Marissa shuddered at the thought of him seeing her there smoking. She would have to talk to him on Wednesday. And if he classified her as a burn out, he might not give her the time of day. But he hadn’t seen her at all, she was sure of it. She was persuaded that by Wednesday, he probably would have forgotten who she even was.
Suddenly, she remembered and slapped her hand to her forehead. “Wednesday! But that’s when the article is due. Deadlines, ugh!” she screamed to herself. Her memory had slipped up. She had been so nervous talking to him that she had accepted the appointment without thinking. And since he was gone, she couldn’t reschedule until the next day. I’ll have to go see him tomorrow morning before school, she thought.
Marissa and Pamela always got home before Barbara. But since Barbara never wanted the girls to have idle time on their hands, she left lists of things for them to do everyday. Once they finished their homework, they had to do chores and once they finished their chores, they had to start making dinner. Marissa often told her mother the only reason she thought her mother had children was to make slaves out of them. And even if Marissa and Pamela had done everything on their lists, it was never good enough. When Barbara came home she still found reasons to bark at them. And this time was no different.
The minute Barbara walked in, the phone rang. Marissa rushed to pick it up. It was Dan.
“Hi, honey. How was your first day?” Dan asked in his sexy voice.
Marissa looked at the clock, 4:45 p.m. That meant that it was 1:45 p.m. in California. She pulled the phone cord toward her room and shut the door. “Hey baby, aren’t you working today?”
“I don’t start work until 3:00. You still haven’t answered my question,” he insisted.
“Oh, it was uneventful,” she lied feeling guilty about the flutters in her stomach over the art teacher. “You know nothing exciting ever happens at St. Mary’s. How are you, hon? I miss you so much.”
“Everything’s the same here. Freddy is still an asshole. My job is extremely boring. I just called to see how you were.”
“I’ll be much better when I get out to California,” she said longingly.
“Marissa!” called Barbara from the kitchen, “I need to use the phone. And who is tending to the pot on the stove? Please get off now!”
“Dan I gotta go,” Marissa whispered. “You-know-who always has to use the phone when I’m on it.”
“I love you Mariss,” Dan said tenderly, “I kiss you all over your hot little body.”
“Love you too, bye.” she said and hung up.
After hanging up Marissa felt bad. She didn’t have the same butterflies in her stomach talking to Dan as she had had when she was talking to the art teacher. The guilt gnawed at her brain. If I love Dan, she thought, then I should only have feelings for him.
She stared at the phone feeling utterly confused.
Chapter Five
Sweat covered Marissa’s body when she woke up the next morning. She had been dreaming that she and Dan were on a beach in California. They were running together, playing tag in the sand. But she couldn’t catch up to him. She ran faster than ever but he ran even faster. Then she couldn’t see him, it’s like something was blocking her view.
As she lay in bed awake, she thought to herself. Is that what is happening? Is Daniel running from me? The thought made her anxious. Not a pleasant way to start the day. She wanted to call him, just to make sure things were O.K. But she couldn’t. It was the middle of the night in California.
Instead she got up and showered. The hot water felt good running down her back. Marissa stood there a long time in a half asleep, half awake state. Suddenly, the bathroom door banged open. “Are you going to take up all of the hot water?” yelled Pamela.
Marissa had forgotten her sister now started school at the same time she did. “Sorry, I’ll get out.”
“Besides, Mom wants to talk to you before she leaves for work.” She added.
When Marissa got to the kitchen, Barbara handed her an envelope. It was open. Marissa read the outside of the envelope. It was from UCLA. She had requested her college applications over the summer and it was the first one to arrive.
“Thanks for opening it Mom,” stated Marissa sarcastically. “It was addressed to me.”
“Well, I was curious that’s all,” Barbara answered then continued, “Marissa did you know that colleges charge you $100 just to apply?”
Marissa rolled her eyes. “Mom, they all charge you something to apply. They call it application fees. And yes, I did know.”
“Well, I can’t afford that. It’s like throwing money down the drain. And how many of these applications are you going to fill out?” Barbara huffed.
“O.K. Mom, first of all, throwing your money down the drain? This is so I can go to college. Secondly, I will pay for the application fees. Thirdly, don’t open my mail!” Marissa was raging mad by now.
“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice, young lady!” scolded Barbara. “I will pay for one application fee. One only! And it has to be for an in-state college.”
“Don’t bother,” yelled Marissa, “because I’m not going to college in-state. I’m going to California!”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” threatened Barbara as she turned to go.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Marissa.
“We’ll talk about it later,” snapped Barbara, ‘I have to leave for work.”
She hated her mother. Why did she always have to make her feel like what she wanted wasn’t important?
College was not something Barbara understood. She had taken a few community college classes but no one in her family had ever gone to college. Barbara became an accountant through years of hard work and a slow climb up the corporate ladder. She had her experience to thank, not a college education. Marissa knew this but she also knew her mom regretted not going to college. So she didn’t understand her violent reaction over the application fees.
Pamela walked into the kitchen rubbing her hair with a towel and shaking her head, “What in the world is going on this time?”
