"Toronto. I used to attend Trafalgar's All-Girl School," I said rather suggestively, just to gauge his response. In reality, I had only attended the school for a couple of months. He swallowed hard—the typical reaction guys gave when an all-girl school was mentioned. I watched his Adams apple bob up and down and smiled a little wider. He smiled back.
I was pretty good at gauging men. I had a lot of experience reading people, and I was naturally talented at it. I knew he found me attractive, but that didn't mean anything would ever come of it.
When I saw something I wanted, I went for it. It didn't matter who or what it was. I was typically assertive and self-aware. This personality trait didn't just apply to men—and hadn't, really, as I was distrustful of most. This personality trait did create friction amongst my female peers, who all typically assumed the worse out of me, like I was a harlot or something. But that's the thing with girls, if another girl is fairly decent in the looks department, she's branded a whore whether or not she enjoys casual sex. That bit didn't matter. If she was pretty with a nice body and guys were interested in her, other girls got catty.
Although I had a reputation, I didn't typically go out of my way to get affection from guys, at least not intentionally. I hadn't met anyone that made me want to actively pursue them. I didn't typically do "random hookups" and I stayed clear of the guys from my past high schools after ninth grade.
Rhys was different from other guys. For one, he had not gone to my high school. For two, he had been just as disconnected from me as I'd been from him. We only ended up together because Lauren had been in love with his best friend, Alex, and they had spent nearly every available moment together. Rhys was cute and a stereotypically punk guy, but what I was feeling now, that impossible to ignore attraction for my English teacher, I'd never felt with Rhys. In fact, I wasn't sure I had felt it with anyone before. At least not to this extent.
Iain Bentley was different. I felt as if I was awakening, finally, after months of being in a daze.
I couldn't just go for a teacher…and I didn't want to anyway. Or at least not just in the way that women imagine being with their favourite Hollywood actor. Innocent, because it'd never happen, but if the opportunity arose, then there wouldn't be a moment's hesitation.
I couldn't help but wonder what the chances of an opportunity were. I knew exactly what Lauren would say: Make an opportunity for yourself! Go for it! I could almost hear her singsong voice in my head, daring me to make a move.
Before either of us could say anything else, students started to file into the classroom.
"Later, Mr. Bentley," I said softly before snagging a desk toward the back of the room. I would have the perfect view of the front of the class, which would be a bonus. My heart was pounding as I sunk down into my seat.
It didn't take long for Mr. Bentley to recover from our encounter, or for the classroom to fill up. He kept glancing over in my direction, which made me smile. The last to arrive were three girls, chattering away mindlessly about some party that happened the weekend before at some kid named Riley's house. They came in as the final bell rang. Mr. Bentley waited until everyone was seated before he stood up.
"Welcome back," Mr. Bentley said. His voice was smooth yet rugged, and I think pretty much every single girl—and a few guys—in the room swooned when they saw him. Mr. Bentley turned to the blackboard and wrote his name in blocky letters. "I'm Mr. Bentley. It's my first year teaching so go easy on me."
Not at all, I thought. My eyes were drawn to his tight ass as he turned away from us to write on the blackboard. I wondered if he looked just as muscular with his clothes off as he did with them on. An entertaining thought, one that most of the girls (and those few guys) were probably sharing. I noticed the three girls near me staring at him with appreciation and giggling in whispered tones.
Mr. Bentley decided that instead of doing actual work on the first day, that we would play a "get to know one another" game. We each had to say our names and one word about ourselves. Then he wanted us to write a short essay on ourselves so that he could both get to know us and ballpark what kind of students we'd be. The essay was due on Thursday.
I could have a lot of fun with this activity. I thought about all the possibilities while I watched each of the students say something about themselves.
"My name's Jenna and one word to describe me would be fun!" one of the girls, who was one of the last three to arrive, declared flirtatiously. She had shoulder-length blonde hair cut in layers, with all-American baby blue eyes. I got the impression that she was one of the self-declared popular girls. Every high school has them: the group of well-groomed, somewhat pretty girls that think they own the school. She was sitting with two other girls, and they all giggled along with her.
