I knew before they’d even told me that my family was gone. I can’t explain it, but there was emptiness inside that hospital room, and I just knew. Maybe it was just anxiety I was feeling, but the dread I felt moments before they told me was inconceivable and unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. Unless you’ve lost someone close to you, understanding the pain of losing someone you love is something you’ll never quite understand. I’d lost grandparents when I was younger, and though that was sad I’d moved on, because that’s what you do. Death had always been something that was scary, but distant. I mean, nobody in my immediate family was going anywhere anytime soon, right?
You always think it will never happen to you. I used to watch the news and see these horrific events and feel bad for the people involved, but never really consider that it was something that could happen to me.
Until it did. Until that was me.
How I survived, I have no idea. My injuries were minor compared to how bad they could have been: three broken ribs and a broken pelvis. I was in the hospital for three weeks, and then in a hotel for another four, with Layna staying with me until I’d recovered enough to move here. I couldn’t go back home; the idea of facing years and years of memories was too much.
It was the psychological trauma that took the longest to get over—that I’m still getting over. The first few weeks after the accident, it didn’t feel real. It was like I was locked in a nightmare, just waiting to wake up. Even at the funeral, I struggled to comprehend that they were gone. I buried three family members in one afternoon, and there was still a part of me expecting Mom to come in and kiss me goodnight. Or for Jordan to call, begging for a lift home. Or to have Dad yell at me for using his car without permission.
The moment I began to accept what had happened was in the fourth week, as we were packing up the house. I’d stumbled across some photos taken during the vacation we took to Hawaii the summer before. We all looked so damn happy, lazing around the pool without a care in the world. Back then, my biggest problem had been deciding which shoes to wear with my new black and red sundress.
I just lost it. I sat on my bedroom floor crying for hours, calling my voicemail over and over just so I could hear their voices once more. Even now, I still have those messages saved.
Sometimes all I needed to hear was my mom saying ‘I love you’ to remember I was lucky enough to have had them at all.
***
After the excitement of first period, the rest of the day paled in comparison. I saw Mr. Reid in the halls a few times. My palms would begin to sweat and my face would heat up, but he never even glanced at me. I was invisible and I liked it that way. I could look at him and fantasize from a distance without looking like a sex-starved maniac—like every other girl in school.
The truth was, boys had been the last thing on my mind since the accident. Mr. Reid was the first guy I’d actually let myself be attracted to. That scared me a little, but knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere was comforting.
On the way home, I stopped to use the bathroom. I was about to leave the stall when the door opened. Fucking great: it was Paige and her buddies. I quietly sat down, not game enough to leave until they had.
“How hot is Mr. Reid? I’d let him fuck me any day of the week,” giggled Paige. Her friends laughed and agreed he was hot, arguing over who would have the best chance with him.
“Have you seen my tits? Obviously I’m going to win. No guy can resist these.”
I covered my mouth, smothering a laugh. That had to be Stacie. She was always going on about her breasts, which, in my opinion, weren’t all that.
“Whatevs. You’ll all be paying up when I win. And I’ll be using that money to buy some sexy lingerie for when I fuck him,” Paige retorted. They all laughed and left the bathroom.
What the hell was that about? Fumbling in my backpack for my phone, I texted Kass.
Held up in the bathroom. Bitches talking about a bet and Mr. Reid. Gossip?
Kass might be an outcast, but she knew everything that was going on in this place, and usually right after it happened. My phone beeped.
Lol yeah. Who is going to kiss him first. Puke. Winner gets close to a grand. Think I’ll win? ;)
I sniggered and shoved my phone in my pocket. Only here would this happen. These girls were insane. Someone should really warn the poor guy. He really had no idea what he was in for.
Chapter Three
Dalton
I pulled the classroom door shut, trying to ignore the group of giggling girls standing to my left, staring at me. I was slowly getting used to the attention—being the only male teacher at this school under the age of fifty, it sort of came with the territory. They eventually moved off down the hall, but not before more whispering and giggling. I shook my head and locked the door.
“They have a pool, you know.”
I turned around. She was leaning against the opposite wall, her head tilted to the side as she studied me with her deep green eyes. Her long dark hair hung in waves down her back. She looked familiar, but that wasn’t surprising, considering she was probably in one of my classes.
“A pool?” I repeated, bemused.
“Yes. Like, a betting pool. On who is going to be the first to kiss you.” She shook her head and smiled as she rolled her eyes. “The winner gets nearly a thousand dollars.”
I laughed. That explained a lot, actually.
A week ago I was an unemployed teacher fresh out of college. Ready to take on the world, I could handle anything—at least, I’d thought I could. After less than a week here, I was beginning to regret my decision to teach high school students—especially when those students consisted only of hormonal teenage girls. This place was my idea of hell.
What the fuck had I been thinking?
