Pupil: Inspired By a True Story

by Zoey Long

  “Honey, I have the entire island of Manhattan at my fingertips if that’s what I want.”

  “Ugh. Yeah, I know. I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

  I move to break free. Derrick lets my hand go. When I get to the subway station, I can still feel my body tingling with excitement from where he touched me. I step down the stairs and hold my dress down. The flowy material blows up easily in the July breeze. It feels nice on my skin. Noel told me to take the 5 train downtown to Union Square and transfer to the L. It’s Saturday night and the train is bursting with young people. It’s a sea of black skinny jeans even though it’s the middle of summer. Floral-print dresses with spaghetti straps, no bras, top-knot buns, bold lipsticks.

  My friend Stephanie, the one who gave me a pass to NY JiuJitsu and arguably got me into this whole mess? She told me that when she first moved to New York and got on the L train, she thought everyone in the subway car knew each other. That they were friends because they were all dressed alike. Skinny jeans, big glasses, tattoos, ironic T-shirts, beards. Copies of Atlas Shrugged. She’s not wrong.

  I get off the train and the street is lined with warehouses. Every block sports a new restaurant boasting the latest food trend on chalkboard signs. Artisanal kale dumplings. Small-batch hibiscus donuts. Goat-milk ice cream. Noel doesn’t even live in this part of Brooklyn. The area has gotten so gentrified that actual struggling artist types can’t afford it. Unless they’re trust-funders. I stop and imagine Derrick standing with me on this block right now. The sheer thought of him in the middle of all these hipsters sends me into giggles.

  “Hey! You made it!”

  I find Noel standing outside of the tapas restaurant, dressed in a light blue linen shirt and dark jeans. He looks handsome. Freshly shaven. Small wire-frame glasses. No tattoos—not that I can see, anyway. He embraces me lightly, obviously not sure where to put his hands. He hugs me, and my face ends up awkwardly squished in the crook of his neck. I stand back and smile at him. I’m in light pink and he’s in light blue. The perfect “boy and girl go on a date” color scheme. Something about this seems forced.

  “You look really great,” he says with a smile. “That’s a beautiful dress.”

  “Thanks. You do too.”

  He heads in for a kiss, moving toward my lips and then deciding on my cheek. We stare at each other. Woman standing before man. Now let us commence our date. I giggle slightly.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, opening the door for me.

  “Nothing. It’s just been a while since I’ve been on a date.”

  He nods.

  Noel seems nervous. He’s adjusting his glasses and wiping his hands on his jeans. He waits for me to sit at the table before he takes a seat. So polite. I wish he’d relax. We’re seated in the back of the restaurant in an enclosed garden space. My eyes travel to the tables around us. I see women dressed in retro vintage-style pinup dresses, brightly colored high heels, victory rolls in their hair. Most have gorgeous half- or full-sleeve tattoos. One in particular is in a scarlet dress with a sleeve of aquamarine ocean waves tattooed on her arm. I start thinking about whether or not I’d like a tattoo. Catch up to Derrick. No, I don’t need that many. Ha.

  “So, Madison, how are you?” Noel asks, leaning forward.

  I almost forgot he was there. I snap my head in his direction.

  “Good. I was looking at that girl’s ink. Isn’t it gorgeous? I love her whole look.”

  “Ah. Yeah. I don’t love tattoos. Especially not on women. One is okay. Maybe two,” he backtracks. Maybe I have some. He doesn’t know. I’m sure he’d like to know. “But so much looks too busy. With a pretty dress like that? She’s a beautiful girl. She doesn’t need all that. It cheapens her…”

  He sees my eyes widen.

  “I… I just mean she doesn’t need them to be beautiful.”

  I nod. Doesn’t need them, no. Do they look badass? Yes.

  The waitress appears and breaks our conversation. “Hey, guys. Welcome to Amuse. Have you been here before?” She is wearing light denim cutoff shorts and a black-and-white-striped tank top. Matte red lips. Something airy, black and grey and abstract tattooed on her forearm. I like that one too.

