“What’s wrong?”
I swallow and look out to the horizon, avoiding his gaze.
“It’s nothing. Just stress about work.”
Not a lie, I think.
“Are you and Jasper still up in arms about funding for that formal?” His annoyance is apparent and I hide a smirk. So easily, I could send him on a spiral of jealousy. It’s almost cute.
“No. We got that covered. Although we still have a lot left in planning.” I take a step to lean into him, letting his scent even out my own breathing.
“You know the offer still stands. I have a spot for you—”
“Simon,” I interrupt in warning. “Not tonight. Please.”
What he will never know is how tempting this offer to come work with him is for someone like me. I feel out of my element in every way and logically know that my skillset would be needed at a startup like Simon’s. But in another quiet, but more unrelenting way, I know quitting my job as a teacher would really be an acquiescence. And I refuse — regardless of what’s happening — I refuse to send that message.
We stand there in silence for a moment, watching the colors across the sky shift into indigo and violet.
“You know my mom almost named me Violet?” I ask.
Simon laughs and I can feel him shake his head.
“She told me she loved the imagery of Violet — how it seems to leak into everything. Like ink splatters. She wanted me to be expansive and noticeable.”
“Well I think she got her wish even without the name.”
I twist my lip to keep from grinning.
“She opted for Juniper because of the same reason — except in her eyes, Juniper held more bite than a color.” A laugh escapes me and I look into his eyes.
“My parents named me Simon after Simon and Garfunkel.”
My laugh turns into a wheeze and I feel myself being led back to the pier where our dinner reservations are waiting for us. Still laughing, I glance behind me at the waves crashing against the shore, trying to ignore the lone figure that appeared a few minutes ago in the shadows.
I know you’re watching me, I think.
I feel Simon’s eyes on me and I turn to him and give him my best smile. I know this trick like the back of my hand.
Swallow the storm and exude the sun — no one will ever know the depths of fear and grief and heartache collide beneath the surface.
.::.
I didn’t notice it at first. Who would? I think about those moments often — the beginning — how innocuous it all felt. I wanted to make a difference and at first, I thought that’s what was happening. I had no idea what was coming — no idea the terror waiting for me. I questioned myself constantly, thinking I was making something out of nothing.
Until it was too late.
Until I knew with unshakeable clarity that in the middle of finding my dream job, I had stumbled into a nightmare.
The worst part? I knew no one would believe me.
.::.
The first day of school always brings with it a certain chaos: you have the high-pitched reunions of friends who have been separated during their summer break, the whispered earnestness of groups trying to find their place, and the raucous confidence of those who own the halls.
And then there’s me: the new teacher.
Or as the group of senior boys I just passed said loud enough for me to hear — “hey look bro, fresh meat.”
You would think, after all of the horribly cheesy and addictive teenage rom-coms we suffered through in the late 90s and early aughts, they would know better. I roll my eyes and continue walking, choosing instead to let the freshmen girls walking by me at the same time believe they were talking about them.
Judge your mom.
They blush and giggle, but one of them has the audacity to turn and give the group of guys the finger, biting back, “Horrible idea. Wrong bitch, fuckface. I’m gay.”
I hide a smile behind my coffee cup.
I like her.
I’m still smiling when I run into a formidable presence with an arm full of papers.
“Oh!” I exclaim, immediately checking my blouse for coffee. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it’s still clean. Looking up though, I feel a deep sense of dread. Now that my senses are catching up to me, I realize that coupled with the formidable presence is a distinct floral scent spiking the inside of my nose with its musk.
Dammit, I think to myself. There’s no way to escape this now.
It’s Tracey.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry — I was —”
“clearly not paying attention,” she interrupts, her lips a solid line of anger. She side steps me and barely turns her head before saying, “I get on to the students for having their gaze focused on cell phones all the time, Juniper. It might help if you model the proper behavior, don’t you think?”
I squeeze the mug in my hands and take a deep breath before closing my eyes and choosing to ignore her. I survived middle school and graduate school politics — I can certainly survive a petty secretary bitter about her life circumstance.
When I got here this morning, she was already setting up the registration station in the foyer for the students who missed their deadlines over the summer. Folded schedules lined the linoleum-capped tables and I had a brief memory of Lavender and I comparing our small print-outs to see which teachers we’d be able to try and trick over the year.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reese,” she clipped, focused on adjusting the sign hanging haphazardly against on of the chairs.
“It’s Ms.., actually — or you can just call me Juniper,” I said, noting her refusal to listen to the three other times I’ve asked her to just use my first name. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder, mentioning something about having a blessed first day.
Now, walking into my classroom, I can’t help but notice her distinct choice in using my name when in the hallway full of students — a decidedly pointed power play. I walk to my desk, my heels clicking on the floor and echoing across my empty classroom. I glance at the whiteboard with the date and day’s agenda scrawled across it with my handwriting and smile all over again as my gaze lands on my graduate degree nailed into the wall.