Teaching at a prestigious girls’ boarding school was a role I hadn’t contemplated, nor did I think I’d ever stand a chance in hell of getting—and I probably wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for the headmistress being an old friend of my mother’s. Yes, even though I was twenty-three, Mom was still interfering in my life. One call had gotten me an interview, and from there I had scored the job. My perfect grades, outstanding recommendations, and great outlook on life were just what they needed, apparently.
It was ironic, all things considered, that they saw me as a fresh, look-on-the-bright-side kind of guy when the reality was so different. I guess I was better at internalizing my feelings than I thought.
I looked at the girl again, trying to place her. She was in one of my classes, but so early on, all the girls blended into one another.
That’s right. Wrenn . . . something.
Quiet and studious, she was one of the few girls I had crossed here who seemed to have some sort of plan for her future. Of course, that assessment was based off a couple of lessons and one homework assignment, but I got the feeling that most of the girls couldn’t plan past their outfits for the next weekend.
“You’re in my history class, right?” I asked her.
She nodded and smiled, adjusting the strap on her backpack over her shoulder. “Wrenn. I’m in your Monday morning and Thursday afternoon classes. History and Sociology.” She blushed suddenly, her eyes growing wide with horror. “I’m not part of the pool,” she added quickly.
I laughed as her face went red.
“I mean, not that I don’t think you’re attractive, but—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted—mostly to stop her from digging a deeper hole for herself. “Just quit while you’re ahead.” I chuckled as she cringed again. “Anyway, I appreciate the heads up.” I winked and walked past her down the now empty hall. “See you Monday,” I called.
I made my way to the teacher’s lounge, thinking about what Wrenn had told me.
A betting pool.
God, as if things weren’t hard enough, now there was money on who could make me act inappropriately first? I’d had girls requesting one-on-one tutoring, girls leaving me gifts on my desk, and the number of g
irls “dropping” things while I was in their close proximity so they would have to retrieve them, asses high in the air, would almost be funny if it were happening to anyone else.
Hell, one girl had her father make a sizeable donation to the History department, stating that my techniques had encouraged his daughter to take her education more seriously. I’d been here a week! She was taking something seriously, but I doubted very much that it was her education.
Taking my lunch out of the fridge, I smiled and sat down next to Mark. At twenty-seven, he was four years older than me, yet the only one even remotely close to me in age. Every other teacher here was over thirty—with some having taught at the school for more than thirty years. Talk about feeling out of place.
Don’t get me wrong. Everyone was nice, but the difference in age made it difficult to evolve relationships beyond the usual small talk. At least with Mark I could talk about football, or cars, and whatever else. The other teachers and their talk of politics and evolution intimidated the shit out of me.
My first impression of Tennerson Academy had been holy fucking shit.
Tennerson has consistently been in the top twenty preparatory schools in the country. As a senior school, it accepted students aged between sixteen and eighteen.
It had been exclusively a boarding school until 1983, when it began accepting day students as well. Today, the hundred and thirty-eight residential students were divided among five houses—each house accommodating up to twenty students. In each building there was a leader and two teachers. The remaining teachers either lived on or off campus.
As a new teacher, I was living on campus in my own unit, which somewhat resembled a hotel suite—modern and clean—located in the teachers’ quarters.
Thank fucking Christ they hadn’t put me in one of the residential houses. I wouldn’t rule out being attacked in my sleep by some of these girls—girls who were used to getting exactly what they wanted.
This was so much more pressure than your usual teaching job. Here, you’re around it 24/7. That’s a hard thing to adapt to when you lack experience.
All you had to do was look around the teacher’s lounge: Tennerson’s liked experience, and lots of it. That made me feel nervous—like everyone was wondering what I did to get the job. Hell, I sometimes wondered myself how I got this job.
Oh wait, that’s right: my interfering mother.
“Tuna fish?” Mark screwed his nose up as he glanced over at my sandwich.
“You don’t have to eat it,” I told him, taking a big bite and washing it down with a soda.
“Yeah, but I have to smell it,” he retorted, moving a seat down.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Are you going to Layna’s tonight?” I asked him. Layna—the headmistress—and her husband, Dan, lived in a house behind the main building. Every Friday night, she and Dan hosted a dinner for the staff.
I’d known Layna for years, though we had only met a handful of times at big family events. She and Mom spoke regularly, but living so far away from each other made catching up hard. It was those big events—like Dad’s funeral—where I had actually met her.
Mark nodded. “Probably. Nothing better to do, may as well get a free feed, huh?”
“My thoughts exactly.” I chuckled.
“Glad your first week is over?” he asked.
I groaned. “That would be an understatement. I just found out there’s a betting pool on which one of my students is going to kiss me first.”
Mark laughed, banging his fist down on the table. I glowered at him. Was it really that funny?
“Seriously? Watch out, dude, these girls are brutal. That’s the trouble with rich kids—they’re used to getting whatever they want, no matter the cost.” He glanced down to his beer belly. “Not sure why they’re not trying to hit me up, though.” He grinned.
“No idea, dude.” I laughed. “But I have to admit, I’m glad this is only a short-term contract.”
