Homebound

by Kata Čuić

  A chorus of boos lands square on my shoulders, and yet Chester remains, leaning against my desk.

  If he has study hall this period, then I guess there’s no reason to kick him out. At least if he’s here with me, he won’t be getting into trouble in the halls. He’s not holding any other envelopes to be delivered.

  I pick up the first envelope and read the name aloud. “Leroy! What is soma?”

  He looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. After several minutes, his expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t know even though I literally just read that chapter. Sadly, I can’t force them to pay attention even though I’ve rearranged my entire curriculum to ensure they’re receiving the material.

  I file his envelope at the back of the stack. “Report to me tomorrow morning during homeroom with the right answer, and you can have your envelope.”

  “That’s not fair!” he whines.

  “Life isn’t always fair, Mr. Jones. That doesn’t mean we should give up. Re-read the chapters tonight at home, and you’ll find what you need to know.” I pick up the next envelope. “Melody, how much shorter is Bernard Marx than the standard alpha height?”

  She tips her head in thought then brightens before she calls out, “Eight centimeters!”

  I gesture for her to come forward to collect her envelope, grateful for her answer. I’m not even asking difficult questions that require anything more than memory at this point.

  By the time I’m locking envelopes in my top desk drawer, only about half the recipients have earned their reward. Already, whispers are carrying, plans to help each other cheat floating to my ears. I smother a grin. I don’t consider group studying to be cheating at all, and this off-the-cuff motivation is working better than I expected. I’ll just have to think of a way to carry this momentum through the spring semester.

  “Miss Wheeler?” A young lady in the middle of the room raises her hand and waits for me to nod her permission to speak. “We ain’t outta time yet. Ain’t ya gonna ask us more questions?”

  “I don’t have any more questions to ask.”

  She gestures toward the stack of envelopes sitting on my desk. “Who are them for, then?”

  Chester grins. “Them’s for Miss Wheeler.”

  Oohs and aahs pink my cheeks.

  “Miss Wheeler’s done got herself a secret admirer!”

  “Read ‘em to us, Miss Wheeler! Might be it’ll give us some good ideas to use!”

  “Yeah! We wanna know what they say!”

  “If I write ya one, can I get extra credit?”

  I file that idea away for next semester even as I prepare to disappoint them. I know full well the identity of my secret Santa, and some of his actionable promises are downright filthy. Too bad we’re grown adults with the responsibilities of full-time employment and a little girl who takes up all our free time. Those promises of pleasure are going to, sadly, remain words on paper.

  Another knock at my classroom door distracts the kids from certain mutiny.

  Jesse strides into the room, holding a large box. “Delivery for Miss Wheeler.”

  Everyone cranes their necks as he places the large box on top of my desk.

  “Well? Ain’t ya gonna open it?” Jesse prompts.

  “Mr. Yates…I didn’t order anything.” Certainly nothing I would have shipped here instead of to home.

  “Ooh!” a girl shouts. “Your Secret Santa done got ya an actual gift!”

  Jesse perches on the edge of my desk, his knee brushing against my thigh where I sit. He tips his head toward the box with a small smile. “That sounds downright scandalous. Go on. Open it.”

  I do his bidding. The students surely hear my gasp when I find books upon books. Enough for every student to have their own copy for our next three novels.

  I glance up to find him smiling at me. “How much did this cost?”

  He tips his head down, his voice low. “I can expense that. Some students are auditory learners, but the bulk of ‘em are visual. They’ll understand the material better if they can read along with ya.”

  “Mr. Yates! Miss Wheeler won’t give us our envelopes ‘less we answer her questions right, and she’s holdin’ our property hostage in her desk drawer!”

  Jesse raises his eyebrows at me, impressed. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” I settle myself in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “They have the opportunity to get them first thing in the morning if they re-read the assignment tonight and find the answers I asked for.”

  Jesse pivots his gaze toward the students. “Y’all reckon that’s fair?”

