Taught: A City's Secrets Novella

by B. B. Hamel

  I sat up and looked over her shoulder. “Wow, time flies, I guess.”

  “Yeah, except I wasn’t having fun.”

  “Ouch, that cuts me deep.”

  She laughed as she climbed up to her feet. “Come on, rock star. Let’s get going.”

  I stood up and smirked at her. “If you’re going to call me that, I’m going to call you my groupie.”

  “I’m hardly your groupie.”

  “I don’t know, you are throwing yourself at me after my show.”

  She smiled and rolled her eyes, and then walked over to grab her bike. I followed, picking mine up, and straddled the frame as she strapped on her helmet.

  “I’ll ride you home,” I said.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Of course I do, it’s late.”

  She didn’t answer, just started pedaling back the way we came. I followed behind her, marveling at her body on the bike. She wasn’t skinny, but she was athletic, strong and sure. I wanted to go back into that garden and grab her hips, feel exactly what her muscles were like when she came. I sensed another erection beginning to stir, and I forced myself to focus on pedaling instead.

  We rode back onto the main road through campus then turned left toward Broad. We crossed over toward 15th, took a quick right turn into a small side street, and finally stopped in front of a red brick building. We weren’t far from campus at all, and the lights from the track still lit our path.

  “Home sweet home,” she said, climbing off her bike.

  “Need help getting that upstairs?”

  “I’m going to lock it out here.” She pulled out her U-lock, took off her helmet, and locked her bike to the stoop’s railing.

  “Okay, cool.” She looked around, an odd look on her face. I stepped off my bike, took a step toward her, wrapped my free arm around the small of her back, and kissed her hard. It was a deep kiss, hungry, and I didn’t want it to end. I tasted her mouth and soft lips, and felt her tongue run along mine. Finally, we broke apart, breathing heavy.

  “Good night,” I said.

  “Good night,” she said back, a little breathless.

  I hopped on my bike and, with one more look back at her, I rode off into the night, heading toward my apartment.

  Chapter Eight: Emma

  “You fucked the professor last night?” Lane nearly screamed in my ear.

  “No Lane, we made out.”

  I had just finished telling her about what happened after Jim and I left the bar, about the ride through the city, about the hidden garden, and about our kiss. I couldn’t get him out of my mind; the way he rode his bike with confidence, the hidden garden, his cocky grin, the way he kissed me and drove my body insane, everything was too much. If I wasn’t completely crushing on him before, I definitely was after that night. I wasn’t sure why I was so hesitant at first, but I found myself melting into him more and more.

  “Yeah, but come on. You didn’t just kiss.”

  “He wants to take things slow.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she said, eyes wide. “He’s perfect, dude. Lock him down.”

  “He’s worried about his job.”

  “Yeah, that’s an issue.” Lane looked pensive.

  I moved across the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice.

  “Could he get in trouble for dating you?” Lane asked.

  I gave her a look. “Nobody said anything about dating.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t have time, and plus, he probably would get in trouble.”

  “But you’re not his student.”

  I drank some of my juice, and exaggerated a shrug. “I don’t know how it works, Lane. He’s worried, that’s all.”

  “Listen to me, and listen good. That’s a hot rocker professor you have lusting after you. Don’t let that shit go to waste.”

  Typical Lane. She was fun and my best friend, but a little short sighted. In her mind, this was the perfect opportunity for me. If I liked him, then obviously I should date him. But things weren’t that simple to me. I couldn’t bring another distraction into my life. I had pressures she didn’t understand, especially coming from my parents. They would be wrecked if I didn’t get into a good med school, and forget about not getting into one at all. I’d probably be cast out of the family if I got rejected across the board.

  “We’ll see,” I said, trying to change the subject. She gave me another big eye roll.

  I walked out into the living room and sat on the couch, legs folded under me, and pulled my laptop off the coffee table and onto my knees. I booted it up, typed in my password, and navigated to Facebook.

