Teach Me

by Amy Steele

  During every class, I tried to read Cooper’s e-mail but quickly became bombarded with assignments. By lunch I heard the buzz that our old and cryptic English teacher, Mr. Snyder, had retired and that the new teacher was a fox. I couldn’t care less except that I was the senior class English tutor and would work hand in hand with this new teacher. English was my last class of the day, seventh period, so I guess that is when I would see what all the fuss was about. I went to sixth period with determination to read the e-mail that I had been trying to read since seven a.m.

  Luckily I have Mrs. Sinclair sixth period, chemistry, and she wanted us to talk to our lab partners about our summer. Christina is my partner; this is the only class we have together, and she told me to read the e-mail and then fill her in. Finally, I pulled out Cooper’s printed words. It wasn’t very long. I read it once, then again.

  Time stopped.

  Christina looked at me. “Are you okay?” She touched my arm, then my face. Cold sweat covered my body, and my stomach twisted, and I thought I was going to be sick. I jumped up without thinking and ran for the girl’s bathroom. I could hear Christina yell after me, but I couldn’t stop. I locked myself in a stall and leaned against the door, Cooper’s letter hanging in my hand. My heart thumped in my chest, and I was shaking.

  I wasn’t alone long. “Ali!” Christina called. She tapped on the stall door. “Let me in.” With trembling fingers, I unlocked the door. She had both of our backpacks and wore a look of concern. “Is this about the e-mail?” Her golden brows knitted together in worry.

  “Cooper,” I managed to say as I handed her the paper. I should keep this to myself but knew if there was anyone to confess to, it was Christina. I could trust her with this, and I’d need a friend who would understand and be supportive. Christina took it, eyebrows now arching in surprise, and then scanned the sentences multiple times. She looked back to me, then pulled me into a hug.

  “It will be okay,” she said, her own voice trembling. I know she’s just being nice. It will not be okay.

  The e-mail said this:

  Ali- There was a mix up. I am going to teach at Chino Prep Charter, not Chico. I will be a teacher at your school. We need to talk…I don’t know how or if…I just don’t know what to do. Cooper.

  Six

  Cooper

  Every class that leaves moves me closer to the inevitable. I went to Chico Prep only to find out that there was a huge mix-up. I was supposed to say go to Chino Prep. As in Chino, where Ali lives. As in the school Ali attends. Not just teach there—when I received my attendance sheets, I found she was in my last class of the day and is also the senior English tutor. Which translates that not only will I be her teacher and have her in class for an hour, but I will also be required to see her three times a week while she tutors in my classroom.

  My first question was, how the heck could this have happened? The answer was in Chico. There was a spot open in the history department, and the English opening was in Chino. The phone notifications were crossed, and the calls went to the wrong candidates. Brian Smith went to Chino to find himself in the same situation. Once they told me where I was actually supposed to be, I prayed I had heard wrong. No way I can teach at Allison’s school, but I accepted, and I have to live with my choice until I can find something new. I only had time to send her a quick e-mail, then jump on a plane. Now I face the slow torture of her entering my classroom. Sheesh, my classroom. The hardest part of this is my absolute desire to see her combined with absolute terror. I hope that I can keep my wits about me and get through the final class of the day—Ali’s class.

  The bell rings, and the last class starts to trickle in. I don’t even want to see her face when she walks in because I don’t know if she got the e-mail I sent. I had the picture of us from this summer that she gave me in a letter—our last night together—on my desk. But it is now tucked safely in my top drawer. I sit on the edge of my desk and look over the plans I have for the first week. I decided to have the students read Dracula since it was what Ali was reading and one of my favorites—it would be a good starting point.

  There are murmurs throughout the class. I was told by the basketball coach at lunch that all the kids in his class were talking about the young new guy—like I needed something else to make me nervous. A burst of giggles breaks out, and that’s when I look up.