If she wants power play, I can give her power play. But Tracey has no idea the kind of bitch I can be when pressed.
.::.
First days of school always turn into second and third and fourth, until before you realize it, you’re walking down the halls in late October having developed a rhythm to your days. I know now to get here early — like dark-thirty early — in order to avoid the mad rush of our cafeteria and hallways once students arrive. The silence is grounding, allowing me a moment of zen before the craziness of hundreds of teenagers asking you invasive questions like “do you want to go to the beach party tonight?” And “it’s technically not against the law for me to have an empty beer can in the back of my truck is it?”
I roll my neck and mentally prepare for the checklist waiting for me today:
Grade last week’s exams
Plan next quarter’s curriculum
Call Lavender
I haven’t spoken to her in days and it’s weird. I shoot her a quick text, knowing she won’t get up for another few hours. I glance at the time on my phone and smile. If it’s dark-thirty here, it’s still the dead of night in her world.
“Hi, Ms. Reese.”
I drop my phone and gasp, grabbing at my chest and in the process dropping everything on the ground. Once I’m able to see through the blotched vision of terror, I fight from rolling my eyes.
“Silas. What are you — it’s not even seven in the morning yet….” My heart rate is still going a mile a minute and I’m having to actively train my expression to not show annoyance or anger.
“Did you get my note?”
“Your….your note? What?” I blink and look around, trying to figure out how to get away from this awkward conversation and simultaneously realizing with a sinking stomach that we are t
he only ones here.
Alone.
“Silas — seriously. What are you doing here? My open office hours aren’t until tomorrow. Shouldn’t you be at home?” I look around. “Where’s Steven?”
Steven is his twin. They’re the odd ones out in a lot of ways here at Sacred Heart. Seniors, they fall into the category of late bloomers who possess a birthday too late into the year for their typical peers. Both of them turn 19 next month, and only one of them shows the maturity to match. Where Steven holds emotional intelligence and humor, Silas possesses a strange wit and almost creepy vigilance.
He purses his lips.
“He’s lazy. He’s still sleeping.”
“As you should be, most likely.”
The corner of his lips turns into a smile and I cock my head in confusion before deciding to walk past him toward my classroom. I have no patience for this today.
“My note’s on your desk.”
“Okay.”
“I like that sweater,” he adds.
Forgetting what I threw on this morning, I glance down and notice the blue threading of the cashmere sweater I purchased simply because it reminded me of mom’s acclimation toward anything sensory. When I got it, Lavender balked at the price and didn’t understand my reasoning. We got into a huge fight about it.
“You’re telling me the one person who knows how much mom loved the feel of things against her skin doesn’t remember her cashmere sweaters? And doesn’t understand why I would purchase this?” I had nearly screamed at her, clenching the fabric in my hands.
She pried the sweater away from me, looking at me out of the corner of her eyes.
“No. I do understand. I get it. I probably would have purchased it myself. Which is why I am shocked you allowed yourself the luxury. Usually I am the impulsive one.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it.
I knew she was right. It was impulsive of me — so impulsive I bought two. It was that moment I decided to move away.
My hand shakes slightly as I straighten the front and look straight ahead, clearing my throat.
I will not cry here, I think to myself.
“Have a great morning, Silas,” I say as I walk away, trying to ignore the footsteps behind me. In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t brush off a student like this. But this isn’t normal circumstances.
Why is he still following me?
I turn slightly and call over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you fourth period.” He follows me for a bit, and if I listen carefully enough, I can hear him whispering underneath his breath. It’s just soft enough to where I can’t make out what he’s saying, but it’s way too creepy for my taste. I wrinkle my nose and am about to turn around and ask him to leave when his footsteps just…stop. I keep from stopping too, not wanting to invite more conversation, but I can’t help but chance a peek around my shoulders to see what he’s doing, preparing myself for whatever he might say to trap me into conversation again.
An uneasiness creeps into my veins when I realize he’s completely disappeared. I do stop then — doing a complete 360 as the uneasiness slides up my neck. There are no classrooms in this hallway. Mine is in front of me, about 30 steps away. I shake my head. This wasn’t magic. There had to be some kind of explanation and I was simply too tired to care. There’s no way he could just…dust himself.
It’s too early for this fucking Harry Potter shit, I think to myself as I turn around toward my classroom. When I walk to my desk, I see his note peeking out from the corner of my planner, neatly folded. I frown as I pick it up and sit down in my chair. The ruled paper is reminiscent of notes Lavender and I used to pass back and forth in middle school and high school. When I open it up, the uneasiness returns. It’s nothing sinister. Anyone reading it would think it a simple note. But with him suddenly appearing this morning and then just as quickly vanishing, I’m struck with a sense of wrongness. I stare at the handwriting again — carefully lined and perfectly placed in the middle of the page.
YOU AND ME? WE ARE THE SAME.
What in the actual….