  “No!” they shout.

  He chuckles. The sound of it raises the hair on the back of my neck. “Ya reckon we should even the odds?”

  “Yeah!”

  Jesse picks up the stack of envelopes then glances at Chester. “I done told ya to make sure she got five of ‘em. Where’d the rest come from?”

  At least now I understand Chester’s continued presence here.

  He shrugs. “I dunno, Mr. Yates. They was in the box.”

  Jesse rifles through the stack of envelopes, his brow pulling low. He mumbles, “What chapter are ya on?”

  “Six,” I inform him.

  “All right,” Jesse announces loud enough for the entire class to hear. “Miss Wheeler, for the privilege of an envelope, why are Bernard Marx and Helmholtz Watson friends? What makes ‘em see eye to eye? How are they more alike than they are different?”

  The amount of knowledge he stores in his brain at any given time turns me on more than I should be in such a setting. I appreciate the follow-up questions that would make the abstract concept more concrete for my students, but my face burns with indignation over being put on the spot like this and him challenging my authority to run my classroom the way I see fit.

  His smile grows as he waits out my stubbornness. “Y’all reckon I should read aloud one of these here letters for every answer she refuses to give or gets wrong?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  “Watch it,” Jesse admonishes even as he breaks the seal on the first envelope. He clears his throat before reading the intended motivation to get me to play along. “I will love ya all my days.”

  Most of the girls in the class sigh, hearts in their eyes as they swoon. It’s not just the words but the man reading them. Standing a head taller than most of their male classmates, broader than I ever could have imagined him way back when, and still sticking out like a sore thumb in a tailored suit, Principal Jesse Yates has captured the hearts of many of our female students much more easily than he captured mine.

  Not that he hasn’t been putting forth his finest effort to recapture me since Thanksgiving.

  “Now, Miss Wheeler. Ya can either answer the original question, or I can read another of these here private letters to the whole class.”

  I gesture for him to get on with it. That one wasn’t so bad, but I know for a fact this little power struggle is going to backfire on him eventually.

  The students cheer Jesse on as he breaks another seal. Anticipation blankets the room as he reads silently. His eyes dart to the top of the letter, then he rereads it two more times.

  He glances up at Chester again. “Ya said most of these were in the box?”

  “Yessir,” Chester nods.

  “Well.” Jesse heaves a deep breath. “It’s good writin’. I’ll give him that.”

  I snatch the letter out of Jesse’s hand. As I’ve come to expect, it’s the purest poetry about the shape of my lips and the hunger in his gaze. He’s tempted to gorge on a single feast but chooses to nibble away at me for a lifetime.

  “What’s it say, Mr. Yates?”

  I grin as Jesse obviously struggles for an answer. “Yes, Mr. Yates,” I prod. “What does it say? It’s not just good writing, it’s par excellence. I’d hate for the entire class to miss out on enjoying such raw, pure talent.”

  Jesse gives me the look then takes back the letter, clearing his
throat before he reads the poem in its entirety.

  The ladies are smitten. The boys glance around for peer support, but it’s obvious some of them are itching to take notes.

  “Why, Mr. Yates,” I croon. “That is positively scandalous.”

  “I didn’t write this, Nora,” he grumbles.

  I rip the letter out of his hand and re-read it, too. If anyone in town would know what a phenomenal poet sounds like, it’s me. Jesse melted my heart with his fine words many times on many nights. “You didn’t write this?”

  Melody gasps. “Mr. Yates! You’re Miss Wheeler’s admirer?”

  There’s a discordance of disappointment mingled with excitement from the students.

  “Not the only one apparently,” Jesse mutters.

  I pull another envelope from the stack and explain how Bernard and Helmholtz find a kinship in their feeling of not belonging to the greater World State society. How, even though their differences couldn’t be more opposite, they still bond over their shared sense of not fitting in anywhere else.

