by Glenn Rolfe
This year had been his easiest. One of the new women to take up his spot was Emily Young. Ms. Young was twenty-three, petite and gorgeous. She had deep-brown eyes, perfect skin, and long, dark hair that she usually wore up in a ponytail. She came up to his chin. Her skirts had driven him to the edge of sexual insanity throughout the course of the year. At least with summer upon them, he would be free of her and the frustration.
He let his gaze drift to the window and got lost in the sunshine. His old algebra teacher, Mr. Laughlin, used to warn the class to focus for the first three quarters of the school year so that they could stare out at the birds and the bees when spring hit.
“Mr. Jackson,” Ms. Young said.
She pulled him back from his summer haze.
“Yes?” he said.
“Can you come up here and help Calvin with this…issue?” Ms. Young said. She was standing near the door with Calvin Kendo. The boy faced the door.
Aaron would love to have Ms. Young take the open slot in his love life; however, as with the teaching positions at Fairington, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Faculty relationships were strictly against the rules. Not that he thought she would go with him anyway, but there was no need to put their day-to-day, in-class relationship at risk. He’d never be able to show his face in there if he made a move and she shot him down. Something about undressing the teacher in your mind while surrounded by ten-year-olds was definitely fucked up, but goddamn if she wasn’t the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
Yes, he sighed. Just three hours until he was free from dress shirts and ties, aggravating, snickering kids (they weren’t all bad, but the ones who were ruined it for the rest, in his mind), and his role of pretending to be a good soldier patiently waiting in line for a permanent job. Also, freedom from Ms. Emily Young. Aaron’s breaths were coming easier already.
He got up to help Calvin Kendo with his issue. That problem turned out to be an erection. Ms. Young’s reddened face turned from the two boys as she went about the day’s curriculum.
Aaron opened the classroom door and ushered Calvin out into the empty hallway.
“Hey, Calvin, that’s a regular guy problem you got there. It happens. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go get a drink of water? Sometimes walking and moving around helps bring things back to normal.”
“Okay.”
They started for the water fountain, with the boy covering the front of his pants with his Phineas and Ferb folder. “Mr. Jackson?”
“Yeah, Calvin?”
“Does this ever happen to you?”
“It sure does.”
“I mean in class.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Sometimes.”
“Is that why you go out for water too?”
“Sometimes, Calvin.”
The boy made it down the hall, cartoon-character folder firmly in place, and slurped from the water fountain outside Mrs. Bell’s third-grade class.
“Better? Or do we need to walk around some more?”
“I think it’s gone.”
Yep. Three hours until freedom.
Chapter Three
“Aren’t you ever afraid one of these whack jobs is going to…I don’t know…call you up to their room and hump you until your head rolls off or cut you into little Heather pieces?”
“Shut up, Shannon. You’re the fuckin’ whack job. What the hell?” Heather said.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t fuck you. Unless…”
“You’re such a dyke wannabe.”
“Only for you, H, only for you.”
Heather grabbed her uniform—navy-blue slacks and matching sweater—from the back of the plaid-patterned thrift-store sofa, patted Shannon on the head and grabbed her keys from the end table. “I’m leaving you, sicko. You and Harry try not to break any of the furniture out here.”
Shannon feigned shock. “Moi?”
“Yeah, I don’t want any mysterious stains on this couch.”
“Harry is a beast. When he has to have me, he has to have me.”
“Well, let him have you in your room.”
“But we’re exhibitionists!”
“Bye.”
Heather shook her head as she stepped out into the bright day. Shannon made her laugh. Heather was grateful to have a roommate whom she liked. Shannon had a way of bringing her up when she felt down, even if she and her horndog boyfriend did wreak sexual havoc around their small place. Shannon was unfiltered and uninhibited, but she was monogamous, and beneath the raw exterior, maybe the sweetest, most genuine person Heather had ever known.
Heather walked two blocks to her car, the sun burning a hole in her head. Summer was coming on and as awesome as it felt this morning, she still preferred fall. Halloween, pumpkin-flavored everything, new horror movies at the Nickelodeon Theater…perfect. As for now, her T-shirt was already sticking to her back.
She got to her car, drew a cigarette from her canvas bag and lit it. Portland wasn’t the biggest city in the world, but it was the biggest in Maine. She glanced around at the dumpy apartments lining Spring Street. She’d been forced to grab an apartment on the West End near all of the other university kids who couldn’t afford the nicer ones near the school. She’d recently made the decision to take this semester off and work at the hotel full-time for the summer. Not the best paying job, but at least she enjoyed it. There was something to be said for that, at least. In a world caught up on money and looks, she could never understand why people put so much stock in either. She loved meeting people traveling from all over the country, and while she certainly got a healthy dose of the irritated, stick-up-the-ass guests, she found most people were nice enough.
A semester free of homework and full of beach time sounded perfect. Besides, she was getting close to her junior year and still didn’t know what the hell she wanted to be. Her initial degree plan had her going into social work, but after hearing too many horror stories from her mother’s friend Linda, Heather had decided to try something else—journalism, sports medicine, meteorology? She’d dabbled in classes that could lead into any of those directions. Honestly, she was scared shitless about making decisions. She’d take the summer off and figure it out in the fall when Michael Meyers and pumpkin ale returned to sweeten her day-to-day. Or at least that’s what she told herself.
