’m on the school paper, after all.”

  My spine goes rigid right before I open my mouth to reply, but Alistair beats me to it.

  “I’m not responsible for the tasks’ assignment, but I stand by what Mrs. Weiland has in place.”

  The guy looks pissed, but he doesn’t argue further. As for me, I’m glad Alistair didn’t assign the interview to me. I don’t want any favors because his conscience is too heavy.

  “We still need someone to handle the archives,” he says as he looks around the room.

  No one volunteers though. Since I already got the best assignment possible, I raise my hand. “I don’t know what it entails, but I’ll do it.”

  The look I get from Alistair is not one of relief. It’s pained. Why? I don’t get it.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes, unless you don’t think I can handle it.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

  He stares at me without blinking for a few seconds before he turns and sits on the edge of his desk.

  “I’ll go over the list and explain each task, but I want to give you a brief overview of the festival first, especially for those who are new here. Every year DuBose organizes the Annual Film Festival, usually focusing on a theme or a country. This year we’re showcasing Italy, but not only movies made in Italy. The festival covers it all, from wide popular movies set in Italy to films starring Italian actors or directed by an Italian director.”

  “Thank God. How boring would it be to just watch movies in Italian?” the same dude who was complaining about the archives task pipes up.

  “Boring for someone closed-minded,” I reply, glaring at the idiot.

  “I’m not closed-minded. It’s hard to understand a movie when I have to read the subtitles.”

  “Someone here can’t multitask.” Valerie snickers.

  “Okay, enough,” Alistair cuts in. “Let’s go over the tasks.”

  He briefly explains each item on the list. I’m still aggravated by the lazy guy’s comment, so I don’t pay much attention. I also don’t want to look at Alistair, because his nearness is making it extremely hard to pretend that he doesn’t affect me. I can smell his cologne from my chair, and it’s doing my head in.

  I’m busy drawing doodles on my paper when Alistair calls my name. It startles me, and I end up dropping my pen. He was standing right in front of my chair, so he bends over to get it. Instead of standing up, he offers me the pen while he’s still in his crouch position. In an instant, I become ensnared by his intense blue gaze. I feel a crazy fever taking over me. He’s devouring me with his eyes like he did back in Italy.

  Hell and damn. Does he want me to turn into a ball of goo in front of everyone?

  I grab the pen quickly before I combust on the spot. “Thanks.”

  My reply seems to wake him up. He stands and turns around, walking in the opposite direction.

  “Okay, that was weird,” Valerie whispers to me.

  I don’t comment because how can I? It wasn’t weird. It was stupid. Does he want people to know we were involved?

  “Uh, Mr. Walsh, weren’t you going to explain what Chiara’s assignment is? I’m kind of curious,” the lazy guy says.

  “Right. Chiara, I’ll send you the contact detail of Giulio Bertollini’s assistant. He’s the director of—”

  “I know who he is,” I cut him off.

  Everyone in Italy knows the guy. He’s one of the most brilliant movie directors in the country.

  “Right. Well, she’ll be your main contact person. I’m afraid that’s all the information Mrs. Weiland had for you, but if you need my help, you know my door is always open.”

  My jaw drops of its own accord. I can’t believe he said that with a straight face.

  “Oh, shoot. What time is it?” Valerie asks.

  “Five, I think,” I say.

  She stands up suddenly. “I have to go. I’m already late for an appointment.”

  The other volunteers follow her lead. This meeting was only supposed to last half an hour.

  Not wanting to be left behind alone with Alistair, I collect my things and head for the door without sparing him a second glance, but I sense his stare burning through me all the same.

  23

  Chiara

  I sit all the way in the back during film history class, hoping the distance and the students in front of me will create a protective barrier between Alistair and me. Valerie sees me there and takes the chair next to mine.

  “Why are you all the way in the back when we have a hotter-than-sin substitute teacher?”

  Why does everyone I know keep reminding me how go
od-looking Alistair is? Like I don’t already know.

  “I’m hoping to fly under the radar today. I’m super tired.”

  “Smart. I think you caught his attention yesterday.”

  My entire body tenses. “Why do you say that?”

