Rewriting History

by Missy Johnson

  I groan as her hands travel down to my crotch. She has an evil smile on her face and I know where this is headed—no pun intended.

  “I have a meeting in ten minutes,” I protest as she begins to unbuckle my pants.

  She raises an eyebrow. “As I remember, that’s plenty of time for you.”

  “Watch it,” I grumble, my lips twitching at her joke. I sit back against the desk as she tugs my jeans and boxers down. Her fingers curl around my cock and she smiles.

  “God, I forgot how big you are,” she whispers.

  “Jill, we agreed . . .” My voice trails off.

  “. . . to wait until my eighteenth before having sex again.” She shrugs, her eyes narrowing as she sinks to her knees. “You didn’t mention anything about putting your cock in my mouth.”

  Oh, God.

  I try and block out the voices I can hear coming from the staffroom next door as her lips move up and down my length. She grins at me as I run my fingers through her dark hair. Standing there, watching her do this . . . It’s incredible.

  “I love your taste,” she whispers. “Does it turn you on, me doing this?”

  “You fucking know it does,” I mutter.

  My body begins to shake. I grip the side of my desk and reposition one of my legs so it rests on my chair. Her hands are curled around my thighs as she takes as much of me into her mouth as she can.

  I’m so fucking close. There are so many distractions, and I’m trying not to draw any attention to what’s going on in here. I’m being paranoid, I know, but I can’t help it.

  “Jill, I’m close. Pull away,” I warn her.

  Her hands urge me to keep going as she takes me deeper into her mouth.

  “Fuck,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes closed. My body jerks as I release in her mouth. I can feel her swallow, which makes me want to come again.

  I can’t believe she just did that.

  I feel shock. I’m in awe of her gutsiness. But most of all, I feel lucky that she’s mine. She gets to her feet and smiles at me.

  “Don’t you have class to get to?” I tease.

  She giggles as I kiss her lips. My hand grazes her ass as she presses herself against me. Arousal stirs inside me and I smirk, because she’s getting me hard, again.

  “I could say the same thing to you, Mr. Anderson.”

  I wince. “God, don’t call me that. It makes me feel like a creep.” She makes a face and I slap her playfully on the ass. “Watch yourself, Ms. Wilson.”

  I let her out of my grip and watch as she moves toward the door, unlocking it and letting herself out.

  “I’m glad midterms finish on Friday.” She smiles. “I can’t wait.”

  “Me neither,” I murmur.

  ***

  “Good of you to make it,” Mr. Galleu drawls as I take my seat at the table.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I was held up with a student.”

  Not a complete lie.

  Mr. Galleu drones on and on about exams, school policies, and other things that I should probably care about more than I actually do. I have to force myself to focus or risk falling asleep.

  “As I was saying before,” Galleu shoots me a look, “this is our last meeting before the end of the semester. I just wanted to wish everyone an enjoyable holiday. Mr. Andersons, can I see you both?”

  I glance at my father and wonder why he wants to see him. Me, I can understand, but what does my father have to do with anything?

  I hang around as the meeting empties, purposely staying over on the other side of the room to avoid small talk with my father. Even from over here I can see he doesn’t look great. A wave of guilt rushes over me. I haven’t called my sister for an update in more than a week.

  “Elijah, Tony, sit.” Galleu nods at us, and we both sit on opposite sides of the table. “So, Elijah. You obviously know your father is scheduled for heart surgery in January, and for that reason we’ll be needing you to continue to take his classes next semester.”

  My head shoots up. Heart surgery? I glance at Dad, but he won’t meet my eyes. Am I supposed to feel guilty for not finding this out sooner, or annoyed that I wasn’t informed?

  “Eli.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I snap my attention back to Galleu.

  “I said I know we asked you to stay on to fill a gap in Junior History, but it’s easier for us to cover that than it is Senior, so you’ll be staying in Senior to cover your father’s classes. I trust that’s not an issue for you?”

