Such a Good Girl

by Amanda K. Morgan

I don’t even blush, and Sandeep is actually really handsome—he has neatly cut dark hair, a sharp, strong jawline, and lovely eyes. “You’re not terrible yourself.”

  He leans in conspiratorially. “New T-shirt,” he confesses, and I laugh, because he’s actually dressed in a crisp light purple button-up. “Shall we?” he asks. “I hear we’re dining at a restaurant place where you actually have to pay for the chips and salsa. Very high-class stuff.”

  I take the arm he’s offering, and we walk out to the car with Jamal and Kolbie, who are already kissing and cuddling. We let them have the front seat, and we climb into the back together.

  “I have to tell you something,” I tell Sandeep. “Something important.”

  “What?”

  “The chips and salsa are free.”

  “Damn it. Are you telling me I could have worn an actual T-shirt?”

  I nod solemnly. “Probably an old one. With a hole, even.”

  “Well, I have to be honest, then. I was trying to impress you. How am I doing?”

  I tilt my hand, giving him the so-so sign. “You’ll have to order guacamole. And then we’ll see.”

  He laughs, and the sound is rich and kind. “You’re funny, Riley Stone.”

  And I like Sandeep. When we arrive at the restaurant, he walks around the car and opens my door. And he actually pulls out my chair for me.

  “Isn’t he great?” Kolbie whispers in my ear as Sandeep orders extra guacamole.

  And he is.

  If my heart weren’t all tied up in someone else, I’d really like him.

  “What’s your major?” I ask him.

  “Engineering,” he says.

  “That sounds like a smart-kid major.”

  “It is,” Jamal interrupts.

  “It’s Jamal’s major too.” Kolbie runs her hand over his chest. “His dad was an engineering major, and now he owns a construction company.”

  “And you?” I ask Sandeep. I grab a chip and opt for salsa instead of guacamole—just for this one.

  “When I was little, I wanted to design the rockets that go into space. And I found out you had to have an engineering degree to do that, so I sort of just decided to get one.” He shrugs. “So maybe someday I’ll move to Texas or Alabama and work for NASA. And my rockets will be in space.”

  “That’s pretty cool, actually,” Kolbie says.

  “Hey,” Jamal interjects. “Mine is cool too. I’m going to take over the family business.”

  Kolbie leans her head on his shoulder. “I know. And you’re going to build us a big house to live in, aren’t you?”

  Jamal runs a hand through her hair. “The biggest. With a pool and a tennis court.”

  “I love tennis,” Kolbie says, leaning in for a kiss.

  “I know you guys are relationship goals right now, but it’s a little gross sometimes,” Sandeep says, and I laugh.

  The waitress comes to take our orders. I get fajitas, and Sandeep orders enchiladas.

  And extra guacamole.

  “Dude,” Jamal says. “You have a problem.”

  Sandeep winks at me.

  He’s proving a point.

  We all talk, and Sandeep slips an arm around the back of my chair. His hand brushes the bare skin of my arm, and I lean into it. I don’t pull away.

  My phone vibrates, but I ignore it.

  “Don’t look now,” Kolbie says, “but our illustrious French teacher is here with his lovely wife.” She giggles. “He must have heard me telling Sara about our double date when I was in class earlier and totally followed us.”

  My heart drops, but I force myself to giggle too. She thinks she’s joking. “A teacher, outside of his natural habitat?” I force a laugh. “I didn’t know they were allowed.”

  “Do I have something to be worried about?” Jamal asks, puffing out his chest.

  Kolbie puts her hand on his cheek. “Of course not, baby. I like older men. Not old men.” She kisses him again for emphasis, and I almost want to scoff. I happen to know Kolbie thinks Alex is more attractive than Jamal.

  Pretending that I’m just flipping my hair, I turn my head—and there he is, sitting next to Jacqueline, at a table with maybe five others. His arm is looped around the back of her chair.

  He catches my eye, but turns away quickly. I scoot my chair a little closer to Sandeep, but my heart is burning.

