by Jessica Roe
“Hey, insult my babe and I'll end you, even if you did buy me an iPod.”
“I didn't buy it,” he lies.
“Sure.”
“Anyway, if you can plug it into your car, you won't have to carry all those CD's with you all the time.”
“Thank you.” I smile sweetly at him. His breath catches.
“I uh, I know you said you're bad with computers so I uploaded a bunch of my own music onto it for you, just until you can get it figured out.”
I know right then that I'm never taking Silver's music off; I like the idea of listening to the same music as him. There's something personal about it, something intimate. This whole gesture is so thoughtful.
“I'm going to bedazzle it,” I joke, before I can do something stupid like beg him to kiss me until my lips turn numb. “This is so awesome. I kind of wish I could hug you right now. And you shouldn't take that lightly—I do not hug people.”
He scratches his clean shaven chin, conflicted. “I mean, I guess maybe...one hug would...do you think? It would be okay, right?”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and then he shifts slightly and that's all it takes. We throw ourselves into each other's arms, holding on tighter than I ever thought possible. All our unspoken feelings pour out—desire, disappointment, fear, longing—and I realize this has been as hard for him as it has for me. He feels it all too. It's in his every glance, his every touch.
We hug, and then we keep on hugging even when it's way past appropriate. I feel him smell my hair and I press my nose into his neck and inhale, just like I wanted to. He smells good, so effing good, like soap and cool night air and man. My chest aches with how right it feels to be wrapped up in him, to have his hands sliding up and down my back, to trail my fingers over his shoulder blades, and I begin to worry. I begin to worry because I'm starting to wonder just how much I really do like Silver.
It's been days. I should be over this crush by now, this infatuation. Usually when I hook up with a guy I forget all about him the minute I walk out the door.
But none of those guys were Silver.
“I should go,” I murmur into his neck. I'd like nothing more than to press my lips to his pulse, to trail them up until my mouth meets his. But I won't, mainly because right now I think he'd let me and that would be really, really bad. In all the best ways. But I already care about him too much to let him jeopardize his career.
“I know.” But his actions disagree. His arms tighten around me and somehow it's even sexier than both of the kisses we shared.
When we finally pull apart, it's only by a touch. He rests forehead against mine and closes his eyes. “You're still the most annoying girl I've ever met,” he breathes, and though it feels like he's saying goodbye, I smile. I remember the first time he said that to me, and I know what he's really saying without actually saying it is that I've still got the most kissable lips he's ever seen.
Finding an inner strength inside me I had no idea I possessed, I pull back the whole way until we're not touching at all. The bag and the iPod sit on the floor by my feet and I pick them both up. “I really should get going. If Felicia arrives back before me she'll be pissed.” I shake my head. “She's still convinced I'm a drug taking floozy with loose morels and a mission to corrupt her kids.”
“Is that what you are?”
For a second I'm stunned speechless, because he can't seriously be implying that's what he really thinks of me, right?
But...I think he can.
It hurts, but it also pisses me off that I even care. I'm not supposed to be that girl, that girl who cares what people think and lets it affect her so deeply she wants to cry. I'm supposed to be the girl who barrels head first through life, ramming whoever gets in her way like a rhino, obliterating them and then forgetting them.
But I do care. I care about what Silver thinks and how he feels and what he knows. I care because I respect his opinion, I respect him, even if I don't show it. I respect him for his great job and for knowing what he wants out of life and for taking care of Granny Yo and for being a good guy. I respect what he thinks of life, of things, of me.
Stupidly I feel almost betrayed. Even my mom never had the ability to make me feel this way and she said and did some pretty hurtful things to me over the course of my life. I just expected it off her, but not off Silver. Never off Silver.
He must see the pain on my face because his eyes widen. “Oh hell, Blair, that came out so wrong!” he tries to backtrack. “I didn't mean that either. Man, everything I say sounds so bad tonight. I don't think that you're a...It's just that...I don't know! You're so mysterious and confusing and you seem so worldly and I heard all those things about you from Nash and...damn it, please forget I said it.”
