“I adore it.”
I’m not lying. I love it all. I love the candles and the necklace and his lips and his arms and being his. I smile, and I smile with my whole entire heart, in a way that I don’t think I have ever smiled before.
I don’t let myself think about how he originally bought the necklace for anyone else.
“Will you think of me whenever you wear it?”
I nod.
“I’m so sorry I made you feel insecure,” he whispers.
Wait. Insecure? No one has ever—ever—called Riley Stone insecure.
I am not insecure.
I just have standards that do not involve whoever I am seeing high-fiving entire teams of girls who are doing cheers for him, that’s all.
But then Alex’s hands are on my back and his lips are on mine and I forget that maybe, just maybe, I’m a little insulted and I remember he has given me a necklace and we are us again and everything is going to be okay.
I know it is.
NINETEEN
Rules
Rules for dating your teacher:
• Don’t skip multiple cheerleading practices. This goes double when you are the head cheerleader.
• Don’t look at him any more than normal. Or less than normal. Don’t smile at him.
• Ace your homework.
• Don’t stab any of the girls who swoon over your teacher in the eye holes, no matter how tempting. This goes double for Thea Arnold.
He slipped a note in between the pages of my homework.
Life is better with you.
Tonight. I left my response beneath his grading binder when no one else was around.
We leave each other these little notes. We don’t sign them. We don’t write like ourselves. But we know who they’re from. No one else would send me notes the way he does.
I sneak to his house at night. On nights when I don’t have practice, I slip into my track tights and sneakers and walk over there, taking my time. My parents don’t even care that I’m gone. I’m a busy girl, after all. I always have this fund-raiser or that volunteer event or this mock trial event or that.
Or this forbidden love affair or that forbidden love affair.
Or just the one.
Tonight, Alex is reading me French poetry. He isn’t just paging through a book, though—he’s copied his favorites into a worn-out leather-bound notebook, and the pages are a little yellowed and the penciled entries are smudged, like he’s read through them a hundred times.
“You’re like someone out of a story,” I tell him, paging through the handwritten poetry. “You actually copied all these down?”
He nods. “It’s what I did to practice my French, actually. And I thought that they were nice.”
“They are nice,” I tell him, and he smiles at me.
I prop my head on my hand, elbow resting on the floor. “Read me another. A love poem.”
“A love poem? Are you trying to tell me something, Riley Stone?” He smiles at me over his notebook.
I roll over and look at him upside down. “Are you going to read me another pretty poem or not, Alex?”
He leans over and kisses me on the chin, then pages through his book.
“Aha! Here it is.”
I turn right side up. He’s pointing at a page with a corner folded down.
“It’s called ‘Les Roses de Saadi,’ ” he tells me. “It’s by this famous French poet—Marceline Desbordes-Valmore.”
J’ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;
Mais j’en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n’ont pu les contenir.
Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s’en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l’eau pour ne plus revenir;
La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est tout embaumée . . .
Respires-en sur moi l’odorant souvenir.
“Tell me what it’s about?” I ask. “Roses and the wind?”
“It’s love being roses. And the wind tossing them about. This girl brings roses to her love, but the sash she has tied them with splits and they blow to the sea, and they turn the waves red.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“It is,” he tells me.
“Why did you read me a sad love poem?”
He rolls on top of me and spreads little kisses along my neck. “So I can make you happy again.”
Alex kisses me on the mouth, hard, so I can feel his teeth, and I wrap my arms and legs around him. I want him, and I want all of him, and I want my clothes off and to be in his bed, but I know that’s not now. Not yet.
We’ve talked about it. A few weeks ago I hadn’t had a real kiss, and now I’m talking about sex. Real sex, and not the giggly way I talk about it with Neta and Kolbie, but with someone who cooks for me and gives me jewelry and reads me French poetry.
“Are you ready?” he asks me, looking into my eyes, and I know what he’s asking because his hand is on the button of my jeans.
I kiss him, hard, but then I turn and shake my head no into his shoulder. “Soon,” I promise, but I’m lying because this is big and I’m not ready. I want to be ready. But that’s a lot and that’s moving fast and there’s just a lot in this relationship that I haven’t really thought through.
I feel him smile against my mouth. “I’m going to wait for you, Riley Stone,” he says. “I promise. Do you know why?” His hip bones dig into mine, and I want him.
I do.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I am absolutely falling in love with you.”
I pull away and look into his eyes, but he’s just looking down at me. I feel the weight of the necklace on my throat. “Do you mean that?”
He nods and kisses me again. “More than anything, Riley.” He rolls off of me, and for a moment we’re just next to each other on the living room floor. “Pretty soon, you’re going to be eighteen. And you’ll have graduated. And do you know what that means?”
“What?” I ask.
He smiles and touches my hair. “We can be together everywhere. Not just in secret. You won’t have to sneak through the alley anymore. I can take you to the movies and to restaurants and visit you at school and you can sleep over and no one can say anything, ever.”
