by L. B. Dunbar
The crooked smile grows, one side higher than the other as if he’s teasing me in some manner.
“How did you get in here again?” I ask, suddenly warm, and I tug at my collar. I’m wearing a light dress for the early September temperature, but I’m overheating in it.
“I’m not going to answer that question,” he states. “But I’d like to know if I may be dismissed from class?” He winks at me—actually winks.
“You aren’t a student,” I remind him, which is obvious, and now I look even more foolish than I already have.
“No, but if I were, I’d want you to teach me a lesson or two,” he says, his voice dropping as he steps closer to me.
More heat radiates from him—or maybe it’s just coming off me—and I’m breaking into a sweat with his proximity. It’s not so much my earlier reaction at him touching me, but more so his general nearness. So close.
Would you like him to be closer? The thought startles me.
“I-I’m certain there’s nothing I could ever teach you,” I stammer. My voice comes out in a strained whisper. Where is this quietness coming from? Why is he unsettling me?
“Oh, pretty lady, the ways you could instruct me are numerous.”
My mouth falls open, and with that, his smile turns full wattage. Curved lips. White teeth. Deeper dimple. With a sexily sinister gleam to his eyes, he spins, like a pivot in basketball, and slips through the open door behind me.
I’d like to say I followed him, but I needed a moment to gather my wits. I’d just been schooled by a very hot man stealing a pink notebook from a classroom. And I never even asked him who his sister is.
+ + +
Sitting on my bed later that evening, I’m distracted for the hundredth time from reading through the essays. We hit the ground running with papers due on the students’ summer reading. It’s mainly a way to assess their writing ability, and I’ve been staring at the same one for ten minutes. She didn’t do the assignment. Just wrote her name on the top of the paper and left the rest of the page blank.
What is this? I question again.
Who was he? I answer because I can’t concentrate.
Was I overreacting a bit, thinking I’d call security? Probably. Then again, there was something in his eyes and the way he asked me not to do it that didn’t register until later. I can’t say he appeared afraid because if anything, he was the frightening one, but still, something in his tone was a plea for understanding.
Then there was his comment about colors. Green and brown. Drab and dark. What were his words about eyes and choosing him? I look up and into the mirror across my room, catching my own reflection.
It’s the prettiest color combination I’ve ever seen.
Wait. After his comment about color, was he quoting . . . Shakespeare?
What a flirt. What a tease, actually, because he couldn’t have been flirting with me. He had to have been mocking me.
I shake my head and turn in the direction of the house next door. It’s annoying that my neighbor never pulls down his shade. Tonight, he’s walking around with only a towel wrapped around his waist. For some reason, I sit up straighter. My fingers shake as I slowly reach toward the lamp on my bedside table. The sharp click of the switch makes me jump even though I’m the one who turned it off, and a giggle escapes me. I don’t want to get caught doing what I’m doing, which is watching him.
I’ve been unable to get a clear view of his face from this distance. He’s been in profile every time I’ve seen him. My eyes are drawn to his sleek body, which I imagine is still damp from a shower, hence the towel at his waist. I round his bare shoulders and slip down his firm chest. His muscles have muscles, and it’s almost unfair how fit he looks even from a distance. His head tilts, and something about the movement seems familiar, but I can’t place it. He rubs a hand back and forth over his short, dark head of hair, shaking out the excess water, and I almost feel the spray of it, like kisses against my skin. I exhale with the notion.
I shouldn’t be watching him.
Only, my eyes refuse to pull away. He’s pacing around the room, and then he closes his door, pausing a moment near it. He crosses back to the window, and I lean back as if he can see me, which is ridiculous. My room is dark. I swallow as I watch him loosen the towel, and then it disappears as if it fell to the floor. One arm reaches up for the window frame, and his body turns in profile, as if that arm holds him upright and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. His other hand comes to the top of his legs.
Is he . . . he isn’t . . . is he?
I watch as his arm moves forward and back, tugging at something I can’t quite make out but can imagine. I envision it matching the rest of his body—long and lean and muscular. His arm moves faster. His head tips forward. His hips thrust a bit, and heat pools between my thighs.
Oh, God. I shouldn’t watch, but I do, and my fingers slip between my legs, blindly reaching for a spot that hasn’t been touched in so long. I dip into my own underwear, eyes glued to his movements. The clench of his backside. The tug of his hand. The tilt of his lower body. My eyes close as I picture him doing it all before me, moving like that inside me, and then I lose control. The rush is fast and too brief and sadly unfamiliar. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever.
I sheepishly look over at the neighbor as if he can see me, see what I’ve done.
He stills.
Head back. Arm stationary. Opposite hand banging on the window’s edge.
Did he . . . he had to have . . . and does he know I saw him?
As I continue to stare toward his room, he pulls down the shade for the first time since I’ve looked over at his window, and I take it as a signal.
He knows I watched him.
I wonder if he liked it.
Lesson 6
There are no stupid questions.
[Leon]
How do I get myself into these predicaments?
Oh wait, I know this answer. Because you never learn, Leon.