  I scrolled through my feed for a while, clicking randomly on pictures, not really caring about what I saw. Facebook had become more of a habit than anything else. Suddenly, the little red notification for a new friend request popped up. I opened the tab and stared at the name: Jim Sleeter. His picture made it clear that it was my Jim, or at least the Jim from last night. Professor rocker Jim.

  Oh wow. I couldn’t believe he had stalked me down already.

  Flattered, I clicked accept, not thinking anything would come of it. I looked through his profile pictures, pretty average stuff, and scrolled down through his wall. It was a pretty typical Facebook page, boring and generic, with the occasional funny picture of him or maybe a funny comment somewhere. I knew mine was more or less the same.

  As I finished my stalk-session, a window popped up in the bottom right hand corner.

  Jim: hey

  I stared at the window for a second, my heart racing. My first reaction was to call for Lane and obsess over what exactly he meant, or why he messaged me at all, but I resisted those impulses. It was silly to obsess over one word. Plus, I was my own person with my own feelings, and I didn’t need to act like a teenager with a crush, even if I felt that way.

  Me: hey what’s up?

  Jim: not much. I had fun last night.

  Me: yeah, me too. You guys were awesome.

  Jim: haha thanks, but I meant after the show.

  Me: I know you did :)

  Jim: what are you up to today?

  Me: not much I think. probably just hanging around the house. you?

  Jim: not sure. George said something about a record label guy, but he didn’t go into detail.

  Me: woah, what?

  Jim: I’m not getting excited, George is usually wrong.

  Me: that could be huge right? do you know what label?

  Jim: he didn’t say. George is a little tough to deal with sometimes.

  Me: ah that’s frustrating.

  Jim: yeah, but he’s coming over. I should find out more soon.

  Me: I’m sure it’s a huge record deal. Multi-million dollar contract.

  Jim: yeah, definitely. I’ll be playing sold out stadiums soon.

  Me: won’t have time for me anymore

  Jim: I’ll work you in somehow, I always have space for cute girls

  Me: oh good thanks, makes me feel special

  Jim: hey I’m in demand now, you’re lucky to get any time with me at all

  Me: okay rock star, let’s calm down

  Jim: haha sorry, getting ahead of myself

  I felt myself smiling like an idiot, staring at the computer screen. I glanced up and looked around. Luckily, Lane was busy playing with her phone, and didn’t notice my stupid grin. Otherwise I’m sure I would be answering a million questions and parsing out every meaningless comment. I had to get a hold of myself.

  Jim: so are you working this week?

  Me: yeah, Monday Wednesday and Thursday, 6 to closing.

  Jim: what time is closing again?

  Me: ha, good one.

  Jim: I’m just saying, you’d think working at the library meant you’d know which doors locked and which ones didn’t

  Me: keep it up mr. professor and you will be banned for life from the stacks

  Jim: you don’t have that power

&nbs
p; Me: I definitely can make it happen. I know people.

  Jim: I believe you actually

  Me: good, you should believe me.

  Jim: okay, I gotta go. George is here.

  Me: good luck! Tell me what he says

  Jim: what’s your phone number? I’ll text you

  My heart skipped a beat. That was a big step in our relationship. Did I want him to have my number? I guessed I could always change it if he turned out to be a total creeper, but I didn’t think he would be. Or at least I hoped not.

  Me: it’s 555-563-8832

  Jim: cool. I’ll text you

  Then the green icon next to his face disappeared, and I assumed he shut his laptop. I looked around the room again, and found myself staring my phone, waiting for him to message me. He had my number, but his wasn’t in my phone yet.

  “God, I feel like such a little kid,” I muttered to myself as I shut my laptop.

  “What was that?” Lane said, glancing up from her phone. I looked at her and felt like a nut.

  “Nothing, talking to myself.”

  “You going all crazy stressed Emma again?”

