Chapter Four
Darcy
Lying back on my bed, I sigh and close my eyes, enjoying the first few moments of quiet I’ve had all day. If I’d known my mother was having friends over, I would’ve pretended I had to go out, but by the time I realized, it was too late. I was trapped in a sea of too much makeup and perfume. I was more than relieved when they’d left so I could get back to the important things, like thinking about Lennon.
It’s Sunday morning, a week since the wedding, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him, or the fact he might be my new teacher. School starts tomorrow, and I’m starting to panic. It’s hard enough starting at a new school, especially after how things ended at my last one, but if I walk into the classroom and see him standing at the front, I don’t know what I’ll do.
He’s going to freak out if I’m in his class. He’s gonna freak out even if I’m not in his class, just because I’m in high school. I honestly didn’t think I was doing anything wrong by omitting that little piece of information. I’m eighteen. I’m not underage, and he wasn’t my teacher at the time. Nothing we did was wrong. Well, apart from stealing the car.
But I must admit, if he is my teacher, part of me is looking forward to watching him squirm when he sees me in that room, because I know exactly what he’ll be thinking about.
When I finally drag myself out of bed just after midday, Mom insists on taking me shopping for school supplies. The only thing worse than shopping itself would be shopping with my mother. I’m sure my feelings are reflected in my expression, but I agree. Just as we’re leaving, she’s called into work. She looks so crushed, I cave and promise her we can go shopping together another time.
So here I am, alone and bored, with too much time to think. I try to distract myself by working on my car, and when that doesn’t work, I call Cindy and invite her over. I’m committing myself to getting as much information out of her about school as I can, but gossiping with Cindy is up there on the list, right next to shopping with Mom. Not fun.
Half an hour later, Cindy is on my doorstep, waving excitedly at me when I open the door. A twinge of guilt hits me because I feel a little bit like I’m using her, but I shrug the feeling off as I invite her inside. It’s not using, it’s making an effort. Hey, I almost believed that.
“Okay, let’s get to it, there is so much to fill you in on,” she says, following me into the kitchen. I grab a couple of drinks from the fridge and hand her one, then lead her into the living room.
I get the feeling she’s a little bit of the gossip, because she knows everything and everyone. You think starting new schools would get easier, considering this is my fourth one in five years—but it doesn’t. It still sucks, and making new friends sucks even harder. It doesn’t help that in the back of my mind, all I can think about is what happened back in Chicago.
I guess I’m lucky I already know someone this time around. Cindy is more of an acquaintance than a friend, but I guess it’s better than not knowing anyone. Our mothers went to college together, and being only two months apart in age, we got thrown into our friendship—whether we liked it or not—very early on.
“So, let’s begin with the obvious thing. Guys. You want to steer clear of most of the football team because they’re all complete assholes. Jack Cameron is like the king of all things douchy, so avoid him at all costs. I’m sure he’ll try his best to hit on you, so just steer clear of him all together and you’ll be fine.” She takes a deep breath while I struggle not to laugh. I couldn’t care less about high school politics, but I’m not about to tell her that.
“Okay, great advice,” I say instead, plastering a smile on my face.
“Now, as far as the girls go, most of them are okay,” she continues. “There are a few who think they’re above everyone else, but I guess you get that in every school. Mara Henson and Jessa Phillips are the main two you want to avoid. They’re unlikely to go out of their way to pick on you, though. They’re more likely to ignore you than anything else.” She smiles and leans closer, like she’s about to reveal the world’s biggest secret to me. “There were rumors about Jessa and the History teacher, Mr. Laws, circling last year. I don’t think it’s a coincidence he no longer works there,” she says with a wink. I feel my cheeks heat up, and I decide I’m best ignoring her comment.
“Great,” I grin. “Being ignored is just what I’m going for.”
Cindy rolls her eyes. “I know you’ve got this cool thing going on, but it’s your senior year. You want to have some fun and enjoy being there, you know? Make the most of it. It’s your time, Darcy.”
I snort. Could she fit anymore clichéd phrases into one sentence?
Cindy is so nice and friendly, but if there was ever a person who was the complete opposite of me, it would be her. She’s the type of girl my parents would be proud to call their daughter. In fact, I’m sure there have been plenty of times when my mom wished I was more like Cindy. She’s so girly, it’s nauseating. She would happily spend her whole weekend shopping, getting manicures, and having spa treatments, whereas I’d prefer to be elbow deep in grease, fixing my project car.
