THESE THORN KISSES, page 9
“Because I think…”
“You think what?”
“I think every girl here is obsessed with you,” I say while his eyes bore into mine.
And as soon as I do, his silver watch — the biggest and the brightest that I’ve ever seen — glares at me.
Reminding me that even though he looks all lazy and casual right now, approachable with his bright eyes and deep voice, he’s still a teacher here.
This is still his office and I’m still a student.
And then he reminds me with his words. “Well then, you should tell those girls that they’re wasting their time. I’m not interested in damsels and their teenage distress. Something about having a little sister who wouldn’t watch anything but Disney movies growing up. Thereby torturing the ever-loving shit out of me. So now I prefer to stay away from situations that would force me to swoop in and save the day.”
With that he straightens up from the door, losing his relaxed and approachable demeanor and going back to his aloof self.
Silently mourning the loss of it all, I watch him walk to his desk and pull out his chair. He takes a seat, spanning the back of it like he did the door. In fact, he even partially blocks the window, throwing his office into shadow.
Then in the most professional, coach-ly voice that I’ve ever heard from him, he says, “I read your file.”
“M-my file.”
He stares at me from his perch as he continues, “As I said this morning, my sister was correct. About your stellar record. It’s all in your file. Top of your class, great privileges, never causes trouble, never gets involved in a fight.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this so all I do is simply nod. “Yeah. That’s correct.”
Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and rubbing his lips with his thumb, he asks, “So what is a good, quiet, artistic girl like you doing at St. Mary’s?”
I swallow.
I also press my thighs together. Because his name on my skin has started to buzz.
The thorns on my thighs that I’ve made in his honor have come alive and they now prick my pale skin.
They sting.
Because he’s the reason.
He is why I’m at St. Mary’s. Because he inspired me. He told me to live my life as I wanted to and I did. And that in turn, led me to my wonderful freedom.
I know other girls hate this place but I don’t.
How can I when I get to be myself here? When I get to draw all day long. When I have such great friends here as well.
But I can’t tell him how wonderful he is, can I?
Because he doesn’t remember.
“Because I drew graffiti on my dad’s car,” I say, telling him the basics like I tell everyone.
“Why?”
I grab the back of the chair in front of me and press my thighs together even harder. “Because my parents hated my art. They always have. They wanted me to give it up. But I didn’t.”
“And now?”
“I still don’t want to give it up,” I tell him. “Actually I want to… I want to go to art school.”
I do.
Even though I know my parents will hate the idea of it.
That’s why I haven’t told them yet.
According to them, that graffiti incident was a one-time thing. They think that it was me pulling a stunt, throwing a tantrum. And now that I’m at St. Mary’s, I have been reformed. Meaning I’m not thinking about art anymore.
But that’s not true of course.
I am thinking about it. More than that, I want to go to art school. So much so that I’ve even been applying for them. Well, in addition to all the schools my parents want me to apply to. Or rather, school.
My dad has a preference, of course – his alma mater. And since I’m his daughter, I’m sort of already in, so.
“And they know that?” he asks.
“Uh…” I press my lips together. “Not exactly.”
That gets his attention and a frown emerges between his eyebrows. “Not exactly how?”
I’m not sure how we got here but I don’t know how to refuse him.
How not to tell my story to him.
I didn’t know eighteen months ago and I don’t know now.
In fact, I want to tell him, and so I do. “Well, after the graffiti incident, my parents got really distressed. Which is to be expected. I mean, I vandalized my dad’s car. When I’d never so much as raised my voice in front of them. They were angry and baffled and stressed. They thought that it was a one-time thing and so I let them think that.” I shrug, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t tell them my future plans.”
He studies my face then for a beat or two, and when it looks like he’s going to say something, I speak. “Which is totally fine. It doesn’t even matter right now. Because I’m still applying for colleges and scholarships. Which means I’m not in yet. And so I don’t have to tell them right this second. I can tell them when I get in. At the right time.”
Which is what my plan is.
I don’t want to stir the pot just yet. When I don’t even know if I’ve gotten in. When they’re still reeling from my previous insurrection.
I want to give them time to cope with it before I drop another bomb on them.
A beat passes before he asks, “What kind of a car was it?”
“Uh, Lamborghini.”
“Lamborghini.”
“Yes.” I nod. “It was my dad’s dream car. He’d only just bought it like a couple of weeks ago. And I also drew on the siding of my house and on the front door. Which was sort of my mom’s dream door. She had it specifically imported from Italy.”
And my mom was furious about it. Even more so than about what I did with Dad’s brand-new car.
“Was any of that salvageable?”
I slowly shake my head. “My mom had to replace the door. And my dad just shelved the car after that. He said it still smelled like spray paint.”
I’m not sure but something like… satisfaction passes through his features. Pride even.