  “I have, she has not,” Noel pipes up.

  “Welcome, miss. We specialize in small plates, ideal for sharing. Everything we serve is locally sourced whenever possible. Our meat is grass-fed and organic. For two people, I’d recommend ordering two to three dishes apiece. Can I get you started with a drink?”

  I look down at the highly stylized typography on the menu in front of me. These dishes are pricey, but they look amazing. Roasted Brussels sprouts with Granny Smith apples and crème fraiche. Lamb tagine with seasonal vegetables. Yes, please.

  “I’ll have a Moscow mule,” I say. Vodka and ginger beer sounds lovely on a hot summer evening.

  “Can I get a Stella, please?” Noel orders.

  “Coming right up. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu. I know there’s a lot there. Take your time, please.” She leaves.

  “So what looks good to you?” Noel asks me. “I’ve had the Brussels sprouts. They’re amazing. One of my favorites, by far. I’ve also had the eggplant and the spring pea gazpacho.”

  “I think the lamb looks great. Also the short ribs with the glaze? Strawberry-poached chicken, I’m not so sure about that one.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I haven’t had those.”

  I look at him.

  “Are you a vegetarian, Noel?” I ask.

  “Yes. Well, I’m a vegan, actually. I was a vegetarian for eight years and then I was getting all of these digestive issues that would leave me out of commission for…it was then that I decided to cut out dairy. I feel great now. I have a lot more energy.” He smiles.

  How did this not come up previously? Of course he’s a vegan. I have no problem with vegetarians or pescetarians. Stephanie is a vegetarian. It’s just not for me. But being a vegan means you can’t have cheese. You can’t have eggs. There’s no butter. There’s no fun.

  “Of course, you can get whatever you want. I have no problem with people eating meat in front of me. You do what makes you happy. I insist.”

  “Okay, yeah. Thanks. Well, since they encourage sharing, let’s get mostly vegetable dishes and one or two meat ones. I think that makes the most sense. Those Brussels sprouts really did look great.”

  “You’re very considerate. So, tell me about your painting. I’ve always wanted to know more about your art.” He grabs my hand.

  “Well, I am studying abstract expressionism right now. That’s the style I mostly paint in.”

  “Ooh, fun. Abstract expressionism put New York at the center of the art world. We were finally able to take on Europe, mostly Paris.” He smiles.

  Yes. Okay, his point is an obvious one, but at least he knows what I’m saying. He didn’t look at me and roll his eyes like I just said I was studying finger painting. So why don’t I like this guy? He’s sweet and attentive. He’s an artist like me. He’s attractive. I’m so bored right now. I finish my drink.

  When our food comes it’s absolutely delicious. I get the lamb tagine all to myself, of course, and I think we eat every other vegetable on the menu. Roasting Brussels sprouts, it turns out, is the best idea in the world.

  “This is so good. How did you find this place? I’ve had tapas before but this is really delicious.”

  “Well, I hang out in Williamsburg a lot. I try to come here at least once every weekend. To make good art I think it’s the responsibility of the artist to put himself at the center of where the crux of it is being made.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  “I’m kidding.” He laughs.

  “You should see your face right now. The truth is, I had a job here last year and I walked past it. I fell in love with the menu. I know this is really out of your way, but I wanted you to try it. It’s cute and they have great food. I hope it was worth it.”

 
I laugh. I start to relax more. Better.

  “Yes, this was worth it. Thank you.”

  “Of course, princess.”

  Ugh. I hate that nickname. Please don’t start calling me that. Whatever. He’s sweet and he’s not my brother. He’s not my brother. Repeat to self. Not your brother.

  “I’ll have another beer, please, and do you want to see a dessert menu?” Noel says.

  Of course I want to see a dessert menu.

  We share a delectable vegan chocolate torte with fresh mint sprigs on top of it. Vegan desserts have always been a solid bet, in my experience.

  “So what kind of painting do you do?” I ask him.

  “Portrait, remember? I told you that.”