  “He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

  Damn it, Alistair.

  I shrug. “Probably because of my argument with that idiot who didn’t want the archives assignment.”

  “Yeah, probably. Mr. Walsh is as serious as it gets. You’d be surprised how many of his female students have tried to seduce him since he started teaching here. He shot them all down.”

  Red-hot jealousy spreads through my veins like wildfire. I did not need to know that.

  Alistair enters the classroom, looking as gorgeous as ever. My heart reacts accordingly, lurching forward at the same time the butterflies in my belly turn radioactive. Conversation ceases, but I notice how every single girl in the room is eating him up with their hungry gazes. It wasn’t as bad in writer’s room, or maybe I didn’t pay attention. Now that Valerie mentioned the obvious, I can’t not notice it.

  When Alistair’s gaze sweeps the room, I try to keep my expression neutral. Maybe it’s my imagination or wishful thinking, but I swear his eyes shine brighter when he sees me. I hope it was all in my head. Valerie already noticed his peculiar behavior yesterday; if he keeps throwing heated glances in my direction, our little secret won’t stay buried for long.

  He starts the lecture, and I force my mind to tune into the knowledge, not the man presenting it to me.

  One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.

  I’m relieved when I finally make it home after a gruesome day at school. I was tense the entire time, even after Alistair’s class. I hate how he has so much power over me and we’re not even together.

  I take a long shower, hoping the hot jets will relax me, but I can’t get him out of my head. And when my soapy fingers brush my clit, I let out a moan as I imagine Alistair’s tongue there. I’m turned on as hell, but instead of finding release, I finish the shower abruptly and get out. I will not masturbate while thinking about him.

  Dressed in comfy clothes, I lounge on my couch and check my emails, determined to forget him. But it seems fate doesn’t want me to extract Alistair from my mind. Sitting at the top of my inbox is an email from him.

  For fuck’s sake.

  The subject line says “Film Festival,” and I guess he wants to tell me about the archives task I volunteered for. With a deep breath, I click on it. The message is short and to the point. He’s asking me if I can work on my assignment later today. It’s not that hard. All I have to do is sort out a shipment of boxes that arrived for the festival. DuBose’s storage unit is in the school’s basement.

  I send a quick message back saying I can be there at the time he specified and then stare at the screen without moving for a good half hour, waiting for a reply that never comes through. With a huff, I close my laptop and force myself off the couch. Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize I’ll be horribly late if I don’t get moving.

  If I’m going to be shuffling boxes and dealing with dusty things, I have to dress for it. I grab the oldest pair of boyfriend jeans I own, pairing them with comfy sneakers and an oversized flannel shirt. My hair looks like crap today, so I just pull it back in a messy bun. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. But before I head out the door, I apply some cherry-flavored lip gloss; Bisnonna always used to say the day she left the house looking like shit, that would be the day she would bump into all her acquaintances.

  Not feeling like walking from the residence hall to school, I take the bicycle I bought my first week. The air is cool as I ride my bike as fast as I can, loving the sensation of the wind blowing over my skin, though the trip is short—I’m not even winded or sweaty. I have to do this more often.

  At this hour, the atrium in the school building is deserted. It’s past six, and most of the students are long gone. I keep walking down the main hallway until I see the sign to the basement.

  The air gets cooler with each step I take downstairs. And here I thought I would be hot wearing the flannel shirt. To my right, there’s a reception desk, but the receptionist is gone for the day too. Alistair only told me to be here at quarter past six. I figured there would be someone to show me what to do.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  A door opens down the hallway behind me. I turn and find Alistair there. My stomach bottoms out at the same time a fluttering sensation spreads across my chest.

  Dio Santo. Am I supposed to work with him?

  “Hi,” he says.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurt, frozen to the spot.

  “The school doesn’t allow students in the archives unsupervised.”

  His expression is serious. I gather he’s not happy about this situation either.

  I finally force my legs to walk in his direction, not looking at him when he moves out of the way to let me inside the room. When the door closes with a resounding click, a shiver runs down my spine. I’m alone with Alistair again, and my body and mind are waging war with one another.