  Ali is standing in the doorway, not looking up and unwilling to move. There are two open seats in the classroom, front row and back. The bell rings, and the students are supposed to be seated. Ali is still standing outside, looking like she might throw up. I am so conflicted. I want nothing more than to pull her close and tell her how much I love her. But I can’t. I am not even supposed to know who she is. I am just staring at her, having no idea what to say.

  A guy from the back of the class stands and goes to her. He puts his arm around her shoulder and whispers into her ear. I want to take his head off. Ali nods, still staring at the ground. The guy who is going to fail my English class keeps talking, and Ali smiles weakly. Finally, he is able to talk her into coming into class, and I am relieved. I realize that there are twenty pairs of eyes staring at me now, and I look up and smile.

  “Welcome to senior English,” I manage to say. “I’m Mr. Perez.” Then I take roll. Jeremy Fisher is the guy who is sitting next to Ali. I pass around a seating chart, and everyone fills in their names. I look at it and just stare at Ali’s handwriting for a moment. She handwrote the notes she gave me about a week ago, but now her letters seemed hard and strained, like her hand had been trembling as she wrote it.

  “Okay.” I set the paper down. “We are going to start this year off with Dracula.” Then I jump into the lesson I have planned. All I can do is focus on the words of Bram Stoker. I outline what I expect from them and blah-blah-blah until the bell rings. All the students get up, except for two—Ali and Jeremy.

  I watch him lean close and take her hand, leaning in and saying something to her. Ali responds in a whisper. Jeremy stands and leaves. Ali and I are alone. I walk to the closed door and prop it open, just slightly. She doesn’t move at all, even as I move and sit in the desk next to her.

  “I didn’t know,” I finally say. She nods. This is killing me. I move and kneel next to her. I can see that she is wearing the key bracelet I gave her. It was my grandmother’s. She was always misplacing things, so my grandfather made it for her. The last key he put on was the key to a new house he had built for her. The key, he said, that would start their future. That’s why I gave it to her. I see Ali as my future. She sent me an e-mail asking about it, but I was notified of the school mix-up, and I didn’t respond. I want so bad to reassure her how much she means to me, but now I am bound by rules.

  “We are supposed to be planning our approach for tutoring this year,” she says, and I can see she is holding back tears as she takes out a spiral notebook. She clears her throat and takes in a long breath, and she still hasn’t looked at me. “The beginning of the year is when we’ll get the most interest, and . . .” Her hands are shaking. I put my hand over hers, and she seems to relax.

  “Please look at me, Ali,” I whisper. “I’m still me.” I just want to see her big brown eyes and tell her everything will be okay.

  “You are Mr. Perez,” she says as her voice catches in her throat. “I am Allison Starr, your student.” Tears rolled down her pink cheeks, and my heart starts to break.

  “Ali,” I said, moving closer. “I know this complicates things, but . . .” What could I say? As long as I am here as Ali’s teacher, we can’t be together. Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are dull, but sparkling with tears. Her incredible lips are pouted out, and the bottom one is trembling. I can’t stop myself from touching it. Ali’s lips part open, and the tears keep coming. I cup her face with my hand, and her eyes close, and she leans into it.

  “I need to go,” she mutters but doesn’t move. She locks her gaze with mine once again, and I’m drawn in. I lean in and press my lips to hers. After a quick moment
, she leans back, stuffing all her things into her backpack, and runs from the room. I sit on the floor, alone and confused.

  ***

  I am living in a hotel for now. I slump into the badly upholstered chair and power up my laptop. I stayed in my classroom for almost three hours, unwilling to leave in case Ali came back, but she never did. I brought up my e-mail. I have one from Ali. My heart beats an extra time or two as I open it.

  Dear Cooper,

  I opened your letter and it said to email you about how my first day of my last year of high school went. It was horrible. I found out that the guy that I love is unattainable. It doesn’t help that every girl in my entire school is in love with the new English teacher and won’t stop talking about him. He reminds me of this guy I met at the beach this summer. I am in love with that guy. The most horrible thing is it feels like my heart is literally breaking in my chest and I find it hard to breathe. Even more atrocious than that pain is the pain of being in love and knowing that it is over. I know it has to be over but desperately want to hold onto denial and find some way to make it work. I don’t want to let him go, but he just got his dream job and I know what he will choose. I will chalk myself up to a summer crush and find some way to push on.