  “Right. That’s right. I’m sorry.”

  “No worries. Hey, maybe you can sit for me sometime. I’d love to paint you. Or sketch you. You’d be a joy to paint. Not nude or anything. I didn’t just ask if I could draw you naked. That’d be rude.”

  Cheesy. Cute? I’m not sure. By the time we’ve finished our meal, I’m so full I think I might need Noel to carry me out of the restaurant. Which he could do. Not one-handed, but he could do it.

  “So that was good. Thank you so much. I really enjoyed that,” I tell him, smoothing the front of my dress.

  He turns to me and offers a big grin.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “So how are you getting home?” I ask him.

  “Uh… oh. I…I thought we could…” he fumbles.

  Ha. He thought we could go back to his place? Wow, that’s a bit presumptuous.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say. “You thought what? I don’t think I can eat any more tonight, if ever again.” I laugh.

  “I’d like to show you something close by, if you’re into it and you have a little more time,” he explains.

  “Oh. Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

  We walk three short blocks to a studio space that Noel is renting. It’s in a warehouse on the sixth floor and there’s no working elevator. One thing I will say, the walk up the stairs does help me feel lighter after that big meal. Less like I swallowed a football.

  “Man, that was a workout.” I stop to catch my breath when we reach his door.

  “Yeah, the elevator does work. Sometimes. It has a mind of its own. It’s good cardio, though. I’m fine with it. When I can’t get to the gym, at least I know I’ll do this once a day.”

  The front door to his space has a paper sign on the door. It reads, “Noel Prejean, Portraitist,” in minimalist lettering. When he opens the door I see a myriad of painted canvases on the walls. Most are portraits of animals. A beagle, a pit bull, a woman with a colorful parrot on her shoulder. There’s a big, fancy burgundy couch in the corner with an easel in front of it.

  “Aww, you do paint a lot of animals,” I say, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  “I do.” He laughs. “I love animals. That one there, that’s my Bernie.” He points to the beagle. “He lives in my apartment, but I brought him here to pose for me. He had a great time. I do humans too! Look, there’s a human.” He points to the woman with the parrot.

  “So if you were to paint me, I’d have to be posing with an animal?”

  “Yeah, how about that jerk stepbrother of yours you keep mentioning?” he returns, not missing a beat.

  Why did he have to go and mention Derrick? I successfully stopped thinking about him for most of the evening. Kind of. My face falls.

  “I’m sorry. I was joking.” Noel steps closer to me.

  “It’s fine. He is an animal. He’s a womanizing, know-it-all, inconsiderate jerk. I can’t believe I have to live with that guy. He’s everywhere. Did I tell you he’s starting at NYU business school? He’ll be right near me. All year.”

  “So try to stop thinking about him for a little while.”

  Noel stands in front of me and moves some stray hairs out of my face before moving in for a kiss. I let myself relax in his arms, let him lift my face to his, kissing me. I close my eyes as he moves to my neck, nibbling slightly. I moan a little. His fingers lightly graze my shoulders. One of the straps on my dress falls and he kisses it back on my shoulder. He’s a good kisser. I have to stop sleeping with Derrick. If I am ever going to get over him before our parents come home, I need to focus on something else. And Noel is so sweet and…

  Noel moves me to the couch and we kiss in front of it. He traces the back of my neck gently with his fingers before sitting down and guiding me on top of him. I straddle his lap and we kiss more. It’s nice. I let him pull me in and let him take my hair down. It falls softly around my shoulders and he kisses me harder. I can feel his cock hard against me through my dress. I push into him.

  “You’re so gorgeous,” he says, kissing me. “I’m so glad this is happening…I’ve been imagining this since we met. You’re so hot. I see you every day and…”

  Noel slips the spaghetti straps off my shoulders and my dress falls. I’m braless and my nipples are hard against his palms as he caresses my breasts. He takes my nipples in his mouth and sucks them gently. I start pressing myself against his hard cock and riding him back and forth.

  “Oh, God. Yes,” he moans.

