Teach Me Sweetly

by Abby Gale

  "I watched those movies, it must count," Candice, the other cheerleader, adds. Ugh, I hate this girl. She's a real dumb blondie. I don't really like cheerleaders, but if I have to choose between Alicia and Candice, I will choose Alicia every day. Still, Candice always gets what she wants with her whiny self, being the cheerleader captain included even though the spot is already taken by Alicia. Which school can have two captains for a damn cheerleading? Ours, apparently.

  Mr. Richards rolls his eyes, and I can't help but smile.

  “Well, I don’t mind what you read as long as you keep reading. Every book gives you something-”

  "So you learned how to give great head from those books, Alicia?" Cory makes his idiotic comment.

  “Be respectful,” Mr. Richards snaps.

  "Oh, trust me, Mr. Richards, I respect her so much for that," Cory answers with a laugh.

  "Okay. Enough. Erotic books aren't something to make fun of. Just because there's sex in a book doesn't make it trash. Actually, I read many erotic books during my study in creative writing, and they're just classics with modern world touches. You should give them a try without being a dick about it," Mr. Richards says. I wonder if anyone told him he shouldn't curse in class. But I smile, nonetheless. I love smut, and I like that he defends the genre.

  "Well, our English classes will be more like creative writing which is self-explanatory enough. Anything you write can count as creative writing, at least as an attempt at it. Writing is subjective work, there's no real formula of right and wrong. As long as you write something, we're good. Now I want you to try it. Grab a paper and a pen and write whatever you're thinking, whatever it is. "

  “Must we write what’s in our mind?” Cory asks.

  “Yes. You can write whatever.”

  I don't have to be a psychic to know what's in his mind, basketball and sex. He's probably the most predictable person on earth, and he hates me since I declined his offer to go out. I wasn't trying to be a bitch. It was my birthday, and I was hoping my parents would be home, so I didn't want to risk it by going out with Cory. That decision earned me my "cock tease" status in school, and as a birthday present, I got a credit card with a note from my parents' assistants. After an hour of crying, I lost my virginity to Cory's best friend, Kyle and ditched him right after the condom was off and just like that, I became the school's slut.

  My life in this school became worse. Because that’s how high school works.

  I bite inside my cheek to suppress the hurt and anger.

  I should’ve known by now that emotional decisions are wrong decisions, but I haven’t. That’s why I rip one page from my journal and start writing.

  I let out my breath slowly when I'm done writing. Rereading the cry of my heart, I fold the paper twice. Should I really give this to him? A complete stranger? But something in me wants him to read this, hear the scream of my soul. I want him to know me, see me, and maybe help me. He's the only one who doesn't belong to this shitty town with shitty people, and the hope that he's different is too much to ignore.

  I notice everyone has already given him their papers when I lift my head up. Elij- No. Mr. Richards' gaze is focused on me for the first time since the beginning, and the fire in them is the encouragement I must be searching for because I hand him my paper without a second thought.

  When he sits on the table and opens the papers of other students firsts, I feel excited. As I look at him, I feel a connection I can’t explain, just as strong as last night. I decide it’s a good sign. That he’ll understand.

  I should’ve known expecting things from people has never ended well for me. But I haven’t learned my lesson yet.

  5

  Elijah

  I open the first paper and read it.

  I really think I’m better than Alicia. I don’t know why anyone hasn’t seen it yet. I mean, isn’t it obvious? I can do whatever she does better. I’ve heard she’s going to be the prom queen. I can’t let that happen. I should be the prom queen.

  I shake my head and read the second one.

  I think this class should end so I can go watch some porn, you know? C'mon dude, you're a man too. I have needs. School hours long enough. I have basketball training tomorrow. So, let us go?

  Oh and another thing I’m thinking is… fuck, man. I really want to fuck Eva so bad, even though I hate her. But can you blame me? Look at those tits.

  I glare at the golden boy, my hand fists with the idea of him near her. That’s a bad sign.

  Candice is gorgeous, and if she wasn't a bitch, we could be terrific friends. I don't know why she keeps trying to compete with me. Anyway...I can actually start reading a book. I don't really hate reading. So, thank you.

  On the side note: You’re hot, Mr. Richards.

  I smile a little, before reading the next one.

  I'm working in the game center, and I'll be late. Can I leave a little early, Mr. Richards?

  I shake my head and move to the next. The muffled voices start in the class as I read the papers one after the other. Actually, I'm not reading them because I wanna know what these kids are thinking. I'm reading them so time goes faster and I don't have to deal with them any longer today. Finally, I open the last one. Evangeline's. If I should judge her with the way she looks, I expect her to hit on me just like the cheerleaders eye-fuck me during the class. The problem is, I want her to. I haven't been able to take my eyes away from her since she stepped in the class. The good thing is I don't think she's caught me staring.

  Finally, I start reading and suck in a breath.

  It was 3 in the morning.

  And I woke up

  with a ringing in my ear.

  A crash intense enough to hear

  I look into the dark room,

  Expecting to see monsters lurking in the corners.

  Because I knew those hours in the night

  Are when monsters go for a haunt.