“You don’t wanna know.” Marissa answered impatiently. “Just hurry up please. I gotta get to school a little early today.”
The school parking lot was nearly empty when Marissa and Pamela pulled up. Marissa quickly glanced around and spotted the navy blue pick-up truck. He’s here, she thought.
“Remind me why we’re here at the butt crack of dawn,” said Pamela rubbing her eyes.
“I have to talk to some teachers about this newspaper article thing,” answered Marissa nonchalantly.
“All right, but I’m not going in there yet, I’m going to 7-Eleven to get a diet coke,” said Pamela as she slammed the car door.
But Marissa wasn’t listening. She was already thinking about what to say to Mr. Smith. She felt like a total idiot for changing the interview time after agreeing to it. And she would have to get all the other new teachers interviewed too. It looked like she was going to be there all day.
She grabbed her backpack and walked briskly to the main door down the hall and to the extended wing. The lights were on in both classrooms at the end of the new hall. Marissa drew in a deep breath. She was shaking inside but she couldn’t waste time. She just had to do it. With a determined step she walked directly toward the art room. Steps before reaching the art room door, Mrs. Kowalski, who was coming out of the tutoring room, stopped her.
“Hi Marissa, wow you’re sure here early. Were you coming to see me?” asked Mrs. Kowalski pointing at her with a cup of coffee.
“I, uh, no. I was going to talk to Mr. Smith,” Marissa stammered.
Mrs. Kowalski looked over her shoulder toward the art room, “Oh,” she grimaced. “I thought you might be interested in tutoring this year, to earn your National Honors Society points. I need tutors, especially in math.”
Marissa hadn’t expected such a delay and she didn’t want to talk to Mrs. Kowalski so she answered swiftly, “Well, I hadn’t thought abou
t it but I will consider it, Mrs. Kowalski.”
Again Marissa headed toward the art door when she heard Mrs. Kowalski yet again, ”Marissa!”
Marissa turned around annoyed.
“Tuck in your shirt,” commanded Mrs. Kowalski.
Marissa adjusted her waistband and tucked in her shirt. Stupid rule, she thought. Who the hell cares if my shirttail is tucked in?
When Marissa entered the art room, Mr. Smith was taking out art supplies and setting them on the large tables. Strange seventies style music filled the room. Marissa stood at the entrance waiting to be noticed. She watched Mr. Smith flitting around the room for several minutes before he took notice of her. Once he realized, to his surprise, that he wasn’t alone, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“My God,” he exclaimed clutching his chest, “you scared me!” He studied the clock on the wall, and then turned to Marissa. “It’s not time for class yet. Uh, are you even in my first period class?” He stopped baffled.
His confusion with the situation made Marissa smile broadly, “We met yesterday, remember? I need to interview you for the school paper. And no, I’m not in your first period class. I don’t take art.”
The perplexed expression didn’t leave his face as he said, “I don’t remember agreeing to an interview before school.”
Seeing Mr. Smith vulnerable made him seem more human. The more he appeared uneasy, the more comfortable Marissa became. Her smile widened. “Sorry, it’s just that I sort of messed up. I agreed to interview you during lunch tomorrow and I need to finish the interviews today. Sorry about the short notice. Could we do it, I mean, could we interview today at lunch?”
Mr. Smith’s face relaxed, “Wow, the school newspaper sounds like serious business. It’s only the second day of school and you already have to meet deadlines? Sorry, I monitor the cafeteria on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that won’t work.”
“Oh,” said Marissa with disappointment, “Well, how about after school?”
“I’m on a part-time contract so I leave around one o’clock, but if it’s that important I can hang around today,” offered Mr. Smith.
“Oh, thanks,” smiled Marissa, “but that may not be necessary. You see I’m sort of a part-time student and I get out at one as well.”
“Part-time student huh?” teased Mr. Smith.
“Yeah, I uh, only have four credits to graduate so I get out early every day. We could meet around one for that interview. Is that all right?”
“Yes, I think that might work, uh, I’m sorry what did you say your name was?” asked Mr. Smith.
“Marissa, Marissa Belknapp.”
“Well, I’ll see you later Marissa Belknapp.” He smiled.
Marissa turned to go. She couldn’t stop smiling. “By the way, who is this you’re listening to?’
“Cat Stevens,” answered Mr. Smith.
“Cat who?” asked Marissa.
“Stevens. Don’t you have a class to get to?”
Marissa looked up at the clock: 7:57. She only had eight minutes to go to her locker and get to first period. As she ran down the halls, she felt jumpy inside. We’re they flirting? That was definitely flirting. The weird part about it was that it didn’t feel weird at all. It felt completely natural.
The rest of the morning, Marissa worked out the interviews with the three remaining new teachers. She would interview one at lunch and the other two after school. In newspaper class, she worked out the questions she would ask and ran them by her teacher. Ms. Prime explained that a good journalist was an excellent listener. The interview needed to start with a clever question, which would lead to other questions and answers that the interviewer may not have been expecting.
Her first interview was with the new music teacher, Mr. Sincop. Musicians are performers by nature so interviewing him was a piece of cake. Marissa felt that she had a personal interest in the interview as well because of her interest in music and in particular musical theater as a career. Mr. Sincop was brief and to the point. Marissa wrapped up the interview quickly and realized she had twenty minutes left of her lunch period. Thank God, she thought. I’m starving.
