Not Yet (22 page)

“Landon, that isn’t happening. You are not waiting
for me. You’re not missing out on college hook-ups and frat parties
next year, and all the fun that boys your age normally have. I
won’t let you miss that experience. So, let’s just understand that
now.”

I pulled her against me again and held her tightly.
“You can tell me what to do in your classroom, and in the halls,
and in the parking lot, and at dances, and apparently even on the
football field, but I make decisions about my own life. I am
waiting for us. You don’t really have a say in the matter.”

She didn’t respond, just stood there in that thin
nightgown. I pulled her face up with both hands. I needed to kiss
her. It had been so long since I felt that connection. When we
kissed, she’d know for sure that what I said was true, and she’d
know my conviction.

But she froze and then pulled away. She wasn’t going
to let me kiss her—not while she was my teacher. She was always
responsible. Always honorable. And always in control of her
emotions. She was the best girl in the world—even if I suffered
from her exemplary morals.

“Landon, you’re right. I can’t tell you how to feel,
but I can tell you this. Absolutely nothing physical can happen
between us this year. So, if that is how you want to spend your
senior year, that’s up to you. If I were betting money, I would say
you’ll tire pretty fast from lack of attention, and that partying
with the cheerleaders and the girls in college next year will
become too much for you to ignore.”

I didn’t drop my hands from her face—instead, I
leaned even closer to her lips. “I love you. I absolutely
fucking
love you. So, I will honor your request and not
touch you this year. But never bet against me, baby. I play hard
and I play to win, and I promise you come May thirty first—I will
be focused on nothing but winning you.”

I pressed my forehead to hers before I pulled away.
“Remember… it’s just
not yet
for us.”

She closed her eyes as the memory hit both of us
hard, of me telling Evie that the timing for her and Garrett wasn’t
right at the moment. That the answer to them living together wasn’t
a no; it was a
not yet
. And that’s exactly what it was for
me and Emma.

Not yet
.

I turned to leave, shutting the door quietly behind
me. Once the lock clicked, I slid slowly down the front of the door
and sat on the ground, my eyes closed, mind and heart racing. I’d
done it. She listened to me. But had she really heard me? Had I
gotten through to that stubborn woman?

A quiet banging, three times in a row, came through
from the opposite side of the door. The knowledge that she sat just
like me, pressed back on her side of the door, overwhelmed with
emotions was a comfort. And that banging could only mean one thing…
My girl heard me loud and clear and she did feel the same way. She
knew how hard the rest of this year would be, but we were worth the
wait.

***

THE NEXT TWO months went by as well as I could
have expected. Dean and his comrades toned down their sexual
references—either out of boredom or fear of Coach Stone—but some
inappropriate comments continued. I could handle them. I just had
to work really hard for them to not realize how funny I thought
they actually were. Landon had become a model student. He seemed to
enjoy economics and his attitude toward the class was far different
than what I had feared. As much as I think it startled his
classmates and friends, Landon wasn’t afraid to use his brain in
class. It was nice to see him thinking with the head on his
shoulders.

Standing at the white board, drawing graphs of
consumer and producer surplus, I detected Ricky Martinez’s drool
pooling onto his desk. Dean was zoned out, and Stephanie and Cammie
were texting, probably each other, underneath their desks.
Fabulous. They were bored out of their minds.

“Come on, guys. This isn’t that bad. Help me out
here.” I paused and searched the room, seeing no change in the
faces of my disinterested seniors.

“Jon, tap Ricky, please, and wake him up. Who can
give me a real life example of consumer and producer surplus? Show
me you care about economics, people.” Radio silence ensued. “I know
you do! I know you care!” I pled, with more than a little
desperation.

Looking up, Landon wore an amused expression and
raised his hand. I almost fell backwards. While Landon had been
extremely well mannered and performed exceptionally on his
assignments, the guy did not raise his hand. He wasn’t a
participant in class discussions. He wasn’t a student who
demonstrated active involvement in the room. This would shake
things up a bit.

Jon smacked Ricky again on the back of the head and
elbowed Dean in the ribs as they caught sight of Landon’s raised
arm.

I tried, I truly did, but I couldn’t keep the
delighted grin off my face. “Landon, is there something you would
like to share with the class?”

Landon raised his eyebrows dramatically before
beginning. “Well, you asked for examples, Ms. Harris. And since
most of the students in the room look like they are in a freaking
coma, I thought I’d help you out.”