“You say that now, but give it ten years. A pretty girl paying attention to you then will be the highlight of your week.” He laughed again as I shook my head. There were so many things wrong with what he’d just said that I didn’t even know where to start.
“I don’t know about that, but I do wish girls had paid this much attention to me in college.” I chuckled.
Mark snorted. “I find it hard to believe college girls were doing anything other than throwing themselves at your feet. And think about this: all those pretty college girls you were fucking last year? They were these girls only a year or two earlier.”
I rolled my eyes as Mark guffawed loudly. He was trying to wind me up, but there was some truth to his comment, and it made my inexperience and close age to these girls even more obvious to me.
Last year I wouldn’t have blinked an eye at the thought of making out with a hot freshman. Hell, my friends and I used to prey on ‘fresh meat’ as they called them.
They would be these girls in a few short months, and guys just like me would be all over them. I stood up, tossing my half-eaten sandwich in the garbage can, suddenly not that hungry.
I sighed, thankful there were only eight weeks of the school year left.
Surely I could handle eight little weeks?
Chapter Four
Dalton
The one good thing about living on campus? Two minutes and I was home.
Back in L.A., I’d still lived at home with Mom and spent half the day in the car getting to and from my classes. Here, I could get up fifteen minutes before my first class and still be early.
I made my way over to my unit on foot, crossing the sprawling green lawns that separated the school from the residential units. Trees lined the border of the entire property, most of them hundreds of years old, creating a feeling of privacy. My unit was in a cluster with fifteen others within an old, dated, red brick building.
Inside was a complete contrast. Everything had been remodeled, with modern new furniture, and finishes in grays and neutral tones. The living room was huge—as was the bedroom. The kitchen, though cramped, was complete with all the latest appliances. I even had a small balcony, which overlooked the entrance of the school.
I slapped my keys down on the counter and went straight for the fridge, grabbing a soda and some leftover pizza from the night before. Walking over to the sofa, I flopped down and flicked on the TV. My first week was officially over, and I had survived. Barely.
Eight more weeks.
If I could get through that, I could secure a job anywhere. That was what this was really all about: the security of a permanent job with benefits—such as health insurance—was something I needed. Not negotiable. This job on my resume was as good as a free pass to any teaching position I wanted. It put me one step above the other twenty thousand graduates who would be applying for the same positions I would be.
The dream to be a teacher had been with me for as long as I could remember and it was something that my father had hated when he was alive. I had so much potential, why did I want to waste it on a sub par career? Why didn’t I want to follow in his footsteps and study Law? Why was I such a disappointment? Why wasn’t I trying harder? All that when I was barely in middle school. Talk about pressure. In spite of all that, I knew he loved me and wanted the best for me.
When he found out he was sick, his entire outlook on life changed.
It had been a complete one-eighty turnaround. After his diagnosis, it was all about following my dreams, not settling for anything, and doing what made me happy.
Happy? Happiness was overrated. How could I ever let myself truly be happy knowing how easily everything I worked for could be ruined? Happiness was a trait that had eluded me for a long time. The best I could do was try and float with my head above water and hope I didn’t drown, and some days even that was hard.
Some days, all I wanted to do was say ‘fuck everything’ and disappear, move some place where nobody knew me and start afresh. The only thing stopping me was Mom, and knowing I could never do
that to her. Losing Dad had broken her. She couldn’t handle losing me, too.
That, and I was smart enough to realize you can’t run from your problems—they always catch up with you in the end.
***
Skype on my computer buzzed as I was getting ready to go out. It was Cam, one of my best friends from college and high school. Also a teaching graduate, he had ended up subbing for some of the roughest schools in Los Angeles. I reached over and clicked Accept, and turned on the mic.
“Hey man,” I said, dropping into my seat.
Cam’s big goofy grin filled the screen, his messy hair falling in all directions.
“How’s it going?”
“Heeeeey. How’s the private school boy going?” he yelled.
I sighed. “I can’t wait for this to be over, actually. I’d rather be subbing in the worst school in the country than here. These girls are fucking insane, man,” I said, stretching my arms behind my head.
Cam laughed. “Insanely hot, you mean. Am I right?” He laughed hysterically. Cam hadn’t changed in the eight years I’d known him. He had way too much energy and nothing to burn it on. He was one of the most genuine people I knew, and had been such a support when my dad had died. At that stage we’d only been friends for a few months, but he was there for me when all my other friends deserted me, not knowing what to say or how to act. It was amazing how in the face of tragedy, it all became about them.
I shook my head. “Don’t go there, man. God knows I won’t be. How are you, anyway? Any more interviews?”
“Yeah, I had one yesterday for a pretty decent school not far from me, so fingers crossed, huh?” I heard a faint voice in the background. “Amy says hi.”
“Hey Amy,” I said back. Amy was his girlfriend of three years, and a real sweetheart. She kept him grounded. “Listen, I gotta go. A work thing, but I’ll catch you soon, okay?”
“Sure, don’t work too hard,” he warned me.
Always You Page 2