  Jesse nods and glances at the students to see if they’re catching on to our examples of how to answer the questions rather than just anticipating more juicy material to repurpose for their own romances. Not that this novel isn’t salacious enough in its own right.

  I wave the third envelope in the air, a red flag in front of an anxious bull. “Do you have another question for me, Mr. Yates?”

  We go back and forth several times over discussion points about the deeper nuances of the novel. Jesse steers the conversation toward the hedonistic aspects of the highly sexualized society, and how easy pleasure doesn’t satisfy the protagonists.

  If he can’t have his way on sexual education classes, he’ll fill in the gaps wherever he can. Much like the free condoms in the restrooms, however, his plan backfires as the emotional poems outnumber his simple promises, five to one. Not all of them are fitting to read aloud.

  By the time the bell rings and the students eagerly depart from their temporary entertainment, Jesse’s shoulders slump beneath an invisible weight.

  He hands over the last envelope. “I don’t reckon this’ll get your blood pumpin' the way the others did.”

  I read it aloud to an empty classroom. “You might be a wonderful mother, but you’re still a woman. I’ll romance you the way you deserve.”

  I glance up to find him watching me with more than a little apprehension clouding his beautiful eyes. “That sounds scandalous, too,” I whisper. “What did you have in mind?”

  He twists his mouth to the side, further disappointment marring his handsome features. “Your mama and daddy agreed to mind Anne for the evenin’. Figured we could get some Christmas shoppin’ done.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his disgruntled tone. “That is perfectly romantic, Jess. You can’t imagine how difficult a task that’s been for me the past four years. Sign me up.”

  He rises from my desk with a deep sigh. “I’ll never understand why ya love a dumb hillbilly like me.”

  I tap the box of books still resting on my desk. “I learned a long time ago that empty finery doesn’t matter as much as knowing what’s truly in someone’s heart.”

  He holds my coat out for me to slip into then brushes his lips across mine, giving me only the barest taste of himself at our place of employment. “Ya always been in my heart, Nora. Even if I wasn’t physically present in your life the past few years, ya were always the drivin’ force in mine. Anne and ya are the center of the universe, and I’m just a far-off satellite, caught in your greater orbit.”

  “You can see why I thought you were the author of those poems.”

  He brings my hand to his lips. “I’m gonna find out who that kid is and give him some very detailed lessons about territorial rights.”

  Six Years Ago

  “Truth,” I choose.

  Jesse pouts like I’ve never seen before, jutting out his kiss-swollen bottom lip and reminding me of the boy who used to drive me plumb crazy. He was the one who suggested this little game, so he has no reason to sulk. I never knew he could be so much fun with a few drinks in him. He’s probably so sour because our dares have resulted in hours of pleasure so far. We’re still learning new things together.

  “Fine.” He kisses my bare stomach and struggles to hoist himself up to balance on his arm. His expression sobers. “Why do ya talk the way ya do now? If I wasn’t so familiar with your body, I’d think ya a complete stranger.”

  I bite my lip until he pulls it from the clutches of my teeth, prompting me to give the honest answer I chose. “My professors told me my mountain dialect would make me sound stupid to my students when I start my teaching practicum next semester. I’ve been working with a friend who’s a communications major to smooth out my accent.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” He falls into a heap beside me in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles.

  I roll my head to the side to gaze at him. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  “I was sore worried ya was gonna say your sorority sisters made fun of the way ya talk, so ya changed to fit in with ‘em better.”

  It’s my turn to balance precariously on my arm to gaze down at him. “Oh. Like ya enjoy drinkin’ now to fit in with your fraternity brothers?”

  He smiles stupidly at me. “It’s mighty nice to fit in for a change. I reckon I like it more than I expected I would.”

  The buzzing in my veins fades away. “How else ya fittin’ in?”

  The fraternities on my campus are notorious for their womanizing ways. That’s why my sorority sisters are so educated about how to please men. It’s a tough competition to gain a man’s favor for even a single night. My faithfulness to Jesse is one of the biggest differences I cling to from the other girls. Half of them are convinced he’s a figment of my imagination since they’ve never met him. They can’t imagine a man who loves the way he does isn’t a mythical creature.

