Русский
Меню
I was anxiously waiting alone in the house, pacing around the living room, watching out the window for him to come. I was nervous and confused and had no idea what this was about. What could my old English teacher possibly want? He was inviting me to coffee, and I wanted to know why. I was afraid that my crush for him would show, that I would be unable to act naturally, that he would discover the secret I had hidden from him all through his classes in my Senior year.
Soon enough, I saw a black Honda Civic pull into my driveway, and I knew that it had to be Dave Sheare. I headed out the door, locking it behind me, and climbed in the passenger's seat beside him. He smiled radiantly at me as I buckled my seatbelt and he slid he car into reverse.
“Hey, Thompson. How are ya?” he asked brightly, backing out gracefully. We were on our way.
“Fine, sir, how about you?”
“Oh, I'm alright. ”
There wasn't much talk as he drove to the coffee shop. I was feeling awkward as hell, and I had no idea what this was all about. I spent my time watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was looking smooth in the leather jacket I'd often seen him wear at school. It was fully unzipped and revealed a tight-fitting, vee-necked, white tee-shirt tucked into the belt buckle that was holding up his sharp blue jeans.
“So, I was thinking that we just drive through and get a coffee, alright? Only, this is a popular place for people your age to hang out, and people who go to the school work here. I know this isn't illegal, but that still doesn't make it less weird. We'll drive through, and then we can sit in the parking lot or drive around or something. What d'you say?”
“Sure,” I agreed politely. “Sounds great. ”
He ordered a large coffee for himself and a large tea for me, refusing to accept the $1. 75 I tried to hand to him. Backing into a parking spot, Sheare turned to me.
“So,” he said, casually, “how are things? How're you finding college life?”
“I love it,” I replied truthfully, with some excitement. “I really do. You were right when you said it was so much better than high school.
“That's good. What courses are you taking?”
I told him and we chatted about them. He was surprised that I was learning Russian.
“Hm, I always stayed away from Russian,” he announced thoughtfully. “It looks like a helluva language to learn. ”
“Nah, it's simple!” assured I. “Honestly. The different alphabet tends to scare people away, but it's really not hard at all!”
“Really, now. Interesting. Very interesting . . . ”
He finished up his coffee, then turned to me.
“I've got to run to the school for a minute. I was hoping you'd help me with something.
“No, not at all. Let's go. ”
As I helped him carry the projects – there were six of them in all – out to his car, we chatted aimlessly. Mostly about baseball. I was making fun of the Cubs who, after dominating the Cards in the first round, had gotten swept by LA and were now done for the year. My team, Texas, was facing the Dodgers in the World Series, and had a 2-games-to-1 lead on them. We argued playfully and poked fun at each other the whole time. When the projects were finally loaded, and we were back in the car, I decided to ask the question that had been bugging me since the invitation email the day before.
“Sir, can I ask you something?”
“Sure thing, Jill. ”
“I was just wondering . . .
Sheare took his sweet time in answering. He sighed very deeply, and ran his fingers through his hair. In the dim light fro the streetlamp in the parking lot, I could tell he looked worried. Almost as if he'd been trying to convince himself to bring this up, but couldn't.
“I flicked through one of the yearbooks the other day,” he said finally. “Read all the little surveys that the Grads filled out next to their pictures. ” I knew, then, what he was getting at, and I was mortified. I knew it was a bad idea! I'd been worrying about it ever since. In my “bio”, for my weakness, I had written “DS”. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but I regretted it later. I quickly decided to play dumb.
“Oh yeah? I read them, too. Did you notice that three different people had the same Lord of the Rings quote? 'All that it gold does not glitter . . . ' It was me, Amy Gordon and Bruce Tucker. ” He looked at me sideways, slightly taken aback.
“No, I actually didn't notice that. But I did notice something rather peculiar. Now, I might just be overreacting. Maybe this has nothing to do with me at all. But I need to know and, if I was wrong, I'm sorry. Your weakness says 'DS'. I know people always see their own initials and think it actually means something. But I'm just curious as to what 'DS' might stand for. ”
I flushed furiously and stared at my sneakers.
“It's alright. I just want to know. If it does stand for 'Dave Sheare', I'm not going to think any less of you. I just want to know. If it stands for 'Dazzling Sunshine', I will apologize profusely for embarrassing the hell out of you. ” He paused. “Now, could you just nod or shake your head? Does it stand for 'Dave Sheare'?” Slowly, shakily, I nodded.
“Since about my second class with you.
