This Girl

“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.



She slowly turns toward me and pulls her leg up into the seat. She wraps her arms around it and rests her chin on top of her knee. I’ve never wanted to be a knee so bad in my entire life.



“I’m confused as hell, Will. I don’t know what to think.”



Honestly, I don’t know what to think, either. God, I’m such an asshole. How could I have let this happen? I sigh and look out the passenger window. I can’t for the life of me hold my composure if I keep looking into those eyes.



“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is all my fault.”



“It’s nobody’s fault,” she says. “In order for there to be fault, there has to be some sort of conscious decision. You didn’t know, Will.”



I didn’t know. But it’s my own damn fault that I didn’t know.



“That’s just it, Lake,” I say, turning to face her. “I should have known. I’m in an occupation that doesn’t just require ethics inside the classroom; they apply to all aspects of my life. I wasn’t aware because I wasn’t doing my job. When you told me you were eighteen, I just assumed you were in college.”



She looks away and whispers, “I’ve only been eighteen for two weeks.”



That sentence. If that sentence could have just been spoken a few days ago, this entire situation would have been avoided. Why the hell didn’t I just ask her when her birthday was? I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat, preparing to explain my unique situation to her. I want her to have a better understanding of why this can’t work between us.



“I student teach,” I say. “Sort of.”



“Sort of?”



“After my parents died, I doubled up on all my classes. I have enough credits to graduate a semester early. Since the school was so shorthanded, they offered me a one-year contract. I have three months left of student teaching. After that I’m under contract through June of next year.” I look over at her and her eyes are closed. She’s shaking her head ever so slightly like she doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying, or she just doesn’t want to hear it.



“Lake, I need this job. It’s what I’ve been working toward for three years. We’re broke. My parents left me with a mound of debt and now college tuition. I can’t quit now.”



She darts her eyes toward me, almost like I’ve insulted her.



“Will, I understand. I’d never ask you to jeopardize your career. You’ve worked hard. It would be stupid if you threw that away for someone you’ve only known for three days.”



Oh, but I would. If you would just ask me to . . . I would.



“I’m not saying you would ask me that. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.”



“I do understand,” she says. “It’s ridiculous to assume we even have anything worth risking.”



She can deny it all she wants, but whatever it is that I’m feeling, I know she’s feeling it, too. I can see it in her eyes. “We both know it’s more than that.”



As soon as the words leave my lips, I immediately regret them. This girl is my student. S-T-U-D-E-N-T! I’ve got to get this through my head.



We’re both silent. The lack of conversation only invites the emotions we’ve been trying to suppress. She begins to cry, and despite the fact that my conscience is screaming at me, I can’t help but console her. I pull her to me and she buries her face in my shirt. I want so bad to push the thought out of my head that this is the last time I’m going to hold her like this—but I know it’s true. I know once we separate, it’s over. There’s no way I can continue to be around her with the way she consumes my every thought. I know, deep down, that this is good-bye.



“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “I wish there was something I could do to change things. I have to do this right for Caulder. I’m not sure where we go from here, or how we’ll transition.”



“Transition?” she says. She brings her eyes to meet mine and they’re full of panic. “But—what if you talk to the school? Tell them we didn’t know. Ask them what our options are.”



She doesn’t realize it, but that’s all I’ve been trying to figure out for the last five hours. I’ve been thinking of any and all possible scenarios to change the outcome for us. There just isn’t one.



“I can’t, Lake. It won’t work. It can’t work.”



She pulls apart from me when Kel and Caulder come out of her house. I reluctantly release my hold from around her, knowing it’s the last time I’ll hold her. This is more than likely the last time we’ll have a conversation outside school. In order for me to do the right thing, I know that letting her go completely is the only way. I need to distance myself from her.



“Layken?” I say hesitantly. “There’s one more thing I need to talk to you about.”



She rolls her eyes like she knows it’s something bad. She doesn’t respond, though. She just waits for me to continue.



“I need you to go to administration tomorrow. I want you to withdraw from my class. I don’t think we should be around each other anymore.”



“Why?” she says, turning to face me. The hurt in her voice is exactly what I was afraid I would hear.



“I’m not asking you to do this because I want to avoid you. I’m asking you this because what we have isn’t appropriate. We have to separate ourselves.”



The hurt in her eyes is replaced by a look of incredulity. “Not appropriate?” she says, disbelievingly. “Separate ourselves? You live across the street from me!”