  He pulls me down to his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t be mad at me none, darlin’. It’s just a break from workin’ so hard. I’m either studyin’ for my own exams or tutorin’ others for theirs to earn a little money. Friday nights is the only time I let myself live a little. Idle hands might be the devil’s plaything, but all work and no play makes Jesse a dull boy.”

  He laughs again.

  He’s the only one.

  “I ain’t drunk enough not to appreciate your jealous streak though.” He squeezes me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “That’s another thing I didn’t know I’d enjoy so much ‘til I experienced it for myself.”

  I wrap my arms around his chest and hug with all my might, hyper aware of how his bare skin feels beneath mine, the way his breath moves in and out in an even, soothing rhythm, his scent that makes my mouth water. The last few breaks feels like Jesse’s slowly slipping away from me. I might be working hard to talk more eloquently, but he’s the one who’s changing. I see it a little more the longer we go between seeing each other.

  He yawns, loud and long. The time for playing games is coming to an end. “I ain’t never had friends before. It’s right nice to have someone to talk to about everythin’ and nothin’ at all. They’re hillbillies like me—most of ‘em—but they’re book smart, too. I don’t feel so alone no more.”

  My tears pool on his chest, escaping his notice. “Guess ya don’t need no dumb hillbilly woman to be your best friend no more then.”

  His chest rumbles beneath me with another round of laughter. “It’s right funny the way ya switch your speech like changin’ clothes.”

  “Sometimes I forget and slip back into it.” I sniffle. “Jess?”

  “Yeah, darlin’?” He yawns again.

  “If you ever feel like you don’t fit in anywhere, I promise you’ll always fit with me.”

  He chuckles, but his words slur as slumber pulls him further away. “Mmm. Love fittin’ inside ya.”

  That ain’t the same thing, but I’m starting to think it’s the only th
ing we have in common anymore.

  Don’t Do in the Dark What You Don’t Want Brought into the Light

  Why does snow fall so silently? A rainstorm would hide my stomach snarling like an orc much better.

  Jesse raises his eyebrows. “Reckon I need to feed ya soon. I’m startin’ to worry about ya attackin’ me.”

  “Naw. I prefer my meat cooked not frozen.”

  He laughs, a cloud of steam hiding his face from view for a few moments. “I can’t do nothin’ right by ya these days. You’re starvin’; we ain’t got nearly half our list checked off, and I done picked the coldest evenin’ so far for our shoppin’.”

  “It was colder in Chicago, actually.” I shove my gloved hands deeper into my coat pockets. “There’s a reason they call it the windy city, and let me tell you, that wind cuts straight to the bone.”

  Jesse stops walking and turns to face me. Even bundled up in a puffy parka, a beanie covering his thick hair, and a scarf wound multiple times around his neck, passersby give him a second glance. He can’t blend into the shadows to hide from his perceived shame anymore. He’s too handsome to go unnoticed. “Do ya miss it? The lights, the sounds, the people?” He grimaces. “The much bigger stores with better selections?”

  We’ve mostly struck out on Anne’s Christmas wish list. Even pooling together our funds, we simply can’t find what she’s asking for in such a small town. We’re running out of time to either order online or make a trip to a nearby city and hope the shelves aren’t already cleaned out.

  “I couldn’t afford to shop in those kinds of stores,” I admit. “The lights were beautiful, but the apartments were expensive. It’s a good thing I never got used to the constant noise even at night because Anne wasn’t the best sleeper for the first few years. I miss Liz, but she’s engaged now. Even if I hadn’t had a knife pulled on me, we still would have had to come home when she eventually moved in with her fiancé because I would never ask her to put her life and her dreams on hold for me. I was barely scraping by even with her help. There’s no way I could have done it totally alone.”