But then again, my car is my baby. It was a sweet sixteenth birthday present from my father—the shell of an old, worn out Mustang. Mom was horrified. She had her eye on a set of diamond earrings for me, when Dad blew the budget on what Mom liked to call a shit heap.
I put so many hours of work into fixing her up—with the help of my dad and brothers when we were back in Chicago—and now, she’s so close to being finished. I can’t wait to finally be able to take her for a drive.
“Darcy.”
I snap back to attention and glance apologetically at Cindy, who looks irritable that I wasn’t listening to her.
“I was just telling you which teachers you need to avoid,” she mumbles with a frown.
I perk up, because this is what I’m interested in. She runs through nearly the whole faculty with no mention of Lennon Anderson at all. I’m not surprised though, because if he’s new, she wouldn’t know much about him.
“So, there are two English classes run by two different teachers?” I ask. “And I won’t know which one I’m in until the morning when I get my schedule.” There’s a fifty percent chance I’ll wind up in his class. I’m not sure if I want to be in that fifty percent or not.
“Right, but Mr. Dawson only teaches like two classes, so chances are you won’t end up with him.”
Okay, make that a ninety percent chance. My heart races, because I’m not sure how I feel about that. As it gets closer, and the likelihood of me being in his class increases, I’m slowly shitting myself.
“And you said Ms. Philly is on maternity leave?” I ask casually.
“Did I?” she frowns. “Right. I think there’s a replacement starting tomorrow, but I don’t know much about them. The substitute teachers are usually easy though, because they’re usually fresh out of college and have no idea what they’re doing.”
I chuckle, because while Lennon might not know a whole lot about teaching, he certainly seemed skilled in other areas. I kind of wish I’d found out exactly how skilled he was. I shift my legs, feeling uncomfortably turned on.
I’m by no means promiscuous. I’ve had two boyfriends in my eighteen years, and Tyler was the only one I slept with. He was the biggest mistake of my life, but there was something about Lennon that made me want to be spontaneous and fun. He brought out the naughty side of me. I’m sure he felt the same way, too. There was a spark there. I didn’t imagine that.
***
Cindy hangs around for most of the afternoon, ignoring my hints that I’d rather enjoy my last day of freedom alone. As harsh as it sounds, I got what I wanted from her, and now I wish she’d go. I’m frustrated that I have to entertain her when all I really want to do is relax. God, I’m such a bitch.
Finally, just before dinner she reluctantly leaves. Once she’s gone, I trudge my way along the corridor to my room and do something I never thought I would—decide on what I’m going to wear for the first day of school. I’m so disappointed in myself that it’s come to this. All I need now is for my mother to walk in and catch me being sensible.
I open my closet and frown. I’m in the process of trying to pair off my nicest pair of jeans—the one with the least number of rips—with a shirt that enhances my cleavage, when disaster strikes. Mom walks in.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my girl?” she gasps, her face lighting up. This is all her dreams come true.
“Jesus, is it that bad that I want to make a good impression on my first day?” I grumble. I toss the jeans on my bed, frustrated. Mom walks over and touches my cheek, her eyes sparkling.
“Hey, you’ll be fine. This isn’t Chicago, honey. Try not to assume things aren’t going to go well, okay?”
Normally I wouldn’t assume the worst, but normally I wouldn’t have had sexual relations with a possible teacher the week before school began. I’m much more nervous about seeing him than I want to admit to myself. It sucks that the one guy I’ve really clicked with in pretty much my entire life might be completely out of my reach.
“I’ve got a very cute black skirt that would look great with that top,” Mom says thoughtfully. She grabs an emerald green shirt from my closet and struts out of the room. I follow her, baulking at the prospect of wearing a skirt.
“Sit,” she says as I enter her room. I perch myself on the end of her bed as she rummages through her closet and retrieves a short black skirt. She tosses it to me and I catch it, glancing at it with a frown.
“Oh, calm down, Darcy,” she says, a hint of frustration in her voice. “It’s a skirt, not a transparent G-string.”
“Mom,” I hiss. My eyes widen, because the last thing I want to think about is my mother’s lingerie… or worse, my mother in lingerie. “Fine. If it shuts you up, I’ll wear it,” I mutter.
I blame Lennon for this, because if I hadn’t met him, then I wouldn’t be freaking out the day before school, trying to figure out what to wear. Not that it really matters, anyway. Am I really so naïve as to think he might still be interested if he’s my teacher?