  “Not at all,” I reply stiffly.

  Inside, I’m dying. Senior History? The rest of the year teaching Jill?

  I’m annoyed, and I have no idea who my anger is directed at. Am I annoyed at my father for getting sick? Or myself for falling for a student? All my life I swore I’d never be like him. It was the one thing I could pride myself on—that I was a better man than my father. Until now.

  “Great. We’ll discuss the details after break. You may go now.”

  I stand up with more force that I intended, my chair sliding across the floor and into the table behind me. I mumble a goodbye and walk toward the door, not looking at my father.

  ***

  “Afternoon, Mr. Anderson.”

  I glance around and smile at the girls who have scattered about my desk. They giggle and whisper, and I don’t even want to think about what they’re saying. I know the stir my presence has caused among the females here, and I’m glad Jill is not in this class. I could only imagine how she’d feel seeing these girls all but throw themselves at me.

  Of the four classes I teach, this one is the worst. I swear, half the class is only there to ogle me, and I am constantly being asked to explain things in greater detail. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked about private tutoring.

  Enrollment for second-semester Junior History has more than doubled since it was announced I’d be teaching the class—all female. I can only imagine the uproar my staying in the senior department is going to cause.

  “Afternoon, girls. I hope you’re ready for the midterm,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  “Ready as I’m gonna be,” the girl I know as Dana laughs. “What are your plans for Christmas, Mr. Anderson?”

  I ignore the way she’s leaning on the desk, subtly hitching the hem of her skirt up.

  “No plans,” I say, my eyes fixed on hers.

  Teaching high school kids is lethal, especially when they’re female. My students are seventeen and eighteen, and I’m sure many of them see me as a challenge. I never wanted to teach high school, but when I heard that Dad was sick, I felt obliged to help out in some way. This position gave me the chance to stay in Denver, and be close to Jill.

  Of course, at that stage I didn’t realize she was a student.

  My real career goal is to teach Ancient History at college level, but positions like that are hard to find. A major in history doesn’t exactly leave you with multiple job prospects. At the moment, I need to take what I can get until I build some experience.

  “Okay, guys, in your seats. Let’s get this exam underway, okay?”

  Groans fill the air, but the students slowly shuffle their way to their seats and sit down. I run through the rules and hand out the papers, announcing that it’s time to start.

  The rest of the day flies by as I’m distracted by thoughts of my father, Jill, and what the fuck I’m going to do. I can’t be her teacher and be with her. It might not seem like much of a jump to go from being a substitute teacher to her teacher, but for me it is.

  I’ve already broken so many of my own rules lately that I almost don’t know who I am anymore.

  ***

  Arriving home, I get inside and immediately call Mel.

  “You couldn’t warn me that Dad is having surgery?” I growl.

  She’s taken aback by my anger, and I can understand why, but she has no idea the affect this little piece of news will have on my life.

  “Nice to speak to you too, Eli,” she says, her voice drip
ping with sarcasm.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. “It was just a shock to be told by my boss that he is having surgery. I felt like an idiot.”

  “Well, it’s your own fault for not calling to check up on him.” She sighs. “I get you’re angry at him, but don’t you think it’s time to move on? Let it go, Eli. It would mean the world to him. The guy made a mistake. He shouldn’t have to pay for that forever.”

  “Why not? Mom does,” I retort.

  “Bullshit. Mom remarried three years ago.” She sighs again, as if she knows talking to me about this is no use. “If she can move on, why can’t you?”

  Because you weren’t there. Because you didn’t have to deal with her depression and her drinking.

  “I gotta go, Mel. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  Hanging up, I find my stash of whiskey and pour myself a shot. I carry it over to the living room and sit down on my sofa. I run my hand over its thick, plush leather. There was no way I could have afforded all of this shit on my salary, especially just out of college, but Mom had insisted on helping out. She knows how bad my relationship with Dad is, so she knows how hard it is for me to be here, helping him.