“And Jacqueline?” I ask.
And then I hold my breath.
It’s the first time I’ve ever mentioned Jacqueline.
Ever.
“I don’t think Jacqueline’s ever coming back. And if she does, we’re as good as over.” His voice is flat.
I want to ask him more, but the lack of emotion in his voice is strange. It excites me.
He’s mine.
Really mine.
I don’t think anyone in the history of the entire world has ever had a love like we have.
This is all going to work.
“Never leave me, okay, Riley?” Alex says. His tone is soft, and he tugs on a piece of my hair.
“I won’t,” I whisper. “It’s us, forever.” I put my hand on his heart, and he lifts my palm to his lips.
Things to Know About Riley Stone:
• Riley’s parents were chairs of several local charities. Family outings often consisted of Saturday evening volunteer events, where Riley made several contacts.
• Riley’s favorite charity is the Humane Society. However, Mr. and Mrs. Stone do not like the smell of the Humane Society kennels, so their daughter rarely had the opportunity to volunteer.
• Riley was never allowed to own a pet.
• Riley won several of her scholarships through very charitable organizations. Her entire college experience was paid off by the time she was a junior in high school, but she continued to apply for scholarships “for the experience.”
• And, of course, the prestige.
• In spite of Riley’s direction and planning, she has not yet chosen a maj
or or path in life. Options include the following:
+ Doctor
+ Diplomat
+ Business owner
+ Event planner
+ President
+ Fashion designer
+ YouTuber
+ Cheerleading coach/entrepreneur
TWENTY
Fine
You’re everything. Don’t forget.
The note has been slipped into my locker.
I leave my finished scholarship application on his desk. “Section twelve B,” I say. “I had a question.”
He opens the booklet.
Tonight?
I have written the note on a bright green Post-it.
“Actually, I think we’re all caught up, so nothing tonight.”
I step back from his desk, stunned. Caught up? What about the note? What about us?
He looks up, but his eyes travel past me, to the door. He shuts the scholarship booklet. “This looks good, Riley. Can you turn it in before next week? That’s the deadline.”
“Yes, Mr. Belrose.”
I turn around, and Mrs. Sanchez, the carpentry teacher, is standing in the doorway. “Alex! Will you and Jacqueline be coming to the faculty mixer next week? I heard she’s back in town! I just adore her. She’s so charming.”
Slow flames start in my stomach and climb to my heart, and for a moment, I hate Mrs. Sanchez a little, even though I’ve always admired her before, based on the fact that she’s dominating a male-dominated field. She’s this total grandmotherly type and looks like she could turn around and pull cookies out of the oven at any moment, but instead she teaches carpentry and shows high school students how to build things. Of course, I also heard she has an insane temper and almost got fired five years ago when she threw a hammer against the wall when someone questioned her knowledge of table saws, but maybe you get that way from years of systemic sexism.
“I’m not sure. I’ll ask,” Mr. Belrose says, but his voice sounds normal, not like he’s being torn apart inside like I currently am.
I force myself to calmly put my scholarship application in my backpack and walk to my locker, then into the bathroom near the stairwell on the first floor.
Slow.
Steady.
Calm.
I look in the mirror.
Jacqueline?
Back?
Not a big deal.
He’s going to get rid of her.
The only reason he was cold to me was because he didn’t want Mrs. Sanchez to see.
It’s all very clear, of course.
Calm.
I smile at myself in the mirror, but it looks wrong—like I’m peeling back my lips to get a peek at my teeth.
I try again.
No better.
Of course he wouldn’t want me to come over tonight. Of course. It all makes perfect sense, and I will deal with this calmly because this is what I got myself into, and I knew going into this that complicated was going to be an understatement.
I am very calmly sick in the toilet, and I wash my mouth out quickly in the sink before anyone catches me, then pop a stick of peppermint gum in my mouth.
Calmly.
Then I head to chem, which is a class I’m in with Kolbie. She’s my lab partner.
I sit down at the lab table, brushing my hair back behind my ears and setting out my notebook and pencils on the table. I like the lab, usually. It’s a change of pace from normal classes. I get to stand, move. The chemical smell of the classroom is strange and good and it makes me feel like sort of a mad scientist, in control of the whole world.
“Acid rain today, huh?” I say when Kolbie joins me. “Riveting stuff.”
She snorts and ties her hair back. “If it were anyone else talking, I’d know they were being sarcastic. But knowing you—”
I smile. Already it feels better than the ones I practiced in the mirror, but still not quite right.
“What’s wrong?” she demands. “I’m not pouring any acidy shit in here if you’re not on your game.” She puts on her safety goggles and makes an X motion with her fingers.
I keep my annoyance off my face. Of course I’m on my game. I’m always on my game. “I’m okay. I swear. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”
“Maybe you should calm down every once in a while. Try to relax, and not just with dumb parties. Do something a little more you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask suspiciously. What does Kolbie think is a little more me? Like, Science Club? Foreign Language Club? Smart People . . . Club?