  But all I see is dark;

  Empty, soulless, and stark.

  It hurts more than the monsters

  I wish there were claws from the darkness.

  The ache in my chest burned,

  Then I realized

  It was the crash of my heart.

  I tried to sit up,

  Picking the pieces up.

  I was tired

  All I wanted to do was give up.

  I screamed

  It was silent

  No one cared

  Nobody listened.

  I grit my teeth.

  The pain in the words shakes me.

  Lifting my head, I meet her gaze. Her eyes are vulnerable, open, and begging for help. I know the pain, and I know my pain was the start of my writing, and it's now the fuel of it. I frown. Evangeline Faye is more than what meets the eyes. And it just makes her more fascinating. It just grows the need in me to get to know her. And that can only mean one thing: Trouble.

  I knew there was a connection between us beyond physical when I saw her alone in that bar with a cupcake for company. But now, after reading her words something shatters inside me.

  I want to hug her. I want to stroke her hair and kiss her until every ounce of pain she feels leaves her. But I can’t do that.

  My hands turn to fists as I put on an internal fight between what I want to do and what’s right.

  I panic as she continues looking at me expectantly.

  So, without breaking eye contact, I crumble the page and throw it into the basket next to my desk. The disappointment and pain in her gaze are sharp as a knife. I curse myself, and I know that's not the right thing to do. Even though making her hate me would make things easier, the moment I see hurt in her eyes, I want to fall on my knees and apologize.

  I already know I’ll grab that paper from the trashcan before leaving this class.

  Those words…

  Fuck.

  I take a slow, deep breath. What this girl makes me feel is ridiculously intense. I can't even wrap my mind around it, but it's there. Putting my ribcage
in a wire, I can't shake off.

  We're like in that song, fire, and gasoline, one wrong move, one small step that will get us closer would cause an explosion. An explosion that will make her life worse. A damage that won't be fixed. This is a small town, us getting close would only mean a big scandal and the fact that I'm a temporary teacher won't mean shit. I’m a teacher, and she's a student.

  If she hates me, she will stay away from me.

  And that's for the best until I leave. Staying away from her and the delirious temptation she creates just by breathing.

  But even as I try to convince myself, I can feel the pull between us and I know staying away won’t be easy.

  6

  Eva

  What was I thinking?

  What was I fucking expecting?

  Actually, I should be grateful he didn't laugh and read it out loud to embarrass me further. He is just a stranger, and I'm a student, one of the thousands he'll see in his life. Of course, he'll just think it’s a teenager being a drama queen. Maybe that's what it is. Perhaps I'm just a drama queen. Maybe I'm really the brat people think I am.

  Why did I think I'm better than that or different from what people see?

  Why did I think it was a good idea to share the pain in me?

  This class was the only thing I loved about this school, and I've ruined it just like I ruin everything in my life.

  “You're dismissed. We’ll see each other soon,” Mr. Richards says.

  I hurry out of the classroom with everyone else. I don't have the courage to face Mr. Richards.

  “Miss Faye, I'm glad you're still here,” I hear Mr. John's voice and lift my head to see him. “Where’s Mr. Richards?” he asks.

  “Inside,” I murmur and am about to walk away when Mr. John stops me.

  “I need to have a word with you and Mr. Richards.”

  Nodding, I wait and try to find a reason why he would like to talk to both of us.

  When Mr. Richards walks out of the classroom, I look down at my boots.

  "Mr. Richards, Miss Faye's parents are the kind people who offered you to stay in their guest house," Mr. John says, and my head jerk up to look at Mr. Richards. He's as shocked as me. "Since you're both here, I think you can ride home together," Mr. John adds.

  "What the…" Mr. Richards starts but stops himself and instead, he murmurs, "Maybe I should find somewhere else." He seems uncomfortable and probably a little afraid I'll try to pull him deeper into my own stupid drama.

  “I've already talked to Mr. and Mrs. Faye to let them know you'll be staying there,” Mr. John says. His voice is bored, and a little angry.

  “It seems like Miss Faye didn't know about the arrangement. Maybe she won't be comfortable with this decision?” Mr. Richards tries one last chance.

  “Well, make the decision between yourselves. Just know Elijah, your payment won't be increased and I'm not sure if you can find a place with your budget. This town is a little expensive for a new teacher,” Mr. John shrugs and walks away, leaving Mr. Richards and me alone in the hallway.

  “You can stay in the guest house, Mr. Richards. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in the class, but I assure you that I won't bother you,” I whisper.

  “You didn't-" he blurts out, but stops and grumpily says, “I can find somewhere else.”

  I force a smile. “The house is big enough. Don't worry. Our path won't be crossed.”

  “That's not what I meant,” he snaps in a strange apology, but I know it's just the effort to be nice to the girl who’s providing him a place to stay.

  "My driver must be waiting. You can ride with me, or I can give you the address," I offer.

  “I have a car. I don’t like when someone else drives me. Come with me,” he offers after a sigh. He still isn't happy with the arrangement, but we both should ride the wave.