As the smell of food wafted through the halls, She hurried along the corridor, which led to the cafeteria. Just as she was heading toward an empty table she heard, “Young lady? Hall pass please!”
Marissa swung her head around abruptly. Mr. Smith stood next to the door, arms folded. He was looking straight at her. When their eyes met, he realized at once who she was. His voice softened, “Ahhh, Miss Belknapp do you have a hall pass?”
Marissa sighed heavily. In her haste, she had completely forgotten about getting a hall pass. And with only eighteen minutes to go until the end of lunch, it was pointless to walk all the way to the music room and back. She started to explain, “Mr. Smith, I just finished an interview with Mr. Sincop, the new music teacher, and I ran out without asking him for a hall pass. I’m really sorry. Can I please just stay and eat my lunch?” She tried to look as apologetic and innocent as possible.
Mr. Smith looked at the clock, “O.K. But don’t let it happen again on my time.”
“Uh, thanks,” Marissa answered briefly and sat down. She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Smith; he was smiling.
Blushing a little, she flashed him a smile back.
One o’clock came quickly. This time Marissa felt a little more at ease as she headed down the corridor. She knocked on the open door and walked in. Mr. Smith was sitting at his desk writing in his lesson plan book.
“Hello,” she called out.
Still writing, he glanced up slightly. “Hi, why don’t you pull up a chair."
She grabbed a chair, sat down and took out her notebook.
“So, what do you want to know?” Mr. Smith asked leaning back in his chair.
Marissa read from her notebook, “Why did you choose teaching?”
“I believe that teaching someone something is one of the greatest gifts you can give,” he answered thoughtfully.
“O.K. then why art?” she continued.
Mr. Smith: Because art is the only thing that really caught my interest in high school.
Marissa: Where did you go to high school and when did you graduate?
Mr. Smith: I graduated from Emerson High School in 1982.
Marissa: Oh, so you’re from around here?
Mr. Smith: Yeah, but I just got back.
Marissa: Really. Where were you?
Mr. Smith: Traveling, in and around Denver.
Marissa: Huh, interesting. And where did you go to college?
Mr. Smith: State.
Marissa: Is this your first year teaching?
Mr. Smith: Yes. But I’ve substitute taught off and on for the past two years, since I graduated.
Marissa hesitated before asking the next question. It was on her list and she was asking all of the teachers the same question. Plus, for some reason she wanted to know but part of her didn’t want to know.
Marissa: Are you married?
Mr. Smith: No.
Marissa: Engaged?
Mr. Smith: No.
O.K. so he wasn’t married. Who was the Martha Smith on the subscription label of the magazine he was reading? She wanted to find out. Maybe his sister? If he wasn’t married, was he gay? she wondered.
Mr. Smith: Any more questions?
Marissa: Oh, yeah. What do you like to do in your spare time?
Mr. Smith: I am an avid reader and I love to play tennis and racquetball.
Marissa: What are you reading now?
Mr. Smith: Now?
Marissa: Yeah, like what are you currently reading?
Mr. Smith: The Tao of Pooh
Marissa: The what?
Mr. Smith: The Tao of Pooh, you know Pooh, like Winnie the Pooh. I’ll show you some time.
Marissa: Uh, okay. Um, what do you hope to accomplish at St. Mary’s?
Mr. Smith: I hope to bring a keen awareness about the importance of art in people’s lives.
Ma
rissa: Good. For the record could I have your full name please?
Mr. Smith: Nicholas Michael Smith.
Marissa: O.K. first and last name would have been fine. I think that will do it.
Mr. Smith: Why don’t you take art?
Marissa: Well, I can’t draw worth anything. That’s my sister’s department. Second of all, I’m not really interested in art. I mean, I like looking at paintings and stuff in museums but other than that, it just doesn’t interest me.
Mr. Smith: Oh, I see. Do you like photographs?
Marissa: Excuse me?
Mr. Smith: Photographs? Pictures of people, places and things.
Marissa: Well, yeah. But…
Mr. Smith: Photography is art.
Marissa: Ah, point taken. Well, I better go. I have to interview two other teachers and write this article. Thank you for your time.
Mr. Smith: No problem.
Marissa left the room feeling upbeat. He wasn’t married. But what was she thinking? He’s a teacher. Besides Dan was the man in her life. He did have gorgeous blue eyes though. She walked to the library to look over her notes and work on the article for the first two teachers. Mr. Smith said he graduated from high school in 1982. That meant he was only twenty-four.
It’s just a crush, she thought, an innocent crush. A lot of girls have crushes on their male teachers. It will go away with time. Marissa kept repeating this to herself but she wasn’t convinced.
The next day in newspaper, Ms. Prime explained the importance of quoting someone correctly in an article. “If you misquote someone, you could seriously harm their reputation or their livelihood. You could also lose credibility as a journalist. Please make sure that all of your quotes match what the person actually said.”
Forbidden Fruit: An Unlikely Love Story Page 5