  So much for him leaving his wife.

  He’s just a liar.

  Which is fine. Just fine. I don’t care.

  Funny how much I’ve been telling myself that lately.

  Because it hurts, deep inside me, like I’ve never quite had anything hurt before, and suddenly I want to be alone. But I can’t do that. I can’t let him ruin me like that.

  When Sandeep excuses himself to go to the restroom, I pick up my phone, and finally, there’s an e-mail.

  Don’t. Please. Don’t.

  What a joke. I glance back across the restaurant, and anger joins the hot jealousy burning in my chest. He’s looking at me again, and his arm is unhooked from the back of her chair.

  Then you don’t, I type back. I look pointedly at Jacqueline, who is smiling and chatting with the rest of the table, oblivious.

  “I don’t think I like that guy.” Jamal’s still staring over at Alex’s table. “He keeps looking down here. Gives me the creeps.”

  Kolbie snuggles into the crook of his arm. “Baby, you’re being crazy. He’s a weirdo teacher with a forever-young complex. Now, are you going to order me fried ice cream for dessert?”

  Sandeep returns to the table and smiles at me. He’s so handsome and sweet. “Do you want dessert?” he asks, noticing the open menu.

  “Only if we share it,” I say, trying to recapture the fun I was having before, but I feel Alex’s stare on my bare shoulders.

  The waitress comes back and we order two fried ice creams, and Sandeep feeds me little bites on a spoon, which makes me laugh. I feed him bites too, and one falls on his pants because my hand is shaking. He picks it off with his fingers and eats it anyway.

  Sandeep thinks I am shaking because our situation is funny. But it’s not anymore.

  “Do you want to take a walk with me?” Sandeep asks when the bill comes. He pays it without asking, which is gentlemanly and sweet, and we don’t have to do an awkward tug-of-war with the bill.

  I don’t let myself glance back at Alex. “Yeah. That sounds really—really nice.”

  He takes my hand and we walk out of the restaurant while Kolbie and Jamal are still eating ice cream at the table. I half hope Alex sees. I am no desperate girl. I am beautiful. I am desirable. I am not pining away in a puddle of tears while he goes home and makes love to the beautiful, empty wife he told me it was over with.

  “I had fun,” Sandeep tells me when we get outside. The night is cold, and the sky is cloudless. The moon is big, and nearly full, but the streetlights have washed away most of the starlight. I pull my coat tight around me, and the slight wind raises goose bumps on my legs.

  “Me too. You’re pretty cool.”

  He grins. “So are you. I have to admit, I was expecting someone who wanted to get drunk and party all the time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he amends quickly. “It’s just not my thing.”

  I sigh dramatically and put the back of my hand to my forehead. “Maybe I’m just not there yet, Sandeep.”

  “Work hard, and one day you will be.” His voice is mock-serious. “Listen, I want to give you my number, if that’s okay.” He hands me a napkin from the restaurant, folded up neatly, which I stick in my coat pocket.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll text you.”

  And then we sort of get quiet.

  We stop just under a streetlight. The stoplight under the corner casts his face red. Yellow. Green. “Do you think . . . can I kiss you?” Sandeep asks. He touches my cheek, tentatively, and his fingertips are cold.

  I hesitate. “Um. Okay.”

  He leans in, and I lean in.

  And the
n suddenly, all I can think of is Alex.

  Please. Don’t. Please.

  I can’t do this. I’m in too deep.

  I pull away, and put my hands on Sandeep’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry. I just can’t. Not yet. I’m, um, not feeling well.”

  And I leave him, on the corner in the streetlight, and hail a taxi to take me home. I text Kolbie that I got sick.

  And I pull the napkin out of my pocket while I’m in the cab and I text Sandeep.

  I’m so sorry. I had fun, but I’m just not ready.

  I wish for a second I had never met Alex, because Sandeep is perfect for me: handsome and sweet and just a touch nerdy. But it’s too late for that. I send one final e-mail, just after the cab drops me off in front of my house.

