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“Okay, I get what you’re saying.”

Dylan turned the player back on. “Why do you like this song? I mean, really good choice. Just wondering.”

I scratched my head and shrugged, staring at the opposite wall. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him. He might think I was trying too hard to be deep or complex. But the truth is that I liked this song the second I heard it because it was me, right on the edge of goodness, right on the edge of choice—that space between moving towards something positive or falling into the abyss. I chose to fall. One time. Just once. And now everything had changed, and I couldn’t stand the darkness.

“Cadence?”

I continued staring, thinking about that moment I agreed to snort cocaine for the first time. The only time. And just one line. It burned my nose, but then it was like a sparkling crackle, much like the popping of the vinyl. I stood up after I inhaled the white line, but my body kept rising, rising higher. I remember lifting my arms, convinced angels were grasping my hands and stretching me. I was flying and being stretched at the same time.

“Cadence? You all right?”

I jerked my head in Dylan’s direction. “Thanks for letting me listen. I’ve gotta go.”

“Well, wait. Lemme give you back your record.”

“Huh?”

“Mark bought it for you,” Dylan said, placing the vinyl gently in its sleeve.

“What? I thought he just set it aside,” I replied, taking the record. What on earth would I do with it? I didn’t have a record player.

“No, he bought it.”

I was flattered and angry. Mr. Connelly had no business buying a record for me! It was embarrassing, and I could only imagine what Dylan was thinking. I glimpsed his face and thought I caught a half-grin.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“What are you talking about?” he replied. And then he added quietly, “Hey, no judgment.”

“I can’t take this,” I said, shoving the album in his hands.

He pushed back. “Paid for. Take it up with your math teacher.”

I huffed and turned on my heel. I’d take it up with my math teacher. You better believe I would.

“What are you doing?” I hissed in Mr. Connelly’s face.

I drove to school early and went straight to Room 212. I didn’t knock on the door either. I just barged right in and let fly.

“What do you mean?” He dropped his pencil on the desk and looked up at me.

“That record! You bought me a record!”

“What’s the big deal? You told me you like DJ Shadow.”

“You planned it!” I said. “You had that record waiting for me!”

“Yeah, I called Dylan to set it aside for you. I’m confused. Why are you upset?” Mr. Connelly asked.

I was infuriated. He knew precisely why I was upset. I was perfectly content to harbor a secret crush on my teacher—one I knew would go absolutely nowhere. It was one thing to fantasize about an inappropriate relationship. It was quite another thing to actually pursue it. And he was pursuing me. It took forever, but my seventeen-year-old brain finally figured it out! It started on the first day of school. The handkerchief. That motherfucking handkerchief!

I. Was. Scared.

“Stop playing with me!” I shouted.

“Lower your voice,” Mr. Connelly demanded, then walked over to the door and shut it. He turned to face me. “No one’s playing with you, Cadence. I called the store and asked Dylan to set aside the album for you.”

“Why did you buy it for me?”

“Because I knew you’d like it.”

“Why did you buy me the album, Mr. Connelly?”

“Because . . . because everyone should own at least one record.”

“I don’t have a record player!” I cried, exasperated. “Why did you buy me that album?”

Mr. Connelly sighed and scratched the back of his head. He had no choice, and he knew it. And when you’re not given a choice, it makes acting on what you’ve always wanted to do so much easier. He walked towards me with purpose until he was inches from my face. He hovered over me, and I was afraid to look up at him. So I stared at his chest instead.

He bent down and whispered in my ear. “Because I wanted to do something nice for you. You need someone to do something nice for you, for Christ’s sake. You walk around this school like someone killed your dog. You’re the saddest thing I’ve ever seen, Cadence. The loneliest thing I’ve ever seen. And any chance I get to see you smile, I’m gonna take it.”

I wanted to scream for not being able to touch him. I was afraid someone would walk through the door.

“Do you do nice things for all your students?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why me?”

There was a brief pause.

“Because I like you, Cadence. I like you very much.”

“But I don’t have a record player,” I replied. It was an absurd response.

Mr. Connelly cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. His touch was so gentle, reminding me of the last time he cleaned my floured hands and face. I thought he could get anyone to do what he wanted with those hands. They were magic.

“You don’t have to have a record player for me to like you, Cadence.”

I laughed.

“But guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“
I
have a record player. And I’m not tutoring tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“I have another doctor’s appointment,” he replied, and I could hear the smile behind the words.

I nodded, my face still trapped in his hands.

“I . . . I think you’re the sweetest thing,” Mr. Connelly said.

“Yeah?”

He nodded and released my face.

I watched him turn to the white board and grab the dry erase marker from the tray. I was unsure if I should stay or go to my locker.

“Go put your books away,” he said. It came out flat and unemotional.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And keep that door open when you leave,” he replied.

“Are you mad at me?”