But his words have sunk into my skin and my heart and my mind like spilled ink and there will be no washing them out. I stand slowly, and this time he doesn't try to stop me. “Not that it's any of your business,” I say, my voice icy cold. “But I have never voluntarily taken drugs in my life. Never. And as for the rest of it...” I clench my fists. “It's not even close to the truth.”
He scrambles to his feet and takes my upper arms in his hands, his face a mask of worry. “Look at me. What do you mean, voluntarily?”
“Go to hell!” I snap. “And stay out of my life.” I yank my arms away from him and shove the iPod into his hands before stomping back home...not that it feels like home to me. Not yet. Probably not ever.
“Blair! Tell me what you meant by voluntarily!” he calls after me. “Please!”
I ignore him.
SO...SCHOOL SUCKS, but that's okay because I was expecting it. School wouldn't be school if it didn't suck on at least eight different levels.
Before she overdosed, my mom and I moved from city to city, always the grungiest parts because we could never afford anything else, and the majority of the schools I went to were rough. And yet somehow this school is lamer than all of them. It's so small, and it's hard to blend in with the other kids. In fact it's impossible, especially when the kids part ways like the red sea when they see me coming. I guess they don't want to catch my city girl disease.
Everyone here acts like suburban jerks. Vacant and annoying and seriously unoriginal. I've been called a whore and a junkie more times than I care to count; I guess Jemma is just about as good at keeping my false secrets as Nash. Luckily for both of us I didn't expect any better from her or I might have been pissed. But I ignore the whispers and the name calling and the staring because unless they can think up something interesting and imaginative, I don't feel like I should have to waste my brain space coming up with a retort.
Classes pass by in a blur of embarrassing front-of-the-class introductions and heckling. My last lesson before lunch is World History and, of course, Silver is my teacher. I knew it was coming—saw it on my schedule—but it's still a kick to the stomach to see him stood at the head of the room when I walk in. I pause in the doorway and as if sensing me there, he looks up and catches my eye. His jaw clenches, like it's just as hard for him as it is for me, and though it feels like we stand there forever, only seconds pass. The awkwardness coats me like a layer of fine film.
Somebody nudges me from behind to get by and I drag my eyes away, finding a seat in the middle of the room. My skin prickles. Though I don't look at him again, I know Silver is still watching me.
Jemma sits a couple of rows to my left but she's already made a point today of not acknowledging my existence.
I was right about her being a cheerleader. She seems popular here, but not overly bitchy. People seem to genuinely like her and I know that despite everything, she's harmless. She's just worried my arrival at school will be her social undoing.
The class settles and Silver does the usual beginning of the new school year lecture.
“Is that really your sister, Jemma?” This purposefully loud whisper comes from my sister's best friend, Imelda. She knows who I am, has even slung a couple of insults my way already in Bio
earlier this morning. So far she seems to be the student with the most venom. “You're so pretty and she's so weird. How are you even related? Is it true her mom used to pay for drugs with sex? Do you think she does too?”
I know girls like her. Girls so pretty and outgoing and vicious that other girls, girls like Jemma, would do anything to be their friend.
Jemma laughs obligingly with a couple of others, but to my ears it sounds fake. She almost appears to feel bad.
Silver, on the other hand, is furious. His face is white and his nostrils flared. I shake my head so he'll let it go but he's not looking my way. “That's enough!” he snaps, so sharply that everyone immediately silences. “I have never been so disgusted by such pathetic rumours before. I expected way better from you guys, I'm so disappointed in you. The next person to speak like that goes straight to the principal.”
Imelda gives an annoyed huff, but Jemma shrinks down in her seat, mortified.
The rest of the lesson goes smoothly, sidelong glares the only things thrown my way.