  I hope your first day was better. I don’t expect a reply. I have no expectations.

  ASTARR

  Ouch. I look at the time stamp, and she had just sent it a half hour ago. I need to talk to her, to explain to her that I had no idea. My hands are tied. Not just losing my job, but jail time, she is my underage student.

  But I love her; that hasn’t changed, and she needs to hear it. I send the e-mail I had written as a response to the key charm bracelet. The one I had planned on sending while I was five hundred miles away. I make the split decision to go to her. I am still that guy from the beach, and she deserves better than an e-mail trying to explain. I am on the road in no time and type her address into my GPS in my rental car. She only lives ten miles from where I am staying. Convenient.

  I pull up in front of her house, and it is dark; there are no lights on except for one room upstairs. I sit and just stare, waiting for something to happen. I guess I am that something that needs to happen. I know that Mr. Starr works long hours and isn’t usually home until after ten or eleven most nights, and it’s only six. I am somehow at the front door, knocking before I know what I am doing. I knock and then knock again with sudden urgency.

  “Coming!” I hear Ali yell from behind the door. She swings it open and then freezes. “You can’t be here,” she says, quickly closing the door halfway. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she is clenching a tissue in her fist.

  “I am that guy from the beach,” I almost yell. Her sad doe eyes widen. “My love for you hasn’t changed, but we do need to talk about this. I’m not letting you just run away from this.” I lower my voice.

  Ali nods slowly and looks down the street, then opens the door so I can come in. I can feel the tension in the air, and all I can think about was our last night on the beach together filled with a completely different tension. We just stand there, three feet apart, not even looking at each other. Ali turns her back to me and takes a step away from the door where I am still standing.

  “So I’m guessing that you came here to say something along the lines of ‘I will always love you, but it’s over’ or something like that?” Her voice is low and defeated. I take a step closer and touch her arm.

  “No,” I say slowly, and Ali turns to look at me. “I came here to tell you that I love you.” Her breath is caught in her throat. I am overwhelmed with emotion at the raw look in her eyes. “I love you, Allison Starr, always,” I say, taking her in my arms, filling my lungs with air. It’s like I haven’t been able to breathe without her close. “I love you,” I say one last time before I kiss her. I can tell that she is holding back. “It is me Ali, Cooper,” I say, kissing her ear, letting my teeth graze her lobe. I feel her shiver against me.

  “Cooper,” she whispers in recognition and hearing her say my name is the sweetest sound on Earth. I nod, and her arms come around me, pulling me close. I know I should be here to tell her it’s over, but it isn’t. I don’t think it will ever be over for either of us. So instead we make out like it’s our last day of the planet. All the want and need from being apart has taken its toll, and we can’t control ourselves. The next time we come up for air, it is about an hour later, and we are somehow in her bedroom. I roll over on my side, and so does she.

  “How did we get in here?” I ask. Ali laughs, and I recognize it as the laugh before I became her Mr. Perez.

  “I can’t be positive, but I am pretty sure you carried me some of the way,” she says, running her hands through my shortened hair. For the next hour, we are just Coop and Ali who fell in love over the summer. We kiss and laugh, and no problems loom over us. Our stomachs remind us of the simple things like the necessity to eat. We decide to go to the kitchen, and she makes me macaroni and cheese. I am surprised to see that it is almost nine.

  “When is your dad coming home?” I finally have to ask. She looks at the clock.

  “He is on a twenty-four-hour shift, so maybe around eight a.m.”

  Allison’s dad is a fireman and has some crazy hours. He is the captain, so his hours are a little more structured, but he is always willing to go beyond the call of duty if it is for the greater good. At first all I can think about is that it gives us hours upon hours alone together, but the reality of my visit dawns on us.

  “Ali,” I start. She shakes her head.