I shake my head furiously, as if my memory is an Etch-N-Sketch and just the movement will erase the words in front of me. I crumble the paper in my hand and toss it in the trash can under my desk, making a mental note to talk with Lavender about this later tonight. She’s the one obsessed with podcasts and the psychology of twisted individuals. For now though, I can’t focus on the way my spine feels a little tingly as if I’m still being watched. With a quick glance to my door to make sure it’s closed, I pull the stack of papers out of my drawer and choose one of the colorful Sharpies out of my Mason jar-turned-pen holder.
For now, I have exams waiting to be graded.
19
I completely forget about the note until three weeks later, right before Thanksgiving, I get another. And then another when we get back from the break. They’re everywhere — in my windshield when I leave for the day. In my drawer waiting for me first thing in the morning. In a sticky note on my whiteboard. One time, I even found one in my purse while fishing inside for a tampon during a two-minute restroom break between classes.
The messages are all obscure, but specific to conversations we’ve had or things he’s told me. Some mention that he likes what I wore to work. Others have something simple about him thinking about me while he’s doing his homework at night. Some are questions about my own preferences: do I like the ocean or mountains? (He asks because my eyes remind him of the sea, he writes.) Do I get notes from other students? What do I do when I’m at home by myself? Do I think about my students when I’m not at school?
Do I think about him?
The other night, after our date, Simon almost found the piece of paper before I could. Hanging precariously between the windshield wipers, I snatched it and with one swift movement, crumbled it up and tossed it in the bushes next to us.
“What are you doing?” he asked, curious.
I didn’t realize he’d seen me. I looked up at him, my eyebrows raised. “Hmmm? Oh.” I brushed my fingers across my skirt, flinging my hands in the same direction I did when I tossed the note. “There’s just all of this static that I’m trying to get rid of — it happens every winter,” I chuckled under my breath and then shrugged my shoulders like the Elmo gif. I smirked and leaned forward, far enough to where I knew he could see a good angle of my cleavage. “If you’re brave you can come kiss me and see if there’s a spark….”
He laughed then and rolled his eyes, keeping his attention at the way my body pulled at the fabric of the blouse. I knew I had effectively gotten his mind off anything he might have seen me do, but it took a few minutes driving home for my pulse to return to normal. Right before I threw the paper, I saw what it said and it was more blatant than others had been in the past.
WHEN YOU TWO ARE ALONE, DO YOU GET YOUR LIPSTICK ALL OVER HIS BODY?
It’s getting embarrassing. No, that’s not right. It’s getting embarrassing because somewhere inside I’m worried that if others found out they would think the wrong thing. More than once, I’ve seen other students exchange glances when I discreetly toss a scrap of his paper he left somewhere into the trash. I remember being in high school and seeing things teachers didn’t think I noticed. I know they see, and I know they’re talking. This is terrifying. I’m thinking about the oddity and just how to handle it when I hear movement in my doorway. I glance up, and fight from sighing.
“Silas.”
He enters then, as if he were waiting for my acknowledgment before moving forward.
“I brought you a Christmas present.”
“Silas—”
He puts his hand up and smiles in a way that’s condescending. This shocks my joints in a way that’s difficult to describe, given his age. How these kids are able to literally stop me mid-sentence because of a single look I will never understand. Gen-Z is a force unbeknownst to even themselves. I raise an eyebrow and fall back to rest against the back of my chair.
“Are you going to se
e Lavender over the break?” he asks.
I’m about to ask how he knows about my sister when I realize we had this conversation a few months ago when I dropped the fact that I had a twin in the middle of class. He stayed after to question me profusely and even mentioned at one time he had a hard time believing that the world was lucky enough to have two of me. It made me feel weird then, and it makes me feel weird that he’s asking about her.
He notices the question fall over my face and he laughs and shakes his head.
“I honestly still can’t believe there are two of you.”
He has no way of knowing how this grates on so many of my triggers of being one and the same with Lavender. I wrinkle my nose.
“I think, being a twin yourself, it’s easy for you to know there are not in fact two of me. My sister and I are very much our own people.”
He shrugs and looks at me, and is just about to say something when I lean forward. The weather is getting bad outside, the hallways are getting dark with staff leaving, and I need to get out of this classroom and yet another situation where it’s me and this kid by ourselves. I just decided, this moment, to talk with him about the notes. Bring the power back, so to speak.
“Actually, I’m glad you stopped by, Silas.”
His gaze shifts and his entire being lights up with an energy I’m not ready for and I stall for a moment, caught off guard once again by the way he was able to fill an entire room with an obvious anticipation. This might be more difficult than I thought.
“These notes you’re leaving me…”
He takes a step forward.
“Yes?”
I breathe in for a moment, searching for the right words. I know the way I say these next few sentences will make or break an entire year with this student if I’m not careful. Hell. It could impact the entire class. Word spreads. Fast. And with one false move, one careless whisper, I could undo everything I’ve been working on this semester. I decide on frank honesty.
Curious Obsession Page 14