  Keep your promise or I’ll keep it for you.

  He’ll know what it means: get rid of Jacqueline, or I will.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Perfect

  “Overall, I’m really pleased with this assignment,” Alex—Mr. Belrose says as he passes the papers back. “There were a few of you who struggled, but I think that was probably more due to behavioral issues than anything else. Still, if any of you would like to see me after class, I’d welcome the opportunity to talk through your assignments.”

  We had submitted papers based on the first ten chapters of Les Mis. I know mine rocked, naturally. I have this whole Jean Valjean thing down pat. In fact, if we were ever to perform the play, they’d have to cast me as a lead. There would be no question, honestly.

  I am more interested in my cuticles than my paper when Belrose tosses it down on my desk. The whole class, I haven’t been making eye contact with him. It’s his move, really. If he wants me, he knows what to do.

  Rob Samuels, who conveniently moved from the back row to the seat next to me since I’ve sort of been avoiding him, gives a low whistle. “Damn, Stone. Slipping a little, huh?” He grins at me, and I automatically smile back.

  We all know I don’t slip.

  Rob reaches out, and his hand grazes mine. Normally, I pull away when Rob does things like this, but today, I leave my hand where it is, letting Belrose see that Rob likes me too. That Rob has always liked me, and no matter how hard Belrose tries, he will never go back as far as Rob and I do.

  He doesn’t need to know that Rob isn’t a real possibility for me.

  “Are you okay, Riley?” Rob asks, his voice soft.

  “Excuse me?”

  He leans over and nudges my Les Mis paper with a knuckle.

  I look down, and then do a double take.

  What?

  That’s not possible.

  Scrawled hurriedly across the top of the page is not the A I am so used to seeing in Belrose’s handwriting. It’s not even a B, or God forbid, a C.

  It’s an F.

  On what I happen to know for a fact is a goddamned good paper.

  “It’s a joke,” I tell Rob, but I flip through the other pages for comments. And there are none. Not one. And on a paper that warrants an F, there should at least be another red mark or two that explains why.

  And the absence of said red marks can only mean one thing: Belrose is screwing with me. He’s punishing me for Sandeep. He thinks he has the power here. But he doesn’t.

  Oh, he doesn’t.

  I look up at him and for the first time all class I meet his eyes, and I smile.

  Challenge accepted.

  I take my phone out of my backpack, preparing to send him a scathing e-mail, but Belrose yanks my phone out of my hand roughly.

  “You know the rules, Miss Stone.” His voice is cold, and he shakes my phone at me. His eyes hold mine, and they’re hard. “If you want your phone back, you’ll have to come see me after school.”

  The class is silent. And they should be. They’re stunned. They’ve never seen Belrose be such an asshole. Especially not to a prize pupil like me.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “After school, Stone,” he repeats, and starts scrawling on the board.

  So this is how he’s going to get me to talk to him. Huh. He’s going to embarrass me.

  Is this his way of getting back at me? Or his weird way of saying he misses me?

  I narrow my eyes. Either way, he has no idea who he’s playing with.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Extracurricular

  “Mr. Belrose.”

  I stand in the doorway to his classroom. We don’t have cheerleading practice tonight, which is good, because I had to wait some time before all the girls who pretended to need help with their French homework cleared out of his classroom. It’s almost four.

  “Miss Stone. Please come in. Close the door.”

  I obey. I want to slam the door, but I know from experience the reverberation will rattle every classroom in the hallway and possibly break the thin glass paneling that exists so teachers can close said doors, so I close it softly. “I don’t suppose I can have my phone back now.”

  He draws it out of his pocket, actually looking a little sheepish. “Here. Um, also, you got an A on your paper. It’s in the grade book.”

  I don’t let him see that I was concerned. “I thought so,” I say, keeping my voice stiff and professional. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Belrose. I’ll keep my cell phone in my backpack in the future.”

  I’m almost to the door when he speaks again.

  “I know you aren’t serious with Sandeep.”

  Ah.