  I laugh and take a sip of my drink. They all thought my being here was a step in the direction of forgiving him, but it wasn’t. I had two motivations when I received that call—seeing Jill, and staying for Jill. It’s fucked up how big a part she has ended up playing in all of this.

  Should I feel guilty? Should I suck it up and forgive him? I wish I could. I wish I could let go of everything and move on, because honestly, hating him is tiring.

  ***

  Jill: Just so you know, I find you more than a little bit sexy.

  I laugh and roll over in bed. It’s after eight and I was asleep until her text woke me—my fault for not putting my cell on silent. I sit up and press call.

  “Do you harass all your teachers in the middle of the night?” I smirk, rubbing my eyes. I glance around in the darkness of my room.

  “Middle of the night?” She laughs. “It’s barely eight o’clock! Besides, you’re not technically my teacher.”

  Not yet.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, not acknowledging her comment.

  “Studying,” she replies. “And thinking about a certain sexy teacher who I struggle to keep my hands off.”

  “I hope you mean me and not Mr. Hands.”

  She laughs hysterically. “God, he’s in his seventies, dude. And I never did get past his name. Mr. Hands? I mean, come on.” She giggles. “How many jokes are in that?”

  “He’s actually a really nice guy.” I laugh, but my heart isn’t in it. I feel bad about joking about him.

  “I’m sure he is, but he’s got nothing on you.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I chuckle. “What time’s your first exam?”

  “Nine. Chemistry. So not looking forward to that. Why can’t everything be sexy like history?” she whines.

  I laugh. What hope do I have when the girl I adore finds history sexy? It’s like we’re made for each other.

  “You find history sexy?” I scoff. “There’s something I’ve never heard from a girl. You’re so fucking cute.”

  “Why are you laughing? It can be sexy,” she says defensively.

  “I better let you get back to studying. And make sure you get enough sleep. I don’t want to be responsible for you failing,” I order her.

  “Yes, sir.” She laughs.

  “Don’t call me that,” I growl, hanging up.

  I didn’t mention my meeting with Galleu and Dad, because I don’t want her distracted leading into exams. More than that, though, I don’t want to deal with the argument I know this is going to bring. I need to find the right way to explain to her why we need to cool things for the rest of the year. I want to be with her, but being her sub is one thing. I can force myself to believe that’s okay. As her full-time, permanent teacher? I’m not sure I can.

  I toss my phone aside and grab some leftover pizza from the fridge, throwing it in the microwave for a few minutes. I live on takeout—partly because I’m so damn busy after being left without a syllabus to follow for the rest of the year, but mainly because I’m lazy. Jill is always on at me about cooking for myself. Tomorrow I plan to cook her a three-course meal, which will either be a total disaster or totally amazing.

  My phone rings after dinner. I shove my empty plate aside and check the number. It’s one of my other sisters, Jules. I click answer, knowing this is going to be another lecture about Dad.

  “Hey.” I sigh, rubbing my head.

  “I thought you were coming around to see Dad.”

  “I work with him,” I remind her. “I see him nearly every day.” I might have taken over his classes, but unfortunately for me, he is still the assistant principal.

  “It’s not the same, Eli, and you know it.”

  “Well it would’ve been nice for someone to inform me of his upcoming surgery,” I say sarcastically.

  This is almost word-for-word the conversation I had with Mel. Don’t those two communicate? Thank God my oldest sister, Leisel, lives in London. I don’t think I could handle all three of them on me.

  “Look, Jules, I have to go. I’ll come by on Saturday, okay?”

  After hanging up with Jules, I start to feel guilty. Clearly Dad’s heart condition is a lot worse than they’d first expected, but it’s so hard to feel any sympathy for the man who broke my mother. And then left me to clean up the mess. He certainly didn’t receive any ‘Best Dad’ awards back then.

  Taking a sip of my whiskey, I fetch my phone to text Jill.