  I laughed. She was referring to the year before when there were some particularly difficult tests all on the same week. I probably didn’t sleep more than a few hours a night for the days leading up to them, and more or less lived in the library. I looked like a crazy cat lady, mumbling theorems and muscle groups to myself as I walked around the apartment. Lane said I stopped showering and gained twenty pounds, which was completely untrue, but I did care a little less about my physical appearance. I lived in a uniform of sweats and sweatshirts, punctuated by Ugg boots and a jacket. In short, I was a mess.

  “No, not crazy Emma this time.”

  She let out a sign of relief. “Can’t be having that again, seriously Emma. I can’t deal with the stench and the insane comments.”

  “I did not have a stench!”

  Okay, maybe I had a slight stench, a very small smell, but I wasn’t proud of it, and I definitely didn’t need to admit to it.

  Don’t judge me. College could be really stressful sometimes.

  “Yeah, sure you didn’t, psycho.”

  I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her as she sat at the other end of the couch. She let it bounce off her shoulder.

  “Shaking the haters off,” she said. I laughed then stood up. Before I could walk into my room, my phone dinged loudly, and I nearly leapt through the roof. Lane gave me a weird, sideways look.

  “You a little jumpy?” she asked. I ignored her and checked my phone. It was a message from a number I didn’t recognized. I swiped right and pulled it up.

  10:45am 555-864-2651: hey it’s Jim.

  I added him into my contacts.

  10:45am Me: so what’s the news, rockstar?

  “Hello? Who are you texting with that smile?” Lane said. I got the feeling that I had missed an earlier comment from her. I quickly locked my phone.

  “Nobody, just a friend.”

  “You fucking liar!” she exclaimed. “You’re texting Jim, aren’t you?”

  I was not the best at hiding things from Lane, and I had absolutely no experience with keeping a boy from her. Actually, I had little experience with guys at all in the last year or so. Maybe I was getting rusty.

  “Yeah, fine, it’s Jim. So what?”

  “So what? Are you kidding, you gave him your number!”

  “Of course I did. We made out pretty hard, remember?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you want to see him again. This is a huge step for you.”

  I sighed. That was actually a good point. Just because we had hooked up for a little bit, didn’t mean he was my boyfriend or something. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to pursue him further, and yet there I was giving away my number and responding to him immediately like a lovesick puppy. I was pretty lame, but I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking about Jim’s hands on my hips, his soft lips and warm breath, and the confident way he took me through the city streets. It was sexy, the way he seemed to own the space around him.

  “I don’t know what I want, Lane.” That was as honest as I could get.

  “I hear you. Just go with it, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

  My phone dinged again, and Lane grinned. “Not a word,” I said. She exaggerated zipping her lips and throwing away the key. I rolled my eyes at her bad joke, and retreated back into my room. I put my laptop on my desk and plopped down in bed, letting the sheets wrap around me. I had those T-shirt sheets, the super comfy kind, and I loved laying around in them. It made getting out of bed in the morning really hard.

  10:48am Jim: he says there was a guy from sub pop, and he’s interested. Not sure I believe him yet but that could be huge.

  Holy shit, Sub Pop was a huge indie label. I was immediately impressed and a little jealous. Although I didn’t have any musical talent myself, I was really into the scene, and went to as many shows as I could. I was pretty familiar with the major record labels.

  10:51am Me: sub pop! That’s amazing! Are they interested in signing you guys or what??

  10:53am Jim: I honestly don’t know yet. George is being frustrating and vague. I’m pretty sure he was wasted when the guy talked to him, which is why he doesn’t really know any details.

  10:54am Me: that’s hilarious. I’d be so pissed.

  10:56am Jim: yeah but I’m used to it. Apparently the guy is going to call this afternoon, so I guess we’ll find out more later.

  10:59am Me: that’s so exciting. Keep me updated.