First, Lys had a total meltdown because she’d forgotten some notebook, and when I told her to just write her assignment on another sheet of paper and hand in whatever it was the next day with an explanation, she told me she couldn’t. It had to be in her journal. I hate that I understand her plea because I like to keep all my sketches and drawings in one book and not necessarily on separate pieces of paper. So I broke into the school, reliving my younger years, and ran into the beautiful chick from the alley. I wonder if she’s the teacher-wife of Arnie’s friend, remembering he said her name was Tricia Walker, as in possibly the Tricia that Trent dude cornered.
It would explain her flinch. She didn’t appreciate my hands on her, and I wonder if he’d put his hands on her in a way she didn’t want. The hiss to her voice. The narrowing of her eyes. Those beautiful eyes . . . they were on fire, but I recognized that look. Fear flared behind the fierceness.
I’ll kill him.
No, you wouldn’t, my head warns, overruling my gut reaction. You’ve already been in the slammer, and you are not going back, remember?
Right.
Next, I’m standing in my room merging Tricia’s image with my mystery next-door neighbor and decide to play a little game with her, wondering if she’s watching me. I clench my dick in one fist and jerk until I can’t take the pressure. It isn’t as good as having female hands around me or better yet, soft, sweet, cherry-red lips like hers, but the fantasy works well enough that I go off with a bang.
I had to bite my cheek to contain my groan and hope Lys didn’t hear me in the next room. I can’t get off in the bathroom anymore as I had to instill rules about the shower length and bathroom hogging. Not to mention, there’s hardly any warm water by the time I get in there, and a cold shower defeats the purpose.
Glancing at the lowered window shade across the drive, I wonder if she enjoyed the show.
Maybe she didn’t even watch, you idiot.
Only I’d felt eyes on me, like someone had been watching, and it wasn’t th
e sense of someone staking me out for a hit but actually observing me with interest. Maybe curiosity. Does my neighbor want to touch me?
It’s a ridiculous thought.
I haven’t even met her. She leaves each morning after me and arrives back to her house near dark. This weekend will mark a week, and I figure it would be nice to meet her just once. After the show you just gave her, she might not want to look at you, my head warns. After the show I just performed, I’m hoping she wants to meet me even more.
+ + +
I don’t have too much time to ponder my neighbor when a few nights later the hot water heater seems to be on the outs. I’ve worked on mechanical equipment, and this piece of shit is just done. I call the landlord first, who refers me to a business called QuickFix. They’re going to take one look at the old thing and tell me what I already know. It needs to be replaced.
To my surprise, Ponytail Guy is at my door when I open it.
“Jess Carter,” he introduces himself, entering the house with that bandana around his forehead. He’d never get away with wearing colors like that where I’m from. He’d be mistaken for what he isn’t and possibly shot dead. The thought makes me shiver.
“I remember,” I state, shaking his hand. “From the alley.”
He does a double take of my outfit, which happens to be basketball shorts and a tee. “That was you?”
“Yeah.” I reach for the back of my neck and scratch. Attire can change the perception of a man, and I suppose I look more athletic than I do in my normal uniform of intense motorcycle black or wearing my mechanic overalls.
I explain the hot water heater situation, telling him I already know the thing is a bust, but he does his job and confirms it with one look.
“Need a place to shower tonight?”
I shake my head. My sisters can either suffer through cold water or hold out until tomorrow.
“Okay, let me contact Mrs. Drummond and give her the good news.” He smirks as he says it. An argument follows as he speaks to her on his cell phone. I’m sensing she doesn’t want to pay to replace a broken appliance, but I don’t have money for a hot water heater, and I’m not investing in a house that’s not my own.
A house. I’ll never make that kind of investment. I don’t even know where I’d settle. I figure I’ll always be moving around, especially once I give Lena and Lys back to my parents. I can’t stay in one place too long. It feels too risky.
“We can deliver it tomorrow, although it will probably be my brother Tom if that’s okay?” Jess addresses me once he finishes the call. He explains how he and his brother have a few businesses. QuickFix is just what the name entails—quick fixes in a home.
“Sure.”
Jess makes his way to my front door, and I follow, struggling with myself.
Don’t ask him.
Don’t get involved.
You don’t want to know.
“So, um . . . how’s that woman from the other night? Tricia, was it?” Real smooth there, Leon, but whatever.
Jess stops and turns back to me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, that guy Trent was pretty intense, and she seemed afraid of him. She okay?”
His jaw clenches as if he’s considering something.
“Yeah, she’ll be okay. He’s a dick. We just avoid him.” It isn’t really an answer, and it appears she can’t avoid him. He’s like a lost dog following after his favorite bone.
“She safe?” Back off, my head warns, especially when his eyes narrow.
“You seem pretty interested in my sister.”
Whoa. Sister?
“No, man. Just . . . it was a heated moment. Wanted to be sure she was cool.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah, cool.”
Not smooth, Leon. Not smooth at all. “So tomorrow. Water heater. What time do you expect it because I need to work?”
“Where do you work?”
“Dixon’s.”
“His restoration place or the garage?”
“Garage, but I’m hoping to move up. I have more skill than just oil changes.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly explaining myself. Maybe I want to sound better than I am after sniffing around a place I shouldn’t be sniffing.