I know I teased him, but Silver is a seriously awesome teacher. He's engaging and funny and knowledgeable, and his passion for history practically exudes out of him, and not even in a lame way. I'm not the only one hanging on to his every word, though I'm probably the only one getting turned on. He makes history interesting, exciting, and ever so slightly sexy. He's the kind of teacher you remember years after you've left high school, the kind of teacher who inspires you to do something or be someone.
Five minutes before the end of lesson he says, “Miss Ackerman, before I forget, I found this in the parking lot earlier. I think it belongs to you.” He holds up the iPod. For a moment I can't believe he's doing this to me in front of the whole class where he knows I can't argue with him...and then I realize that's exactly why he's doing it. A smug smile just touches the corners of his lips.
“That's not mine.”
“You sure?” he asks innocently. “I think it must be. Look, it has your name on it.” He comes closer and holds it up. Sure enough, he's bedazzled the back of the thing with my name in obnoxious pink and blue sparkles. I want to hate him, I really do. I want to hate him so bad, but he's such an incredible goof that I can't help but grin. It stretches out so wide my cheeks actually hurt.
“I guess I must have dropped it.”
“You should be more careful with it next time.” He slides it in the front pocket of his pale yellow shirt. “You can get it at the end of class.” Sneaky, rotten bastard. Now I have to talk to him.
The bell rings and everyone packs their bags to leave. Silver leans against the edge of his desk to wait for me, the iPod cradled in his hands. I purposefully take my time, knowing that we should talk alone. When the room finally empties I perch on the desk opposite him. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing tanned, freckled forearms. Thick veins run up his wrists and it's just so ridiculous that something as innocent as a wrist could be so masculine and sexy.
“I'm gonna pick these stupid things off,” I tell him when he hands me the sparkly iPod, which we both know I'm now keeping. I'm lying though—the sparkles are never, ever coming off. I'll coat them in superglue if I have to.
“Blair, I need you to tell me what you were talking about,” he begs quietly. “when you said you never took drugs voluntarily. I've been freaking out all night imagining what could've happened to you. I literally couldn't sleep.”
I like that he cares so much about me. “Can't you just forget about it?”
“Blair,” he utters sweetly, and I can't deny him.
“You know I grew up around drugs, okay, everyone knows that. I got to see exactly what the consequences of those highs are, the damage they do to your body and mind, the damage they do to everyone around you. I don't want that for myself, I like my body and my mind. My body and mind are awesome. I knew I didn't want it from when I was a little kid, from when I realized what drugs even are and what they do. I was never even curious to try them out. But once or twice my mom—or one of her lame friends—thought it'd be funny to slip a little something into my drink. They wanted to loosen me up, said I was too uptight. I think I was kind of like an amusing pet or something, I don't know. But that was it. I got spiked a couple times, but nothing else happened to me, which kinda makes me lucky as hell.”
He shakes his head and clenches his fists, looking down at his perfectly polished shoes. “God...I just...I can't even...”
“Hey, you asked, I told. Don't get weird about it.”
“It's just that...I know she was your mom and...I don't want to disrespect but...she...Have you told your dad?”
“No. Why would I?”
“I guess maybe because you should probably talk to someone. Don't hate me for saying it.”
“You mean a therapist?”
“Yeah, that's what I mean.”
“I have one on speed dial.” Fen counts, right?
We sit a few seconds longer, digesting. He shifts and finally glances up, cracking his knuckles. I have the same nervous habit. “So, you really don't take...”
“Never have, never will.”
He heaves a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Yep.”
“Look, Blair, the way those kids were talking about you-”
I shrug one shoulder. “Don't worry about it.”
“Let me talk to the principal-”
“Seriously, don't worry about it. I don't even care.” Much. “The city schools I used to go to were crazy. You know, right? Nash said you did your teacher training in the city. You didn't take bullying seriously unless there was a knife to your throat.”
He groans and tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. “Blair, you're killing me.”