"I'm Callie and one word to describe me is playful!" the platinum blonde girl in front of Jenna said.
"I'm Tara and I'm happy!" the dark haired girl in their trio said with a high-pitched laugh that made me wince. I rolled my eyes, frowning. Soon it was my turn.
"My name's Harlow, and one word to describe me is single." I said, pointedly looking at Mr. Bentley with wide, innocent eyes. I might as well go in with a bang, since I was likely to go out with one.
Several of the guys turned in their seats to check me out, and I smiled. I was almost in my element. It still stung, knowing I was missing my comrade in arms, but still. I knew she'd be proud.
Being flirtatious and sensational was…fun. I'd always been a flirt, especially when Lauren was around. She had been just as bad, if not worse, than me.
Aside from Lauren, I had always gotten along better with guys because they were easier to read than girls and they typically had less bullshit attached. Sure, the occasional guy didn't fit that description, but even with my past, I'd encountered more crappy girls than guys, which was saying something.
Callie and Tara sent me dirty glances. I could feel the waves of dislike coming off them already. Whoa. I'd never moved that quickly onto the popular group's radar before. Impressive, even for me.
"Well then." Mr. Bentley cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. "I'm sure a lot of the guys here are glad to hear that, Harlow." His eyes brushed over me again, flickering with interest before moving on to the student behind me.
"My name's Riley and I'm horny," the guy behind me declared, trying to go along with what I said. Everybody but Mr. Bentley and I laughed. I looked over my shoulder. Riley was pretty hot, although he paled in comparison to Mr. Bentley. I was now likely to compare every guy I met with Mr. Bentley. He had set a high bar, one that I doubted anyone would come close to. Riley had fair hair cut close to his head and styled expertly, light eyes, and a smile that suggested he was popular and accustomed to getting what he wanted. He must be the same Riley that the girls had been talking about before class. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked me in a lower tone, raising his eyebrow.
"Sorry, working," I replied before turning back to the front of the class. I had a smile on my face again. I enjoyed getting hit on and asked out; what girl didn't? Although dating a guy who spent more time doing his hair than I did definitely wasn't on my list.
"Alright, that's enough." Mr. Bentley looked visibly aggravated. "None of that in my classroom, please, Mr. Douglas. Can you think of another word?"
"Disappointed," Riley shrugged. "But determined."
"Alright then," Mr. Bentley said, clenching his jaw slightly. I couldn't read if he was jealous or simply irritated by the exchange happening in his classroom. I hoped it was the first one. "Moving on. Next?"
The rest of the replies were safe and boring, and toward the end of class Mr. Bentley again reminded us about our essays. The bell rang, singling the end of class, and people started to pack up their books.
"Homework already," Riley groaned loudly.
"Oh, don't sweat it, Riley. You'll have no trouble writing about yourself. It's your favourite topic," Jenna said, tossing a curious look over her shoulder at me. Callie and Tara were both staring with
open hostility.
"True," Riley replied, laughing. I finished shoving the rest of my books into my bag and stood up. I breezed past the group of girls and a few other stragglers, who were clearly waiting around to get a few more minutes of Mr. Bentley. He was standing at his desk, organizing some papers. He looked up at me, and again it felt like time slowed down a bit—to me, anyway. I raised my eyebrows suggestively at him as I passed, and he quickly looked down. I was making him uncomfortable, but I couldn't tell why just yet.
* * *
The rest of my morning wasn't nearly as interesting as my English class had been. Math was next, and Jake was in that class. He eagerly sat beside me and stared at me for practically the entire time.
"Look, I'm sorry about the crappy tips," he said at the end of class. "Let me make it up to you."
"How?"
"A little sesh, perhaps?" Jake offered, cocking his eyebrow and smiling.
"Alright." I sighed, smiling and shaking my head slightly. I grabbed my book bag and we walked toward the cafeteria to meet up with his two friends.