  I nod, and we walk side by side until we reach the parking lot. The black Chevrolet truck must be his because the only other car is the Range Rover that's waiting for me.

  “Is that yours?” he points to the Range Rover.

  "Yes. 18th birthday present even though I don't have a driving license yet."

  His lips turn into a thin line like he’s angry, and I walk faster toward Jake, my driver to let him know the new arrangement. After he makes a phone call, probably to my dad, he nods.

  Mr. Richards watches me when I walk back to where he is. He shakes his head and opens the door of his truck almost too forcefully as I take my seat in the passenger side.

  7

  Eva

  "Is there anywhere we can stop to buy some takeout for dinner?" Mr. Richards asks as he drives.

  "Our cook probably made enough to feed an army. I can have her send you some," I offer. If I weren't afraid of him rejecting, I'd invite him home for dinner.

  “Feed an army? Why? How many people are in the house?”

  “Driver, two security guards, three maids, one cook, me and now you.”

  He turns to look at me with a frown. "Your parents?"

  I shrug. “They’re never home.”

  “So you have your dinner with the helpers?”

  “No. My parents forbid it. If I get close to any of our employees, they fire them.”

  He lets out a surprised noise deep in his chest. “That’s ridiculous.”

  "Tell me about it. They fired my nanny because I was too attached. She was my nanny, of course, I'd be attached." I snort. It's like they're punishing me, imprisoning me in this lonely life without an alibi. With a forced laugh, I add, "In short, you can call the house for whatever you need. They'll bring it to you."

  “So, am I not allowed to have dinner with you?” he asks.

  I jerk my head to look at him. He smirks at me, probably at the surprise in my face.

  “You can. If you want to. But you don’t have to, Mr. Richards,” I murmur.

  He cringes. “Mr. Richards is at school, okay? I’m not fifty. It’s Elijah.”

  I giggle before I can stop myself.

  "And I hate eating alone," he says with a grumpy voice. "So… can I eat with you?" he asks, but I get the feeling that he isn't used to asking for permission.

  I want to shriek with joy and say yes, because I hate eating alone, too, but after his reaction at school, I don't know what's the sudden change at heart.

  “Are you doing it because you pity me?” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “You know because of my writing…” I trail off.

  He sighs. “Look, I know I acted like a jerk and well, I usually am.”

  I smile at him.

  "You don't have to explain. I just want to say, you shouldn't worry about that. I just like writing, and I mumble things. I don't want you to feel responsible now that you're kind of living with me or we met earlier. It's just me being a drama queen, you should ignore it. Okay?"

  "Evangeline…" he says softly, and I've never liked my name better. The way his tongue caresses my name is like poetry to my ears. I look up at him, feeling the courage to meet his eyes. "I'm not pitying you," he finishes.

  I feel like there's more to come, but after he looks at me a second too long, he turns his attention back to the road. My cheeks feel hot. I've never felt how he makes me feel with just one look. I don't understand how he does that, but I've never felt like I have someone's complete focus. I was hoping the intensity I felt last night was just a fantasy, but today it's even stronger. The intensity of his gaze makes me dizzy every time he looks me dead in the eye.

  "Turn right from here," I say, breaking the silence in the car. My voice is huskier even to my ears. I try to give him the direction while being nonchalant, but my voice is giving me away, getting shakier.

  When we reach my house, the security guard opens the gate after noticing me, and we drive inside. My driver, Jake follows behind us and opens my door.

  I clear my throat. “Mr. Richards will stay with us,” I announce to the security guard and Jake.

  “We’re informed by your pare
nts, Miss Faye,” Jake says.

  Elijah snorts. “Seems like everyone knows but you, Evangeline.”

  It hurts. All these people around me can be in touch with my parents, but I, their own daughter can’t talk to them.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Elijah starts, but I interrupt him.

  “It’s the truth, Elijah. No need to be sorry. Okay, follow me so I can show you the guest house. Since everyone knows, I assume it’s ready for your use,” I talk fast and walk faster as I try to fight back the tears.

  8

  Elijah

  I didn't grow up in wealth. My dad worked at two full-time jobs to feed us and keep our roof on top of our heads, but my childhood was full of love and laughter. Maybe our house wasn't something as big or fancy as Evangeline's, but it was a home I looked forward to returning to. We didn't have an army of helpers, but we made the best memories as we helped each other at home.

  Now, as I follow Evangeline between shapely trimmed trees and mirror-like marbles under my feet, I feel even more grateful to all that I had when I was a kid. And I had that sudden urge to hold Evangeline's hand to take her somewhere else, anywhere that's not here.

  I know I would envy this house if I just passed it by on the street, but after a short time with Evangeline, all I feel is pity, not for her, for the wealth that wasn't enough to make this building a home.

  When we stop in front of the guest house, the view of the pool distracts me. It's designed like a seashell and calling for me to jump in. I've always been a swimmer, spending all of my summer holidays in California with my big brother made me a lover of the ocean.

  “You can use the pool whenever you’d like. Feel at home,” Evangeline says behind me and unlocks the door of the guest house. “Wanna see inside?”