“I think it's just that,” I continue. “back there, the way I am is the majority. It was easy for me to be invisible. It would've been these kids here that stood out and got made fun of.”
“I can't imagine a place where you'd ever be invisible.” There's passion in his voice and we both blush. I can tell he's already regretting saying it. He can't seem to keep his words in around me.
“They'll get used to me,” I say breezily, cruising right on by the awkwardness. “And if they don't, screw 'em. It's only a year, right? Then I'm outta here.”
“You're sure you don't want me to do something?”
“Ew, please, don't be lame. Besides, the best way to deal with an a-hole is to ignore the hell out of them until they forget why they hated you in the first place. And if that doesn't work, you punch them repeatedly in the face until all their teeth drop out and they can't talk without spitting up like a little baby bitch. But I guess I'll try the first scenario out, see how that goes.”
“It worries me that I can't tell if you're joking.”
I smirk.
Silver sighs. “Okay, you win. But if I hear them talking trash like that again in my classroom you know I'm not gonna stand for it. Heads will roll, or...detention slips will be given out.”
Tough guy. “Yes, Mr Keegan.”
He winces and points to the door. “Go to lunch. Now.”
Shouldering my bag, I hop off the desk and practically skip towards the door. I want to tell him how hot it is when he bosses me around like that but I have a feeling he might class that as inappropriate.
“Blair,” he calls after me when I'm almost out the room. I glance back over my shoulder. “I just...You're amazing. The things you grew up around...I mean, you could've gone down a totally different path in life and you didn't and that makes you just...so strong. I hope you know that.”
IBBIE FINDS ME as soon as I walk into the cafeteria. She stands from her table and waves her arms around in the air, yelling like we're on opposite sides of a soccer field instead of a mere twenty feet away. I'm too relieved to see her dimpled, cheerful face to be embarrassed.
“Okay, I have been looking for you all day,” she tells me when she skips over. She's wearing some kind of 50's style dress, only it seems to be made from layers and lay
ers of hot pink and black mesh. Her hair is tied up in a knot and a giant black flower the size of a text book sits to one side of her head. “Well, not all day 'cause I had class and gossip and peeing to catch up on, but I definitely looked out for you. You look seriously hot right now, FYI. If I didn't love you so much already I'd be jell as hell. God, look at that ass in those shorts, which I guess you can't because it's your ass and behind you but I mean phew, dat ass!” She begins towing me along by the arm. “Anyway, what was I saying? I don't remember. I guess we don't have any classes together, huh? That sucks, I totally need a math buddy. Come get lunch with me. Oh! Look, we're already in line.” I don't need her help getting lunch, but I let her anyway because she's sweet and apparently my friend and every time she talks she leaves me overwhelmed and ever so slightly confused.
Lunch in hand, she pulls me over to her table where two guys and a girl are already sat. “These are my friends, your new friends,” Ibbie announces as she pushes me into a seat between her and one of the guys. “Because only the awesomest of awesome peeps are allowed to be in our gang and obviously I declare that you are awesome. I like to call us the Dramaholics.” She glares when the guy sat next to me, broad and classically handsome and wearing a Letterman jacket in the school's colours (red and white), groans despairingly. Ibbie reaches behind me and holds up a hand in front of his face and continues. “I like to call us that because we're all so into drama. So everyone, this is Blair, like I told you about. What a babe, right? Can you believe she got Eli to smile twice? In one night.”
Letterman Jacket pushes her hand down. “Unmerry Fairburn?”
“The one and only.”
He appraises me approvingly and holds up a large, tanned hand. “Hey, I'm Kip.”
“Kip is this year's football star,” Ibbie tells me, rolling her eyes but leaning over to pat Kip on top of his shiny blond hair. “So naturally I was against allowing him to hang with us at first. But he was just so darned endearing that I couldn't say no. Ugh, look at that cute face. Also he was cast as Romeo in the school play last year and Juniors are never cast as leading parts. And that over there is Sadie.”