The hurt in her voice, the anger in her expression, the heartache in her eyes; it’s too much. Seeing her hurt like this and not being able to console her is unbearable. If I don’t get out of this car right now, my hands will be tangled in her hair and my lips will be meshed with hers in a matter of seconds. I swing open the door and get out.



I just need to breathe.



She opens her door, too, and looks at me over the hood of her car. “We’re both mature enough to know what’s appropriate, Will. You’re the only person I know here. Please don’t ask me to act like I don’t even know you,” she pleads.



“Come on, Lake. You aren’t being fair. I can’t do this. We can’t just be friends. It’s the only choice we have.”



She has no idea how close I came to not being her friend just now. There’s no possible way I can be around this girl and continue to do the right thing. I’m not that strong.



She opens her car door and reaches inside to grab her things. “So, you’re saying it’s either all or nothing, right? And since it obviously can’t be all!” She slams the door and walks toward her house. She stops short and kicks over the gnome with the broken red hat. “You’ll be rid of me by third period tomorrow!” She slams her front door, leaving me a heartbroken, emotional wreck in her driveway.



The last thing I wanted out of this was to upset her even more. I pound my fists against the top of her Jeep, pissed at myself for putting her in this situation to begin with. “Dammit!” I yell. I spin and turn to head home, but instead come face to face with Kel and Caulder. They’re both staring at me, wide-eyed.



“Why are you so mad at Layken?” Kel asks. “Are you not gonna be her boyfriend?”



I glance back to Lake’s house and clasp my hands behind my head. “I’m not mad at her, Kel. I’m just—I’m mad at myself.” I drop my arms and turn back around to head home. They step apart as I pass between them. I hear them following me when I retrieve my things from my car. I’m still being followed when I walk inside and set the box down on the bar, so I turn around and look at the boys.



“What?” I say with a clear amount of annoyance. They both look at each other, then back at me.



“Um. We just wanted to ask you something,” Caulder says nervously. He slides into one of the bar stools and rests his chin in his hand. “Maya said if Layken becomes your girlfriend and you marry her, me and Kel will be brothers of law.”



Both boys are looking at me with hopeful expressions.



“It’s brothers-in-law, and Layken’s not going to be my girlfriend,” I say. “We’re just friends.”



Kel steps around me and climbs into the other seat at the bar. “She burped too much, didn’t she? Or did she leave her bra in your car? I bet she wouldn’t let you have coffee, would she?”



I force a fake smile and step toward the stack of papers. “You nailed it,” I say. “It was the coffee. She’s so stingy.”



Kel shakes his head. “I knew it.”



“Well,” Caulder says. “You could try going on another date to see if you like her better. Me and Kel want to be brothers.”



“Layken and I aren’t going on another date. We’re just friends.” I glance at both of them with a serious expression. “Drop it.” I sit down and pull out my pen, then grab the test off the top and flip it over.



It’s her test.



Of course it would be hers. I stare at it, wondering how in the hell this is going to get any easier. Just seeing her handwriting makes my pulse race. Makes my heart ache. I lightly trace her name with the tip of my finger. I’m pretty sure it’s the most beautiful handwriting I’ve ever seen.



“Please?” Caulder says.



I flinch, having forgotten they were even standing here. I have got to stop thinking about her like this. She’s a student. I slap her test facedown on the pile and stand up.



“Kel, do you like pizza?”



He shakes his head. “No. I love pizza.”



“Go ask your mom if you can chill with us tonight. We need a boy’s night.”



Kel jumps out of his chair and they both run toward the front door. I take a seat at the bar again and drop my head into my hands.



This entire day is definitely my suck.



I REST MY hand on the door to the administration office, almost second-guessing my entrance. I’m not in the mood for Mrs. Alex today. Unfortunately, she sees me through the glass window and waves. Her flirty wave. I suck it up and reluctantly open the door.



“Good morning, Will,” she says in her annoying singsong voice.



I know I was “Will” to her just a couple of years ago, but it wouldn’t hurt her to extend me the courtesy that she extends to all the other teachers here. I don’t bother arguing, though. “Morning.” I shove a form across the desk toward her. “Can you have this signed by Mr. Murphy and fax it to my faculty advisor?”



She takes the form and places it in a tray. “Anything for you,” she says and smiles. I give her a quick smile in return, then spin toward the exit, very conscious of my own ass this time.



“Oh, by the way,” she calls after me. “That new student I registered yesterday just came by to drop your class. I guess she isn’t a big fan of poetry. You’ll need to sign the form I gave her before I can make it official. She’s probably on her way to your classroom right now.”