  This place looks more like a library than a storage unit. I glance around, noting the black containers pushed against a wall. Alistair walks around me and drags one of them next to a table. My eyes immediately zero in on the bulging of his biceps, on the expanse of his wide back, and the yearning spreads from my chest to between my legs. My core is throbbing, anticipating something that won’t happen.

  I close my eyes for a moment. Focus on the work, Chiara. And remember, you’re still mad at him.

  “What exactly am I supposed to do?”

  “These came from Italy. We need to sort them out and store them properly until the festival.”

  I walk over but make sure I’m not standing too close to him. He begins to pull items from the box, laying them on the table. I grab a long cylindrical container, popping the lid open. I’m about to stick my hand inside when Alistair stops me, touching my wrists with the tips of his fingers. The simple contact sends a zing up my limb and turns the low burning in the pit of my stomach into a raging fire. How can his touch be so incendiary?

  “Wait, you need to put on these nitrile gloves. You don’t want to leave your fingerprints behind.”

  I don’t offer a reply because I’ve lost the ability to speak, too busy trying to control my erratic heartbeat. I set the cylinder back on the table and put on the gloves. Then with care, I remove the poster from inside. I don’t recognize the movie—I’m not a movie buff—but considering the artwork, I’d say it’s from the fifties. The thick paper is bright and crisp though.

  “This isn’t an original, is it?” I ask.

  “No. As a matter of fact, none of the materials are originals. Even the movie reels they sent are copies. We should consider ourselves lucky we got them.”

  I glance at the storage shelves on my left. “What else do we have stored here?”

  “Only student work. Most studios don’t keep their archives in California but rather send them out of state to high-tech storage facilities.”

  “This place is pretty clean. I don’t know why that idiot was complaining about dust.”

  Alistair makes a strange noise in the back of his throat. “He wanted your assignment and thought he was entitled to it. There’s always a student who’s like that.”

  “Well, he can suck it.”

  I roll the poster again to put it back in its case.

  “I tried to find someone else to be here in my place,” he says out of the blue, making my spine go taut.

  “It’s fine, Alistair. I’m over the shock of finding out the truth about you. I’ve moved on.”

  “You have?” The surprise in his voice makes me look at him.

  I can’t read the emotion shining in his eyes. Is he relieved or upset?

  “Of course. You don’t have to worry about me making a scene.”

  He shake
s his head and pulls his gaze away. “That wasn’t what I was worried about.”

  I open my mouth to demand he elaborate further but decide not to. Better not to open that can of worms.

  “What else is there in that box?” I ask instead.

  Alistair pulls out a box with a label that says “Sogni di fiori e nuvole, regista Giulio Bertollini.”

  “Holy shit. Is that Giulio’s newest movie?”

  “I believe so.”

  Alistair opens the box, revealing a reel of film inside.

  “Ah, man, it’s not digital? I’d love to watch it,” I say.

  “We have a projector here. If we finish unpacking and storing in the next hour, we could watch it.”

  I whip my face toward him once more, but he’s not looking at me. He’s busy taking more items out of the box.

  Did he just suggest we watch a movie together? Maybe now that I told him I’ve moved on, he’s no longer concerned about our summer fling. Then why the hell did he kiss me in his office and keep throwing heated glances my way during the volunteers’ meeting? He seems pretty unfazed right now while I’m here freaking out.

  Get your act together, Chiara. You told him you’ve moved on. He doesn’t have anything to worry about any longer.

  The knowledge feels like a dagger twisting in my heart, but I force myself to ignore the pain. It seems I’ll be forever fated to live in this state of agony. First pining for Pietro, now Alistair. It makes me doubt my own feelings. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment and I only want what I can’t have.

  The idea that I’m not really in love with Alistair makes it easier for me to carry out the task. My heart is still heavy, but now my brain is in control. Every time there’s a lurch in my chest, I start to chant silently, I’m not in love. I’m not in love.

  Alistair and I keep the conversation to a minimum, and before I know it, all the containers are empty and things are stored. I blow a wisp of hair off my face as I look at the clock mounted on the wall. It’s only seven thirty.

  “That’s it?” I ask.