“Like a book club,” she suggests, completely earnest. “Where you read for fun. Or maybe—dating. But, like, just casually.”
“Uh-huh.”
Kolbie starts inventorying the supplies Mr. Peters has left on our lab table and slides them across to me for double-checking. “pH strips—do you think this is enough? This box is almost empty.”
“We shouldn’t need that many if we don’t screw it up.”
“And we won’t. But anyway—do you remember how I told you I’d hook you up with an older guy?”
“Um, yes. I remember.”
“So Jamal is coming to visit this weekend. And he’s bringing his best friend since childhood, Sandeep. I have met him. He’s really, really cute, and he’s super nice. So anyway, I told Jamal that if you were down, we could maybe all go get dinner. Jamal really wants to try the Mexican place downtown if you’re into it.”
“You did that?”
“Yep.” She studies me. “I think we’re all good on supplies, don’t you?”
I realize I’ve been running my hands over everything, counting them out for the third time without meaning to. But everything’s here: the ammonia, the vinegar, the measuring tools. Everything.
“We’re good.” I know what I’m doing.
“And this weekend we’re good too, right? Unless you have another fund-raiser or scholarship acceptance speech to give?”
I pause.
I think of Alex. I think of his wife.
I think of the way he spoke to me in the classroom today.
I need to do this. I need to be sure I am being a normal high school kid the same way he is pretending to be a normal husband. Besides, maybe Sandeep will be really nice.
Or maybe Alex will notice he’s not my only option. He will notice I’m not pining away for him and that I am fine, just fine, just like always. Because I don’t make choices I can’t handle the ramifications of.
A sharp arrow of pain shoots through my heart. I try smiling again, and it feels strange and mean on my teeth. Weird how hard smiling has gotten lately.
“We’re good for this weekend,” I echo.
After all, I can always cancel if Alex leaves Jacqueline.
TWENTY-ONE
If
“You look super hot,” Neta says. “In fact, I think you should shop in my closet more often.” She twirls me in a formfitting red dress with a slightly flared skirt, and I smile. I actually feel pretty good about myself, too.
I try not to think about what Alex would say if he saw me. Would he like the dress? Would he think it was too much?
Kolbie and I are getting ready at Neta’s house, because she said she wanted to live vicariously through our dates and was super pissed that Kolbie had not lined up some college-guy action for her.
“Like you couldn’t get any without my help,” Kolbie sniffed as she put on her eyeliner.
“Which means I needed your help?” I say, a little offended. I’m putting on my makeup by myself. I’ve gotten a lot better at it in the past few weeks. Of course, I could always do basic makeup, but now I’m rocking the smoky eye.
“Yep,” Kolbie says.
“You don’t even hesitate, do you?” I grin.
And I let her get away with it. Because she doesn’t know better. And she can’t know better.
My own secret gives me a little bit of mean satisfaction.
Except this week, I have barely heard from Alex.
Once, in class
, I stayed a little late, and all he did was squeeze my hand and say, “Soon.” But other than that, it’s like we don’t even know each other anymore, except as a student and teacher.
My e-mail inbox has stayed empty, although I did send him one. A simple question mark.
?
And nothing else.
But I am not pathetic. I do not stalk. I’m not going to show him how much he’s hurting me.
After all, I’m fine.
I’m not hurt.
He said he was leaving his wife and that he didn’t mind that I wasn’t ready for sex, but it’s fine. It’s all fine.
And that’s why I’m still doing this double-date thing with Kolbie and Sandeep.
“Try this, Riley,” Neta said, thrusting a lipstick at me. “It’ll match perfectly with your dress. Very va-va-voom.”
“First of all, no one has actually said ‘va-va-voom’ since, like, the nineties. Secondly, I think that is just a little much for me. But thank you. The red dress is perfect, honestly.” I smooth it down over my body. It really is. Neta and I are sort of the same size—except she’s all curves where I’m more athletic.
Neta pouts. “Well, put it in your purse in case you’re feeling sassy. Just be sure you don’t get any on your teeth, okay? Mirror application only. Regular checks required.”
“Promise.” I find my black patent-leather clutch and let her slip the lipstick inside, even though I’m already committed to using the same clear gloss I always do. I already swept on a dramatic eye. The red lip would just seem like too much. I wouldn’t even feel like Riley.
Although maybe that would be a good thing.
Kolbie, who is dressed in a flowy dark purple top and leather leggings, finishes her mascara. “Are you ready, Ri? The guys have been downstairs for ten minutes.”
“We’re late?” I ask. “Should one of us have gone downstairs or something?”
Neta giggles. “No, Ri. It’s good for the guys to wait a little bit. Take your time, okay?”
Neta’s right. The guys aren’t even mad. Sandeep sees me and immediately kisses my hand, like we’re in an old movie. “Riley, right?” he asks. “You’re just as beautiful as Jamal promised.”
Such a Good Girl Page 11