  Noel pushes me down to the couch, gingerly at first, then with more gusto as I pull him close to me. He gets on top of me and we rock into each other for a bit with my legs wrapped around him. My dress hikes up around my hips and I kick off my heels. We kiss deeply before he stops on his knees. I can hear the metal clang of his belt being undone, the zipper of his jeans. I wrap my legs around him once more, lift my pelvis as he slips my white cotton panties off. He kisses me again along the torso and up my body before lying back down on top of me. He reaches for his cock and enters me gently. I gasp and he holds my hands down as he thrusts into me. He’s breathing hard in my ear, kissing my neck.

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders and look around at all of his art for a moment, the details around his space, how he’s made it his own. He feels good inside of me. I close my eyes. Maybe Noel can rock the desire for Derrick right out of my body. I close my eyes tighter, and try to think of anything but Derrick Bourse.

  Chapter 2: Derrick

  So Madison has a date. Good. It’s not like I want to be in a relationship with this girl. We’re just having crazy sex. Made all the more taboo and naughty by the fact that she’s my fucking sister. That’s all it is. I’m sure she’ll be back. I’m the best she’s ever had, and she knows it. I counted each and every one of her orgasmic contractions the last time we fucked. Whatever guy she’s going out with isn’t going to get her going like I can. I know that for sure. Don’t want her getting too attached to me anyway.

  Besides, it’s the middle of summer. I’ve got plenty of girls I can call. I flip through my phone contacts and settle on a number. I smile and dial, deciding to call the hottest fucking chick I know.

  “Hey, Courtney. What are you up to tonight, baby? Wanna go out?”

  Courtney eagerly agrees to meet me that night. It’s been a while. Of course she does. Back in business.

  When I get to the club, Courtney is even more smoking hot than I remember. Five foot ten, long dark hair, mesmerizing green eyes. Legs that go up to her fucking neck. Nice pillowy lips. She lives in the gym. Every inch of her is toned to the max and I could crack a tooth on her ass. She’s standing by the bar, gripping and swigging an ice-cold beer.

  “Derrick, hey!” Her eyes light up when she sees me.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been?”

  Courtney throws her arms around me and presses the length of her body against mine. She’s wearing a dress, I guess. It’s a piece of short beige fabric draped around her tits and ass, paired with some come-fuck-me stilettos. Her hair presses against my face, and she smells sweet like warm vanilla.

  “Hey, sexy.” I kiss her cheek. “Looking gorgeous as always.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  Conde
nsation falls down the length of her beer bottle, and she puts the bottle in her mouth without breaking eye contact with me. She glides her tongue slightly, yet deliberately over the wet bottle, licking it in a way that makes me wish I was in her hands. I can feel myself start to respond immediately. She smiles at me.

  Courtney is the kind of chick who’s up for anything. She’s not too big into relationships either, which is fine with me. Super into public sex. Makes her crazy. Like last Christmas, she snuck me into her office holiday party for all of the bigwig advertising executives she works with. She begged me to bend her over the long steel conference table on the twenty-fifth floor of the high-rise building, lift up her cocktail dress, pull her panties to the side and fuck her right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had her face pressed flush against the table she sits at every Monday morning. I pinned her arms down like she asked me to and she kept begging me to fuck her harder. She had a great time. We’ve had sex in half of the bathrooms on the Lower East Side. I know I’m in for a wild night.

  “So tell me, where have you been all summer, Derrick? Haven’t seen you around much.” She moves closer to me. She might as well be purring like a kitten.

  “Yeah, I’ve been fighting a lot. I’m in the gym every morning.”

  “I can see that.” She slides her hands over my biceps and shoulders, squeezing my muscles. “Nice. Good for you.” She bites her lip. “Oh, hey, I got a new tattoo. Look at this.”

  Courtney turns around and hikes up her skirt right at the bar. I look down to discover that she’s got a fucking lace garter belt intricately tattooed on her upper thigh. Hot.

  “Oh, man, that’s nice. Good details. The shading is sick.”