“By all means, Mr. Washington. Have at it.” I propped
myself up on a desk and crossed my legs. This should be good. He
seemed pretty sure of himself, but this was a tricky concept to
convey to high school students. I was fairly certain they would
remain as disinterested for him as they did for me.

“Dudes, it’s like this. Take my Raptor truck.” Grunts
burst from the room as the innate primal instinct in males erupted
from the mere mention of Landon’s large ass, sexy-as-hell
vehicle.

“My dad doesn’t sell too many of them at the
dealership. They’re effing expensive. We had this one jerk-off come
in, and he offered, like, forty grand for a new one. My dad really
wanted to sell it to the guy, ‘cause like I said, they don’t move
too easily.”

Surveying the room, each male was nodding
aggressively—right with Landon. The girls appeared to be listening
eagerly as well, perhaps not as motivated by the truck talk, but
with eyes fixated on the boys growing enthusiasm. All this
happening during economics class of all times.

“So, my Dad says, ‘Man, base model, stripped bare and
shit, is like forty-four grand. I can’t sell it to you for forty.
I’d take a loss.’ Dude hems and haws. You know he has a hard-on for
that Raptor.”

I cleared my throat loudly and shot Landon a look of
warning at his crude language. Hollering ensued from the room,
because evidently, all males agreed that this truck would give them
a hard-on.

“Now, what the dude doesn’t know is that my Dad will
actually make money off the sale if he can unload it for forty-two
grand. It’s not as much as he wants, obviously, but he will make
money. So, he offers the guy forty-three grand. Guy takes it
happily. See everybody, what happened here is that forty-three
grand was the price that made them both happy. The consumer surplus
was one grand for the dude because he thought my Dad needed to sell
it for forty-four grand to make a profit. He walked away thinking
he saved himself a surplus of one grand. The producer surplus is
one grand also cause my Dad was able to make an extra grand than he
needed to make money off the sale.”

My mouth dropped open as a chorus of ‘got its’ and
‘yeahs’ and ‘makes total sense’ echoed around the room.

Landon grinned cockily adding a, “Booyah,” in my
direction, before he settled back into his relaxed posture in the
back of the classroom.

“Well played, Mr. Washington. Thank you.” I
acknowledged him genuinely and continued on with my lesson on
equilibrium.

Landon was smart—and he wasn’t afraid to show it
anymore.

He also never crossed the line with me again. He
stayed away from my apartment and respected my boundaries in
school. He heard my pleas to maintain our distance and he accepted
them. I wish I could say I was pleased, but I missed his smart ass
like crazy.

What got me through was the teaching itself. I came
alive in the classroom. I loved thinking of humorous stories and
examples to make both history and economics interesting and
discernable to my teenage students. I faltered occasionally, like
with my surplus lesson, but more often than not I felt like I made
connections for them. The freshman, like me, were falling into a
routine in school and becoming more comfortable. The seniors were,
for the most part, maturing, and I loved hearing their theories on
why economics was personally important to them and their
future.

It probably surprised no one more than me, not
true—it would have surprised Ashley the most—that I
liked
teaching high school. As much as I dreaded and resented leaving
college for this job, I was having fun in my classroom each day. I
woke up and was excited to teach. I decided that, career-wise,
teaching was my calling. I was almost… happy.

Christmas season had all of Zionsville in jolly
spirits. The building was decorated with gaudy paper trees,
ornaments, and snowflakes, and my students could focus on nothing
but excessive amounts of presents and a break from classes. Even
the seniors were mellow. Tis’ the season, I guess.

I arrived home on Christmas Eve with bags of presents
for my mom and Evie, proud that I could finally afford to get them
a few nice things. Leaning against our apartment door was a small,
decorated tree. I picked it up and carried it inside, noticing the
note attached.

Oh my. I clutched the note to my chest and wiped my
tears away. I had never had a man do something nice for me at
Christmas or any holiday in my whole life. I had never even
received a card from my own father. I wanted to hug him and thank
him. Who the hell was I kidding? I wanted to do a lot more, but I
couldn’t. I adored that his gift was unique. Typical teenagers gave
junk jewelry or other mementos to girls they liked. Gifts to
remember what they shared in the past or what they were
experiencing currently together. Landon’s gift signified the
future. He was anything but typical.