“Good.”
“What?”
His jaw clenches slightly before he says, “Now that you’ve spray painted and ruined their so-called rich-ass dreams, they’ll think twice about ruining yours. So you should tell them. Now.” Then he adds, “About art school.”
The sting in my thighs ratchets up then.
Delicious, glorious sting.
Because I was right.
He is satisfied. He is proud about what I did for my art. And no one has ever done that. I mean, yes my girls here at St. Mary’s are proud of me and they accept me for who I am.
But the very man who inspired me is the one who’s proud and I love that.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out then. “About what I did yesterday. I was such a jerk to you. And on your first day no less. I’m not like that. All the things in my file and all the things that Callie said, they are true. I’m a good girl. I don’t make trouble. And I especially don’t want to make trouble for you.”
“For me.”
“Yes,” I say, digging my fingers into the chair. “Because you’re my best friend’s brother.” And the man who set me free. “You’re my best friend’s best brother and I… I’ve heard so many things about you. So many wonderful things. About how much you love your family. How you have kept them together. How you’ve brought them up, taken care of them. How you’ve given up so much to be there for them.”
He has.
Callie has told me all about it. All about how their dad was never much in the picture when they were growing up and so everything fell on their mom. And Conrad, being the oldest son, shared her burden.
And when their mom died, he was the one who was there to pick up all the pieces. He was eighteen at the time — Callie was four and her other siblings were all kids too — and in college on a soccer scholarship. But he gave all that up and came right back.
Not to mention, what he’s doing right now.
He’s here because of his sister.
“And now, you’re here,” I continue, feeling such a rush of warmth for him. “You took the job for Callie, to look after her and that’s just… amazing.”
I’ve never met anyone like him. So strong and so devoted to his family. So protective.
So good.
You’re a good man…
She wrote that, didn’t she? H.
Whoever she is, she was right.
“Look after her, yeah,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes slightly as if in thought. “But as it turns out, I’m a little too late for that.”
I frown.
Is he talking about Callie’s pregnancy?
Because I know Conrad and the rest of her brothers haven’t dealt with it very well. They were all angry and upset in the beginning, mostly at Reed. And even though they’ve decided to work together now to help Callie get through this, there’s still some tension between her brothers, especially Conrad, and Reed.
“But that’s not true,” I say. “You’re not too late. I know you think that but you’ll see. I think Reed isn’t as bad as everyone thinks he is.”
A few moments pass as he studies me before completely ignoring what I just said and going, “The reason I called you in here is to tell you that I’m revoking your privileges.”
“What?”
“Just because everyone else including you thinks you’re not trouble, doesn’t mean that you aren’t. So starting from this weekend, I’ve asked that your outing privileges be revoked for the next four weeks.”
My eyes are wide. “Four weeks?”
“Yes.” He nods curtly. “Maybe this will be a further incentive for you. To be a good girl. As you think you are.”
My heart skips a beat at his good girl and I part my lips.
Then, “Okay. All right. I deserve it.”
He studies my straightened posture before saying, “You can leave now.”
With that he slides that roster lying on his desk toward him, dismissing me.
From his office. From his mind.
So very easily.
So very, very easily. How glorious it must be, how convenient that he can forget me just like that.
While I stand here on buzzing legs, watching him for a few seconds more.
Mourning the end of our meeting.
Sighing, I turn around and walk to the door. My trembling hands turn the handle and open it. But my legs that are prickling with his name on them won’t move and I turn back around.
And my mouth blurts out a question that I wasn’t expecting to.
“Can I draw you?”
In the two seconds that it has taken me to walk from the chair to the door, he’s picked up his pen and he’s already on the second page of the roster, completely and utterly absorbed in it.
Not anymore though.
The paper crinkles as if his fingers have tightened around it. And the pen clutched in his hand stops moving.
Good.
I’ve stolen his focus then. I’ve won back that little space in his mind that he so easily just thrust me out of.
He lifts his eyes, his gaze electric. “What?”
“Can I… would you let me draw you?”
I’m not sure what I’m saying.
This was so completely not the plan.
But still I go on. “I mean, I’m an artist, as you know. And artists draw. And I’d love to, uh, draw you if you’d —”
“Leave.”
“But I —”
He abandons his pen then, straightening up and away from the desk. “Out.”
“But maybe you should —”
This time I stop talking because he stands up.
His eyes flash and pin me in my place as he rounds the desk and approaches me with long, purposeful strides. As if that’s needed. As if he needs to pin me in my spot. As if I’d move.
I won’t.
I’m not going anywhere. I don’t even want to.
Even though he looks so dangerous, so… predatory while walking up to me. And then he reaches me and he still doesn’t stop destroying the distance between us.
He leans down and down and I go up and up.