They did a double take when I walked up to them with Jake. They were typical stoners, wearing their hair a bit on the long side. They were nice guys, I learned as I smoked up with them inside Jake's Jeep. Kind of dull, though. I had to friend zone them; they just didn't spark my interest. Jake too, although I could tell he wanted to not be in that zone by the way he was looking at me.
I was pretty high by the time we were done. I pulled out my trusty Visine and squirted some into my eyes. I didn't like evidence, so when we got out of the Jeep, I also sprayed some Chanel perfume on myself. It was the only "designer" thing I had, and I only had it because my mother gave it to me for every single occasion.
"We're headed to the caf. You wanna come?" Jake offered.
"No thanks, I'm good," I answered. I had seen something I wanted to investigate.
"Okay." Jake shrugged, heading back toward the school. I adjusted my skirt and walked toward the figure staring at me a couple parking spots down.
"Were you smoking pot?" Mr. Bentley asked, studying me suspiciously. He was coming back from his car with a paper bag from Mr. Sub.
"No, I was just involved in a four-way," I replied sweetly, laughing at his expression. "Kidding! I wouldn't do anything like that. And smoking pot is illegal, Mr. Bentley."
"So there must have been another reason for the inside of that kid's car to be hotboxed full of smoke," Mr. Bentley said, smiling back and shaking his head. I could tell he wasn't about to get us into trouble.
"Maybe I was telling the truth about the foursome," I said slowly. "Maybe it was steam." I don't think it was any secret that I was trying to seduce him, and he knew it. He glanced around the parking lot nervously. My heart thudded quickly in my chest like a hummingbird. I couldn't believe I'd actually said it. I had never done anything quite like this before. The only time I'd ever said overly sexual things was back when Lauren and I would try to get as many guys as we could to ask for our numbers. It was a silly game, one that I hadn't played in months and had never played with an authority figure before. They were usually just classmates or guys we met at parties. I could almost feel Lauren cheering me on, as stupid as that was. It made me feel all that much closer to her.
"I hope that isn't true," Mr. Bentley said, frowning and looking away, a faint blush on his cheeks.
"You think so little of me already," I said, sounding hurt. "I prefer to focus all of my attention on one person at a time." I looked at him suggestively, and although his jaw had dropped slightly from shock, his eyes betrayed his true feelings. I hadn't expected that at all. My heartbeat increased even more as he looked at me. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of an appropriate response. I didn't give him the chance, and there wasn't one. Instead I started walking toward the school, looking over my shoulder briefly.
"See you later, Teach." He was still standing there with his jaw open. He looked the way I felt inside. Totally shocked and intrigued.
That was ballsy, even for me. Despite the rumors, I hadn't really had a lot of boyfriend experience. I'd only really dated two guys before, and both relationships had ended terribly. But I couldn't seem to help myself from saying those things around Mr. Bentley. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but it was almost like I could only watch from the outside. I was on a mission and even I couldn't stop myself. That feeling of awakening, it had been a taste of something I really needed. I'd felt so dead inside for months, and I was finally starting to come alive again. How could I not crave that feeling? Nevertheless, I scolded myself. I had to tone it down a bit. I didn't want to cause trouble. I still had my ambitions and dreams of going to university at the front of my mind.
Despite that, I couldn't stop the show. I didn't know what I hoped to achieve. It wasn't like I actually thought I'd be able to seduce my English teacher.
* * *
I put a lot of effort into my essay. At first I just wanted to sound alluring to Mr. Bentley, and I think I succeeded, but then I fell into my writing. I escaped.
I wrote about how my parents met, about my dad playing in a semi-popular band in the eighties and about him overdosing when I was three. I wrote about how I'd been with him, alone, when he died, and about how my mother came home from work to find me clenching his body and crying for him to wake up.