  I put my phone away and lounged back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I was pretty torn at that point. His band was possibly taking off, or at least had a chance, and he was a professor at my college. All signs were pointing to us not pursuing anything. And frankly, I wasn’t sure I was even that upset about it. He was cute, hilarious, a great kisser, had a fantastic body, shared the same taste in music and TV, and was confident in the right ways. But I had promised myself that I’d focus on my studies, and not let some guy distract me. I had pretty constant pressure from my overachieving parents to consider.

  There was no easy answer, as much as I wanted one. I had to consider my obligations and his reservations.

  Either way, we were taking it slow, whatever it was.

  Chapter Nine: Jim

  “Who do you keep texting?” George asked me. I had a stupid grin on my face, and kept looking down at my phone.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, not really interested in hearing all the douchey things George would say. I knew him, and it was always the same: stuff about how badly I needed to hit that, how I was such a pussy for being into her, etc. Stupid frat boy crap. The sort of thing a guy who actually got any wouldn’t say. George didn’t mean any of it, but it was still annoying. He kicked his feet up onto my coffee table and changed the channel on the TV.

  “I’m not worried, I’m curious.”

  I sighed. No use fighting it. He’d bug me until I told him. And despite all that, he was still my best friend.

  “It’s the girl from last night.”

  He nodded sagely. “As I thought.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What else did you want?”

  “Just expected you to ask if I ‘hit that’ or something.”

  He snorted. “Look dude, ever since that Amy chick broke your heart, you’ve been moping around. I’m just happy to see you getting out there again.”

  “George, that was surprisingly mature.”

  He grinned at me. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll want all the gross details eventually.”

  The problem was that I still wasn’t sure there would be any details to tell him. It was true that I’d already crossed a line the night before, but it still wasn’t too late to back out. We weren’t exactly in a relationship, and we hadn’t done anything we couldn’t move passed. Sure, there was a strong attraction, and we had kissed, but we were adults. Kissing didn’t mean we were getting married.


  “Nothings on,” George mumbled.

  “Go to your own apartment then,” I said.

  “Nah man, waiting on that call still.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t believe the idiot met a guy from Sub Pop but was too drunk to remember anything about what the guy said. I was glad George had come over early, though, because I didn’t want to rely on him giving me all the details. I wanted to hear the guy for myself, or at least George’s side of the conversation.

  I stretched my legs out. I was sitting in a chair in the living room while George was sprawled out on the couch. My apartment was in a decent neighborhood, but it wasn’t anything to speak of: one couch, one TV, a small kitchen, small bathroom, and a tiny bedroom. It was the best I could afford without being in constant debt.

  My phone buzzed, and I looked down.

  11:15am Emma: what do you teach again? Sorry, I can’t remember

  11:16am Me: why, planning on taking my class?

  11:16am Emma: haha no, I think my friend does though

  11:17am Me: intro to music theory. who’s your friend?

  11:18am Emma: her name is Nicole, and she’s definitely in your class.

  My stomach dropped. I had a Nicole in my class, and they were probably the same year. I could never be sure though. I could feel panic well up in my chest as I imagined Emma telling Nicole about the night before, and Nicole freaking out. What if she told an administrator? My teaching job would be over and done with in a second.

  11:18am Emma: and before you freak out, I’m not mentioning last night.

  I stared at that text. I guessed Emma understood my predicament, and didn’t want to jeopardize my position. She was being surprisingly cool about it, actually. She had every right to tell whomever she wanted, and I would never try and control what she did and didn’t do.

  11:20am Me: thanks, I appreciate that. I know Nicole, she’s a good student. How did that even come up, if you don’t mind me asking?

  11:22am Emma: she mentioned she had a cute music teacher, and I figured it was you.

  11:22am Me: seriously?

  11:23am Emma: hahaha no sorry. she just mentioned having a test in your class and used your name, so I figured I’d ask.

  11:24am Me: ouch. well that’s a funny coincidence.