  “I’m not ready for this to be over yet.” She stands and crosses the room, crossing her arms over her chest. I stand and follow her, holding her from behind.

  “It isn’t over,” I assure her. “Just wait until we can figure out what to do.” She turns and faces me.

  “You are my teacher. They will fire you.” She says it so direct and cold. “Or put you in jail.”

  I nod, not wanting to accept this. “I know.”

  “So,” Ali finally says, “we are done.” I can feel tears burning at my eyes.

  “In the sense that I am not going to see anyone else until my girlfriend graduates in May.” I kiss her hair. Ali lets out a hard laugh and a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. We kiss once more. It is very soft and sweet.

  “I don’t expect you to do that,” she says as we walk to the door. I turn to make direct eye contact with her.

  “I don’t think you understand how much I truly love you.” That blush that I love touches her cheeks. “You are the woman I love, and I am not going to date other people until that special day in May.” I feel sick to my stomach saying this, knowing how much it will hurt to be away from her. “I do understand that this is your senior year, and you’ll have events and dances, so . . .” I don’t even want to finish my thoughts. Ali nods solemnly but doesn’t answer.

  “Okay.” She smiles, but it still doesn’t touch her sad eyes. I lift her chin, and I can see it—the separation. Ali is closing down and shutting me out. But what else can we do?

  Seven

  Allison

  I never wanted to be the strong one, but I could see it in his beautiful blue eyes that September night, I had to be the one. Saying goodbye—no matter how temporary it may be—was one of the hardest things I had to do. I thought as the weeks went on that the pain would subside, but it only grew. Every day became a challenge if I could make it through or not. I have lost my appetite for life too. Nothing seemed to matter. I couldn’t even seem to lose myself in the safety of my books.

  Tutoring during the week was agony, being so close to Cooper but having to keep distance. All evidence of summer erased from his appearance. Gone was the carefree floppy-haired boy surfing away his days. Now a man with the weight of Atlas on his shoulders stands at the front of my class every day. His hair darker, the tan of his skin lightening. He looks like Cooper, but it just isn’t the same person. My chest ached from being away from him, and I don’t know how much longer I can justify
my depression.

  Being in a private school means there are less students, so everyone knows everyone’s business, including things about teachers. We’re teenagers, and we gossip—it’s just what we do. About a week ago is when I first heard it. Mr. Perez and Ms. Sherman are dating. Two days later, it was rumored that they were engaged. Talk about a blow to the heart. Ms. Sherman, Stacy Sherman. She isn’t just any teacher—she is the PE goddess of our school. I’m not exaggerating—Zeus could be her father. She is tall and slim with a tight muscular . . . everything. Her long blonde hair is always perfect to match the perfect tan she has year-round. She is a few years older than Cooper, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I know this because I am a stalker. I waited by the faculty parking lot and watched them leave for lunch together. They were laughing, and he opened the door to his car for her, and she touched his arm and winked at him. Winked! She is a tramp. Ms. Tramp, and I have her fourth period just before lunch.

  So much for “I’m not going to see anyone until May.” Blah-blah—crap crap.

  It has been almost three months, or sixty-eight days, since the last time we’ve been together. I should have savored every second of that last day we had, but I didn’t grasp that it was our last day—our kiss. If I had, I may not have ever let him leave. It’s the first week of December, and we’ve had almost no contact. Three weeks until winter break and I can mope all I want.

  Coop—Mr. Perez has been extremely careful. He hardly calls on me in class, never makes eye contact for more than a second, and during tutoring, he keeps the door open and sits on the opposite side of the classroom. I, on the other hand, have been borderline depressed and obsessive. I replay every second we spent together. Now I have the joy of analyzing Ms. Sherman and comparing myself to her, and I never come out on top when I do. I don’t think I slept or ate for the first month of school. He looks fine, more than fine. His hair is darker and a little longer, and he even has the nerve to have a bounce in his step. I sigh and realize Christina is watching me. We are in chemistry, and I have an hour with Mr. Hotness, as some of the girls have taken to calling him, in about twenty minutes.