I wrote about the trouble I got into from twelve on. I wrote about my tattoos— the feather pen and ink pot, the six black birds in flight, the cherry blossom vine tattoo, and the very significant meaning they each held for me. I wrote about my ex-boyfriend Rhys and how we'd dated for six months. I wrote about Lauren, our adventures together, and about nearly dying in the very car accident that killed her. I wrote about closing off from everyone after that. Once I started writing, I couldn't stop. The words flowed out of me without my control and I let it happen. The release was euphoric. I sat at my desk afterwards, proofreading and smiling. It was personal, it was raw, and it was the way I loved to write. Despite how open I'd been, I still left out a lot about my life.
I didn't write about my mom's second husband, Rodney, or about how she walked in on him masturbating over me when I was eight. I didn't write about my first ex-boyfriend, star of the basketball team, and how he drugged me and let his friends take turns sexually assaulting me when I was fifteen. I didn't write about the bullying that happened afterwards, the reason why I switched to the all-girls school, or my general distrust of everyone. At first, I wanted to write about that stuff…just to tell someone. Lauren had been the only one who knew every horrible detail, and she was gone now. But I didn't want Mr. Bentley to look at me with concern and pity. I wanted to build myself up. Telling him about Lauren's death had been difficult enough.
I was satisfied with the end result when I handed it in Thursday. "Happy reading," I said, giving him a sarcastic smile.
I carried on with my day. At lunch, I went out with Jake and his friends to his Jeep for another "sesh." All day long, I ignored the not-so-warm reception I was getting from my female peers. Females were petty and jealous, and very distrustful of one another. I knew they saw me as a threat and I didn't try to win them over. Instead, I focused on hanging out with the guys. Even after all that I'd been through with my ex and his friends and with Rodney, the step-monster from hell, I was more comfortable hanging out with guys. I had learned from that mistake with the basketball team, and that was to never let someone else mix my drinks and to never give up the control. As for Rodney…well, I had only been 8 and asleep.
Girls were harder because they were stabby, and you could never tell which way they were going to stab you either. They act all trustworthy and understanding, all the while learning information about you so they can turn on you the moment the opportunity presents itself. So I avoided them, or most of them, anyway. Lauren had been different. We had been kindred spirits. We met at the beginning of tenth grade, and had been inseparable until the day she died. She was the first person I really connected with in a long t
ime, possibly ever. She was my rock when I went through rough times. We were often mistaken for siblings, too. She had wide hazel eyes and naturally blond hair, but when she dyed darker we could pass as sisters.
I suppose I kept my distance from the other girls because I knew they'd be nothing like Lauren, and I didn't want to feel like I was replacing her.
* * *
After school I had to work, so I started walking toward the diner. I had my earbuds in and listened to Lacuna Coil during the fifteen minute commute. I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I hated themes, but somehow this fifties diner was charming and the atmosphere was great. You couldn't help but want to be cheerful. I felt like I could almost be someone else…almost. All my co-workers were pretty nice. I knew a few of them liked to gab behind other employees' backs, but at least they didn't outright make you feel like crap to your face.
Tonight, like most nights, I was working with Danielle, the most tolerable of all my co-workers. She was twenty-two, very pretty with auburn hair and soft brown eyes. She was one of the rare ones who was warm and kind to everyone and didn't talk trash behind anyone's back. She was wholesome through and through, and not in a superior way. She was sweet. I liked her, and I enjoyed working with her.
"Hi, Danielle, just need to get dressed," I greeted her, holding up my uniform. I went into the back, passing the kitchen guys who whistled at my school uniform, and walked toward the staff bathroom where I quickly changed into my work clothes: a black knee-length skirt and a turquoise uniform shirt with the name of the diner on the left breast. I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail and applied some fresh lipstick. Then I put my apron on and made my way back out to the front.
The diner wasn't packed yet; it wouldn't be until about five o’clock. I spent the next hour topping off the table toppers and making sure we were fully stocked. Danielle had the bigger section, since she had been there longer, and I had the smaller, more reclusive section. A couple regulars that enjoyed the privacy even more than my sunny disposition would frequent back there. I served each table with a small smile on my face, allowed witty comments when merited, and did pretty good with tips. I could be nice when it was needed.
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