  That means he somehow unlocked my phone.

  And went through my text messages.

  I turn back toward him and watch him from across the room. Rage rises up in my chest. So he can confiscate my phone and just—go through it? What gives him the right?

  “Is that so?” My voice shakes, just slightly. I hate it.

  “It is.” He comes toward me, and I step away from the door.

  “And what gives you the right to go through my phone without permission?” I ask, and he’s advancing and I’m backing away and then all of a sudden I’m in the corner of the classroom with my back against the wall and he’s looming over me.

  The blinds on the wall are closed.

  No one can see us.

  “You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, breathing hard. “I had to do something. You were being impossible.”

  I can’t stand it. I hit him.

  But before I can make contact, he catches my arm. “That’s not nice, Riley,” he says, and pushes my arm up against the wall. He captures the other, too.

  And then he kisses me. He kisses me softly at first, and even though I hate myself, I kiss him back.

  Soft.

  Slow.

  And then harder, and with more urgency.

  He lets me go, finally, breathing hard. “I still care about you, Riley. I’m just taking care of some shit, okay?” His hand is behind my neck, cradling my head away from the cinder blocks that make up the wall. “The house will be empty tomorrow, so just come over if you can.”

  He releases me like he can barely stand it.

  “I’m not just going to be your slut for when your wife isn’t around,” I tell him. “I thought it was over with her.”

  “It is,” he says. “I swear to God.”

  I look into his eyes, and reach up to touch his cheek. “It better be,” I whisper. “Because you don’t want to find out what I’d do if you’re playing me.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Blood

  “I cooked,” Alex says. “I hope you’re happy.”

  He’s been waiting for me in the den, one leg propped up on the other, his foot wiggling. It’s been raining since about five, so I take my boots off and leave them by the door. I couldn’t skip cheer tonight. And I wouldn’t. If he wants to be treated as a priority, he needs to show me I’m one too.

  “What did you make?”

  “Lasagna. My grandfather’s recipe. And garlic bread.” His voice has an edge to it. “It’s been ready. I’ve been waiting.” He doesn’t stand. Just sits
there and stares at me.

  “I had practice. You know that. I can’t just skip. People would talk.” I slip out of my jacket and hang it on the back of a chair. I took a quick shower in the locker room even though I hate the floors in there and there is an actual risk I’m going to get a raging case of athlete’s foot. He should be grateful I got here this early.

  Alex finally pushes off of the couch and takes my hand, leading me into the kitchen. “You’re wearing the necklace,” he says, and blood rushes to my cheeks.

  “Yes.”

  I don’t tell him I haven’t taken it off. I’d almost unclasped it a hundred times, but I never had.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  It’s a lie. I’m not hungry. I’m nervous. He’s acting weird—whether it’s because he thinks Jacqueline will catch us or he’s angry with me or he thinks this whole thing is a stupid mistake, I don’t know.

  I start to sit down, but before I can, he grabs me. His hands are rough, and he doesn’t start gentle with me, like he normally does. He kisses me, hard, his teeth biting into my lips and his hands pushing up roughly under my shirt. I return the kiss, but he grows rougher, and before I know it we’re on the kitchen floor and suddenly kissing him isn’t fun anymore and I taste blood in my mouth.

  I turn my head and shove him away. “Stop!” I push at him and climb to my feet. “What are you doing?”

  He climbs to his knees. “I’m—I’m sorry, Riley. I just—I wanted you. I missed you.” He runs both hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

  “You didn’t scare me,” I say. “I’m just not some whore you can screw on your kitchen floor, okay?” I pull myself into the chair. “We’re not like that.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry, Riley. I just missed you so much. It hasn’t been easy to be without you.” He ducks his head. He still needs a haircut. Parts of his hair, usually messy in a boyish way, are sticking up oddly, making him look a bit crazed. I want to smooth it down, but I restrain myself.

  “Could have fooled me,” I snap. I touch my lip to see if I’m bleeding, and my finger comes away with a small red spot of blood. “You’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”