She tossed the cigarette butt to the sidewalk and got in her little Suzuki Swift. She pulled away from the curb to Brian Setzer’s wobbly guitar twang and his singing about a cool cat struttin’ down the street.
She parked in the hotel’s garage and took the stairs down to the back lobby entrance. She changed in the employee bathroom and checked her makeup in the mirror. She kept it simple: nude smoky eye shadow and lip-gloss. She worked her guests. She was not ashamed. She accepted the fact that she was the second most complimented girl on the desk staff, behind Heidi Nichols. Heidi was the perfect size 2, blonde bombshell; Heather was a full-figured, timeless beauty with pinup girl good looks. Heather preferred her cool and classy to Heidi’s bouncy-flake routine.
In the battle of the monthly comment-card challenge, Heather had a two-card edge over Heidi. Cool and classy.
She punched in and relieved Barbara, the fifty-six-years-young customer service benchmark for the hotel.
“Anything I need to know for tonight, Babs?” Heather said. She thumbed through the front desk logbook.
“Heidi called in.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yeah, you sound real upset.” Barbara nudged her elbow as she slipped by. “Bill said he’d be in at four to help.”
Bill Tillman was the front desk manager. A mixed bag of emotions swirled through Heather’s stomach. On one hand, Bill had mentioned the hotel gym being free for employees one too many times for her liking. On the other, this would present the perfect opportunity for her to outshine
her absent nemesis. Bill would see firsthand how much better she was with the guests, whether she utilized the gym or not. Let the summer smackdown commence.
* * * * *
Emily sat hidden away behind a maple tree that marked the start of the trail they took students down for all things nature related. She liked the silence. The peacefulness. The zen. Out here there were no questions and no pleas for help. Just her Nutella and crackers and raspberry iced tea. She preferred the quiet. She liked to keep things to herself. Things like the affair going on between two of the fifth grade teachers. She could see the faculty parking area from her spot. She could see Mrs. Braun and Mr. Hempel eating together in her husband’s new car. Eating together was a delicate way to put it; the two forty-somethings often displayed teen lust that could rival that of high school students. Emily saw them sneak out together almost every day. She never said a word. She would commit such private moments to memory for use as story fodder.
Even though she hadn’t written anything new since the manuscript in college, she held on to these dramatic nuggets the way she had ever since she was little. Her mother always called her Secret because nobody ever knew just what Emily thought or felt about things. Emily kept journals right up until college. The logs were a great place to dump her mental portraits from people watching. And even though she was a people pleaser in her day-to-day interactions (she never could say no), she found the diaries—always something simple, plain, with a solid-color cover—were also capable of absorbing all of the things in her life she couldn’t or didn’t want to.
One of Emily’s main issues was her inability to navigate any semblance of a romantic life. She could count her old boyfriends on one hand: five. And that’s if she included Isiah Flynn in sixth grade. They’d held hands for a few weeks and gone to a dance together, before he fell for Lindsay Stanley. The next three, all in high school, were Jed, Kyle and Travis, and all followed Isiah’s path of desertion. Eben had been the lone man she’d ever left. And that was because things were going too well. They dated her entire freshman year at college, all the way through the summer and up until Christmas break the following year. He asked her to marry him. The guilt over breaking his heart was heavy, instant, but she convinced herself that the act was necessary. A defense mechanism, a preemptive strike against eventual heartbreak.
There was too much pain in love. She’d spent most of the time since Eben in the comfort of solitude. Most of the time, she was okay with being alone.
There had been men who piqued her interest, but they weren’t worth the emotional fatigue she feared she’d endure. There had also been plenty of hound dogs who trailed after her until she had convinced them to get lost. “I’m a lesbian” was a lie she’d used quite successfully in college. The eyes of whomever she told would light up with testosterone fantasy before ultimately going cold. College boys loved a girl who’d get with other girls, but a full-blown lez held no promise. Bitch, dyke, prude, she’d heard them all. Luckily, outside of the phys ed teacher, Matt Holmes, Fairington Elementary had been a breath of fresh air. A single gal’s sanctuary. Matt was a muscled meathead with a huge sense of entitlement, but there were a bevy of young female teachers and helpers in the school for him to chase. A couple of “No thank you, I don’t date colleagues” had been enough to subdue and redirect him.
Matt Holmes was definitely a lost cause. Aaron Jackson, the ed tech in her classroom, was a different story.
Chapter Four
As he had every year since fifth grade, Aaron stepped out through the double doors past the principal’s office and into his liberation, straight to the closest radio where he cranked up Alice Cooper’s summer classic, “School’s Out”. He threw his car in Reverse and almost backed over Ms. Young.
“Sorry. I was—”
“Headbanging. I saw you.”
He put the car in Park. “Ah, you saw that.”
“Yep. I guess you’re pretty excited about summer vacation.”