  Me: So, are you free tomorrow night?

  Jill: I’ll have to check my schedule . . .

  I laugh. I know she’s joking, but even the thought of not seeing her tomorrow makes me feel sick.

  Me: Really? Do I need to beat someone up?

  Jill: If you’re offering. I’m sure I can think of someone who could use a beat down. Of course I’m free. What do you have in mind?

  Me: 23 Ninth Street, apartment forty tomorrow. Dress sexy.

  Chapter Seven

  Jill

  It’s Thursday morning and I’m running late, no doubt due to my late-night study session and my inability to get to sleep after speaking to Eli. I smile at the thought of him. One more day and I’m eighteen. Then we can be together.

  Since we made the decision to tone down our relationship, the most I’ve gotten out of Eli is kissing, and not seeing him during the last week has made it even harder. We both agreed to wait before we had sex again, but holy shit—if I’d known it would be this hard I would’ve fought him on it. Talk about sexual frustration. All I think about is the things I want to do to him, and the things I know he’s capable of doing to me. I can’t wait for him to work on that promise to lick me from head to toe.

  After a quick breakfast, I jog the whole way to school, making it inside the door just before the final bell rings. I walk into the classroom and immediately see Eli—which does nothing for my concentration levels. I bite back my smile as my stomach fills with butterflies. Our eyes meet and we share a moment before I take my seat.

  Jamie turns in his seat and glowers at me, sending a shiver down my spine. When reaches over and flicks my pencil off the desk, I’m ready to explode. I stand up and walk around to the front of my desk to retrieve it, refusing to show Jamie any sort of reaction. I’ve had just about enough of his attitude, and I’m on the verge of confronting him.

  He couldn’t know . . . could he? I talk myself in and out of what he has over me every single day. I try to pretend I don’t care, but anything that could ruin what Eli and I have scares the hell out of me. Whatever it is he knows, I’m determined to find out.

  As I slide back into my seat, Eli glances up, his eyes meeting mine. I stare down at my paper, my heart racing. I can barely make out the questions, I’m so wound up. Jamie chuckles softy and my fingers grip my pencil so tightly my knuckles are
turning white.

  I can’t believe I’m struggling to concentrate in History, of all things.

  Sighing, I rub my sweaty palms together and force myself to push out all thoughts other than what’s in front of me as Eli announces the start of the exam. Not that it helps much. My focus is shot, and so is my confidence.

  Time is called and I put my pencil down. Am I confident I rocked the hell out of the one exam I should’ve aced? No, because I know I could have done better.

  My last class of the day is Algebra 2, and the second I look at the mock exam in front of me I’m kicking myself. Why the fuck would someone want to take the hardest calculus class? Why didn’t I just cruise through like the rest of the senior class on the lowest possible requirement? Damn that scholarship and my desire to go to college.

  Apparently, it’s frowned upon if you don’t take this class and do well—although I might have fucked up everything anyway with my history result. Just the thought makes me feel sick.

  Mrs. Judd is working through a statistics formula on the board when the girl next to me leans over. I glance her way, taking in her shoulder-length, blond, wavy hair and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She smiles at me and I force a smile back. I don’t make friends easily—a side effect of moving so much.

  “Why would anyone take this class voluntarily?” she whispers, echoing my thoughts. Her friendly voice immediately puts me at ease.

  “I was just thinking that.” I giggle.

  “Oh, so I’m not the only one. Good. I’m new here. Well, I’ve been here for three weeks but you’re the first person to speak to me other than teachers,” she confesses.

  “I’ve only been here for a couple of months and I feel the same way.” I grin, because I know better than anyone how it feels to be the new kid. Maybe it’s not just me. Maybe it’s this damn school being so cliquey that’s part of the reason I haven’t been able to settle here.

  “Oh, then you know how I feel,” she says. Her accent catches my attention and I’m wondering why I didn’t notice it earlier.