“I see. ” He paused. “I had a suspicion, you know. ” My head snapped up at this, in spite of myself.
“What? You knew?”
“I had a suspicion,” he repeated. “And I tried all year to prove it. I also sort of tried, I don't know if you noticed, to give a message back?”
“Er – ”
“I don't know if you noticed or not, but I would always catch your eye and smile when I met you in the halls. I made a point of it. I used your answers as models for the class as much as possible. I was easy as hell marking you. ” He paused. “And there was one class in February where I tried my damnedest to act like the world was ending, only when you were around. I tried to draw attention to myself, acting distraught. Did you happen to notice?”
As things turned out, I had noticed all of these things. Especially the day he'd been completely out of his element.
“Good,” he replied. “Then I'm not completely incompetent. That morning, the day I was sad, my girlfriend broke up with me. We had a fight, and she left. Want to know why? She thought I was cheating on her. ”
“Er . . . And . . . Were you . .
“No, I wasn't. But I had been thinking about another girl quite a lot. I had been fantasizing about her. And I knew that it was very wrong to feel an attraction towards this girl, considering who she was, how old she was, and the fact that I already had a girlfriend. I was trying so hard to suppress my feelings. So I was acting odd. Heather took it as I was seeing someone else behind her back. So she left. ” He paused and looked up at me. His eyes were pleading and lost. He looked like a distressed child.
There was stupefied silence, then, that reverberated around the car. I was completely, utterly stunned by his words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true.
“I – are you lying to me?” I stammered. “Is this a – a joke?” He hung his head.
“No, it's not a joke. I swear to you, it's not a joke. I'm being serious. I've fought this for so long, and it's nearly driven me crazy. Especially since I was sure you felt the same way about me. I wasn't sure if you were actually crushing on me, or if my mind was playing tricks on me, showing me what I wanted to see, because of how I felt. ”
“I .
“I know exactly how you feel,” Sheare replied, nodding.
“I . . . I really don't know what to say,” I stammered truthfully. “I'm actually completely shocked right now.
“What? Uh, oh! Sure! Yeah, think about it. Yeah. Here, though. You should take my cell number. You can text me, if you like. ”
“Oh! Okay, that's a good idea.
We exchanged cell numbers, then sat in very awkward silence, eventually broken by Sheare.
“So I guess I'll drop you home now, will I?”
Suddenly, inexplicably, I wanted to get out of that car as soon as possible. So I quickly lied.
“No, that's alright. Mandi Johnson lives literally two houses from here. I'm going to walk down there and visit. Mom will pick me up when she gets off work. Thanks for the coffee. I'll be talkin' to you. ” I stepped out of the car, and he looked taken aback at my sudden departure.
“O-okay, see you,” he stuttered as I shut the door.
I walked quickly, and he didn't start his car to drive away.
It was very dark as I headed down there, and it wasn't until I had almost reached the school that I saw his black car. It was down around the corner from the school, out of sight of the road and the cameras, and the cab light was on. Sheare's eyes were closed and he was twitching around. My heart came up in my throat. It looked like he was having a seizure. I bolted to the car and, just as I reached the it, his eyes flew open. At the same time, I saw what was going on.
He had thrown his jacket off into the passengers' seat, and his tee-shirt was pulled out of his belt.
“Sorry,” he croaked hoarsely after a while. “I couldn't help it. I had to. I – ”
“Shhhhhh,” I breathed softly, soothingly, and squeezed his upper thigh. I didn't know what made me do that. It was almost like a reaction.
On contact, Sheare turned to look at me. We locked eyes and, before either of us knew what was going on, we were kissing furiously. I had never kissed a guy before, but I caught on pretty quick.
It wasn't long before we were in the back seat. I was lying on my back across it, my shirt off, my bra still on. Sheare was kneeling low over me, his shirt also off, jeans still undone, and we were still kissing. His hands fumbled down towards the button on my jeans and I felt it come apart, heard the whoosh of the zipper being yanked down and felt his hands touch my bare skin.
“Sheare,” I gasped heavily. “Sheare, I'm a virgin. ”
“Don't worry,” he said in the same panting whisper, weighted down with passion and desire. “I'm not. ”
He gently, but once again firmly, pulled my jeans and underwear off around my ankles and pulled off his own as well. I gasped a little as he softly entered me, but not in pain. I didn't really know what to do, so I let him lead, and he seemed to be in his element. He was very gentle, but very forceful at the same time.
“Not bad for your first time, Thompson,” he muttered breathlessly, and that was all he said as he reached for his jeans.
.