“Yeah, I mean, I love the kids, Ms. Young, but it’s…been a long year. Ya know?”
“No worries, Aaron. I’m good. And you can call me Emily. We’re not in class.”
“Got any big plans for the summer?”
“I was probably going to make it out to the beach a few times, maybe work on that novel I keep telling myself I’m going to finish. Someday.”
“Ah, but someday never comes.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mind me, it’s from a song. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure you’ll write a bestseller.”
“I don’t know about that, but thanks.”
He watched her tuck a long strand of brown hair behind her ear. She dropped her gaze to the parking lot. When their eyes met again he found himself lost.
“Aaron?”
He shook free from her almond-shaped eyes and their magnetic power. “Yeah, sorry. I guess I’ll see you in September.”
“I guess. Maybe we’ll bump into each other at the beach sometime this summer.”
Oh God. He didn’t want to imagine how good she looked in a swimsuit. He felt the heat flood his cheeks and turned to avoid her detection. He’d already gotten caught staring at her. He picked up the bottled water from his console. The water was hot from being cooped up in his car all day, but he didn’t care. He took a swig and turned back to face her.
“If you’re down toward OOB, come find me. I’ll be the jerk with the boom box on the beach.”
“Sure. I’ll keep my ears open for bad hair bands.”
He opened his mouth in mock offense.
She smiled. “Well, I guess this is farewell.”
“Yeah. And I mean it. If you’re down south this summer, look me up.”
“I will.”
“Have a great vacation.” Aaron reached for the lever next to his steering wheel and put the car in Reverse.
“Bye,” she said.
He donned his sunglasses, found himself grinning like an idiot, and waved. Where had all of that come from? She hadn’t let him call her Emily all year. Hell, she’d barely even spoken to him outside of class. Maybe she liked to let her hair down for the summer. The vision of her in a two-piece, hair draped over her shoulders, sun glistening off her body, rushed across his mind. Damn.
Aaron drove away wondering if she actually would look him up.
Emily watched him go and caught her defenses slipping. What would kissing Aaron be like? He had nice lips. She hadn’t given him much time during the school year—she never mixed work and relationships—but she was attracted to him. He was great with the kids, even the hard ones like James Donaldson. Aaron handled James’s temper tantrums as well as anybody she’d seen, better than his parents. There was something about a guy who could stay cool.
Don’t do this to yourself. You might wind up with him in your class again next year. She pulled her keys from her purse, unlocked her door and got in her hotbox of a car.
“Hey, Em, lookin’ hot.”
Matt Holmes strolled over to her door. One more time. And then you’ll be jerk-free for the summer. “Hey, Mr. Holmes.”
“I’m talkin’ about the inside of your little sweat factory there. And I told ya, call me Matt.” He flashed his cocky, ultrawhite smile at her.
“Yeah, Matt, it’s pretty hot in here. You have yourself a nice summer.” She closed the door and started the car.
He walked up beside her door, bent over and rested his muscular forearms on her driver’s side windowsill. “You wanna think about takin’ me up on my offer?”
“I told you, Matt, I don’t date people from work.”
“We’re off until September. How about a sexy summer fling?”
Ugh. Her sleaze-o-meter screamed. “Afraid not, Matt. Maybe Ms. Jessop would be better suited for you.” She knew Kathy Jessop had already made the Matt mistake, but Emily needed something to back him off a bit.
&nb
sp; His face soured. He stood up and put his Ray-Bans on. “Nah, been there. She’s too flighty for me, but if you change your mind, I’m on Facebook. Feel free to give me a poke.”
“Okay then. You have a great summer.”
Emily pulled away, sick to her guts at the thought of Matt Holmes getting anywhere close to “poking” her.
She hit Play on her iPod and left Matt Holmes and Fairington Elementary in her rearview.
Chapter Five
“Fucking tease,” Matt Holmes said as he watched the little blue Jetta drive away. Emily Young was far too big for her britches. Bringing up Kathy Jessop. That ed tech bitch was hot, but dumb as shit. She’d also gotten pregnant. He remembered her telling him she’d fucked up taking her pill. Luckily, she lost the baby. Probably from all the pot she smoked. She was high as a kite from the school bell on Friday afternoons to the one that followed first thing Monday morning.
Emily Young thought she was too good for him. We’ll see about that.
Matt hopped in his Escalade. Having a rich mommy whom he’d played perfect little soldier for all those years had had its perks. Her death had been…unfortunate. His inheritance money wasn’t enough to keep him in the big house on the hill, but it did afford him some luxuries. He looked in the backseat. He thought of his fun from last night and the bartender bitch who thought a lot like Ms. Young.
Too good? Sure, where’d that get her? Six feet deep.
He decided to do another drive past Emily’s place. He was pretty sure she’d seen his truck this morning, but she would never suspect it’d been him inside. There were too many SUVs in this town. He’d taken down her address from Sandra Scott, the desperate, bucktoothed secretary at the school. All he had to do was stare at her tits and give her his best you know you want me smile. She handed over the info with barely a hint of I shouldn’t be doing this.