His sister.
“I’ve known Dixon for a bit. Want me to talk to him?”
My head tilts, wondering what his agenda would be if he did. What’s in it for him?
“Nah. I’m willing to prove myself.” It’s true. I’m looking to get wherever I’m going honestly, for once. I have a sketchbook of drawings ready to show off my talent once I’m ready.
“Okay. We can set up to meet Mrs. Drummond here. She’ll want to supervise Tom anyway, and that could take hours. Let him handle her. You okay with that?”
“Got nothing to steal here,” I say, scanning the place, knowing it isn’t great, but it’s still space. Jess quizzically looks at me and then nods once before helping himself to the door.
I call out my thanks before closing the door after him, leaning against the wood barrier and tipping my head back.
Why was I asking questions?
I don’t need any answers. I don’t want to be involved.
Lesson 7
Dialogue involves two people talking.
[Tricia]
“Hey, Tricia.” Levi’s changing voice startles me one afternoon. It’s the second week of school, and his dedication to seeing me every day hasn’t waned. He’s such a good kid despite the rest of his family. He’s the only one I miss, and I’ve been worried about him.
“Hey, baby,” I address him. His cheeks pink, and I bite my lip. Old habits will die hard when it comes to him, and I have two issues. The first one is that he’s fourteen and a freshman in high school and calling him baby might embarrass him. Secondly, while he’s my brother-in-law—future ex-brother-in-law—I’m always going to consider him partially mine. However, Trent was very clear about it. Levi was not my child, nor my sibling. After being abandoned by his mother, Trent took over the responsibility of raising his younger brother, who is sixteen years younger than him. Their father is mostly incapacitated each day from excessive drinking, so caring for Levi might be the only decent thing Trent ever did. It’s one reason I loved him in the beginning. He was devoted to his kid brother. Of course, ten years of Levi’s upbringing fell partially on my shoulders, but I didn’t begrudge it. It was a reason I wanted children of our own. It was also a reason Trent didn’t. He felt he’d already raised a child.
“You doing okay so far this year?” I ask him as I straighten the desks in my room before the lunch break. Levi wants to make the basketball team, and he needs to keep his grades up to do so. Thankfully, he’s conscious of his studies, and he knows I’ll tutor him if he needs me.
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. The softness in his voice is similar to the way he sounds in the moments after Trent takes something out on Levi or insults him in some way. I never liked how Trent spoke to his younger brother, and we had our fair share of arguments about it. Sometimes, the result was Trent’s biting tongue lashing out at me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, pausing with my hands still on a student’s desk.
“How’s your new house?” he questions, knowing I moved out of my mother’s home where I lived most of the summer. Levi’s old enough to understand. His brother wasn’t kind to me, and I needed to leave for my own self-preservation. It killed me not to suggest Levi leave with me. Technically, with his father still alive and present in their home, Levi wouldn’t be able to explain running off to live with me. It’s a small town. Everyone knows Robert Walker’s condition. It’s one of those things where people help when they can and hold their breaths, wishing for the best for Levi. I hate the feeling.
“It’s great,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like I’m gloating. The place isn’t great, but it will be one day.
“Can I come see it sometime?” His sheepish question pokes at my chest.
“You can visit me anytime,” I say, but Levi is too you
ng to legally drive even though he already knows how to steer a vehicle. A bigger issue is I don’t want Trent giving Levi a ride to my place. I don’t want him anywhere near it. It’s a small town, and I’ve no doubt he already knows where I live. Some nights I feel like someone’s watching me, and it’s more than the neighbor in his window across my drive. It’s a presence I sense through my front window or at the back door. I hate the sensation.
Levi shrugs before he speaks. “Maybe this weekend?” Weekends are the worst for Levi because he’s home more than normal and so is his father. With Trent considered working from home—and I use the term loosely—Saturdays and Sundays are not always pleasant days for Levi. It’s too much family togetherness, which Levi usually avoids by going to his friends’ homes.
“Sure, baby.” I wince. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to call you baby since you’re a strapping young man of fourteen.”
Levi wrinkles his face. “How about you keep calling me baby and never use strapping young man with me again?”
I chuckle. “Deal. So, Saturday?” I hesitate. I don’t want to go to the house to pick up Levi because I don’t want to be anywhere near the Walker property.
“Perfect.” His adolescent face breaks into a grin. His rounded, little-boy features are changing into the more defined edges and angles of a young man. Soon he’ll be sporting more hair on his jaw and that voice will drop deeper. He’s going to be a looker as he ages. I only hope he won’t be a heartbreaker like his brother. “And don’t worry, I can find a ride to your place.”
He gives me another wide smile. “I gotta get to lunch,” he adds, excusing himself from the room. It’s only minutes later I realize he didn’t ask me where I live, and I shiver.
+ + +
Since the start of school, I have had my students write in a journal. Each day, they must respond to a prompt. I assure students the journal is only a conversation between them as an individual and myself unless I have concerns of self-harm or harm to others. I don’t read responses every day, but I’m a little worried about my new student, Amaryllis Ramirez. She’s quiet, shy, and keeps to herself, which caught my attention and prompted me to read through her notebook.