Until he does something beyond my imagination – he touches me.
He grips my bicep over my cardigan, his fingers firm and strong.
Warm.
And he uses them to sort of push me back — not harshly but not gently either — making me take a step back, and it’s the step that takes me out of the room. And while I’m letting that sink in, that I’m not in his office anymore, he takes his hand off me and grits, “We’re done here.”
With that, he slams the office door in my face.
I’ve fallen from grace.
At least that’s what Poe happily calls it.
In the last week, I’ve argued with a teacher, been called into his office, and gotten my outing privileges revoked.
For four weeks.
The last no one knows except for Poe and Salem. And again I’ve asked them to keep it to themselves and not tell Callie. Getting called into a teacher’s office is one thing, but getting your privileges revoked is something else. Especially for me, because this has never happened to me before. If Callie knew, she would no doubt force the truth out of me.
So as much as I hate to keep a secret from my very best friend, I’m doing it.
I’m also sticking to my original plan: move the fuck on.
From my obsession, fascination, preoccupation with him.
My Mystery Man.
Because not only could my friendship with Callie be at stake, I could potentially lose everything that I’ve been working toward.
Something my guidance counselor brought to my attention.
Needless to say, she’s extremely upset over my recent behavior. Which I also hate, because I really don’t like to upset her. Something not a lot of students at St. Mary’s can say.
At St. Mary’s, guidance counselors are the keepers of our privileges. We meet with them every week to evaluate our performance, our behavior, our future plans. They are the ones who keep tabs on all your good and bad deeds and hence what privileges we’re afforded or not.
So of course they aren’t very popular with the students here. And for good reason, because guidance counselors can be mean and intimidating. They can be unfairly strict depending on who you are assigned.
But my guidance counselor is genuinely nice.
She only started mid-year last year but she’s helped me a lot ever since. She’s encouraged me to apply for art schools and she diligently works with me on my applications. And she said that if I continued down this current path, I might screw up my grades and recommendation letters, thereby screwing up my chances of fulfilling my dream.
So I need to be careful.
I agree with her. I need to focus on my college applications and my goals and forget about this madness.
The only problem is that the man I’m trying to move on from is everywhere.
Every. Where.
Since he’s the new soccer coach — Coach Thorne — the first place I have to see him at is practice.
The next two practices are much like the first one.
Where Coach TJ is the one who talks, and the new coach — him — simply stands there either with his arms folded across his chest or behind his back and watches everything critically.
He only deigns to speak when one of the girls screws up massively. And even then in grunting monosyllables.
It actually has become a game for us, the girls. Who will screw up the most and collect the most grunting one-words. So far Poe and a couple of other girls are in the lead. While I’m at zero. And I’m sure it’s not because my soccer skills have magically improved.
He just doesn’t say anything to me.
I don’t even think he looks at me.
I mean, after what I did in his office — you know, the thing at the end — why would he?
Can I draw you?
These are my words. I can’t believe they came out of my mouth though.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Again.
All I know is that in that moment it was a compulsion. A deep, gutting need of my artistic heart and my desperate soul.
But anyway.
He said no, obviously.
Well, he kicked me out of his office and slammed the door in my face but I got the message.
And now just like him, I try not to look at him either.
Especially when he also stops by the cafeteria every day.
Every day at lunch, he shows up at our table to see Callie. To check up on her, see how she’s doing. He also brings her all the things she’s been craving lately, or at least been able to keep down. Which are mostly greens – kale, lettuce, arugula.
During such times, I try to keep my head down.
I try to focus on my lunch, my ink-stained hands in my lap, on my wrinkled mustard-colored skirt.
I even ignore how Poe always flirts with him. Or is the first to engage him in conversation. Which he responds to politely but with his usual aloofness. Then comes Salem with all her soccer questions. These, he answers with a little more interest than his responses to Poe.
“You’re wasting your time,” Callie sing-songs one day when her brother leaves. “He’s not interested in you.”
“And how do you know that?” Poe asks.
“Because I know my brother,” Callie says proudly. “He is good. He’s moral. He has principles. He will never ever look at a girl who’s a student in a way that’s less than appropriate. In fact,” she says and looks around the cafeteria, “I should probably tell everyone this. Like, stop giggling and blushing when he comes around. He’s never going to be like, ‘oh my God, you’re really pretty. Let me have you. I don’t care that you’re a teenager and my student.’ Especially if that student is my friend. He’s super particular about that. The rest of my brothers are animals. They don’t care about the code or whatever. But not Con. My oldest and sweetest and also scariest brother is too morally responsible to do any of that.”
Callie is right.
Her oldest brother would never look at any of the St. Mary’s students in a way that’s less than appropriate. Not that I want him to look at me in a way that’s inappropriate — I do not.