Mr. Connelly turned around. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you’re acting harsh right now.” I hugged my waist defensively.

“Cadence, I don’t mean to sound harsh. I really don’t. But I’m taking a huge risk here. One really gigantic risk. I don’t think you realize how gigantic. Do you understand?”

I nodded. I tried to fight the impulse, but it was useless. And I’d waited so long. I flung my arms around his neck. He leaned over, but I still had to stand on my tiptoes. He wrapped his arms around my waist and stood up, lifting me off the floor. I smelled the aftershave on his jaw and the musk of that tender flesh on his neck. I’d never smelled those things on the boys I dated in the past. But Mr. Connelly wasn’t a boy. He was a man. He smelled like a man. He felt like one, too—his muscled arms holding me captive against his muscled chest.

He walked me to an alcove in the room that couldn’t be seen from the classroom door window and buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.

“My God,” he breathed.

He gripped me tighter, and I gasped for air.

“Will I see you after school tomorrow?” he asked softly into my ear.

I shivered and nodded. A faint “yes” escaped my lips.

“Good,” he replied, and set me carefully on my feet.

I couldn’t process what just happened. Mr. Connelly walked back to the white board and resumed his work. I watched him for a split second before leaving the room. I sprinted to the bathroom and hid in a stall. My entire body shook uncontrollably. My stomach hurt. My armpits were moist. I thought I’d peed in my pants only to realize that it wasn’t pee at all. My panties were wet because of him.

***

Cadence, you’re a very bad girl.

I lay in bed, trying to ignore my conscience. I didn’t think she was right anyway. Why couldn’t I touch myself? At least I wasn’t having sex. And so what that I was fantasizing about my math teacher? That’s all it was: a fantasy.

I knew I wouldn’t go to his house tomorrow. I didn’t have the guts. He scared the hell out of me, and I was an utter mess around him. I really couldn’t figure out what the attraction was anyway. Yeah, I thought I was kind of cute, but there were girls in my math class who were drop-dead gorgeous. I didn’t think I was that. I wasn’t a super model. I was your girl next door.

Well, maybe he liked the girl-next-door types. Or maybe he sensed my emotional vulnerability, my loneliness. Maybe he thought he could take advantage of that. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew this was all wrong, and I knew I had to confront the possibility that Mr. Connelly was a bad man. A user. An exploiter. So why didn’t I believe any of it? Why did I think he was genuinely nice and kind instead? That he had fallen for me apart from any insidious motive? Was it just my naiveté?

You’re seventeen, Cadence. Of course it’s your naiveté
.

I answered my conscience by plunging my finger inside myself, moaning softly.

“I’m a smart girl,” I said out loud, breathing heavily.

Sure you are.

I continued stroking myself, feeling my growing wetness as I thought about Mr. Connelly’s hands. At the moment they were passing papers to the students in my math class.  But then the students disappeared and the rest of the papers along with them. It was just Mr. Connelly, coming at me with purpose. He put his hands on me, picking me up roughly and forcing my legs around his waist. He carried me to his desk and set me down on the edge, pushing himself against my open thighs.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

Cadence? Aren’t you supposed to be at youth group right now? It’s Wednesday.

“I have time,” I said.

It’s not even about that, Cadence. You’re masturbating before church!

“Shut up!” I hissed, and continued rubbing myself until I felt Mr. Connelly touching me instead. I was laid out on his desk, shorts and panties off, and he stood over me, touching me incessantly between my legs while he asked me how to calculate sine.

“Calculate sine?” I breathed. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. What the fuck? Just make me come!

“Sine, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said patiently. “This is review from trig. You should remember.”

“I don’t know,” I cried, panting rapidly, feeling the ember burning deep in my abdomen. He kept stoking it with his fingers, growing the fire that would eventually burn me alive.

He bent down to whisper in my ear. “Sine equals opposite divided by . . .” And he slipped two fingers into me.

I screamed, the fire bursting and sizzling between my legs, licking the tender flesh of my inner thighs. He muffled my cries with his mouth, kissing me softly while I came hard, back arching involuntarily like I was asking him for more. So he gave it to me. He kept stroking me, drawing out my orgasm until it shifted from pleasure to agony.

“Please stop,” I begged into his mouth, and he did.

I opened my eyes, one hand resting between my legs, the other clapped over my mouth. My body shuddered over and over as I stared at my ceiling, empty of everything. Empty of goodness. Empty of the bad. I had nothing to guide me, no direction, no intentions, so I made the decision to go.

***

I sat in my car, heart thumping hard and fast. I could just turn the key in the ignition, back out of the parking spot, and leave. That easy. Pretend I never came here. But a force greater than my fear took over, turning me into an automaton as I subconsciously locked the car and walked up the brick pathway to his apartment. Apartment 620C.

I watched as my hand curled into a fist and knocked on the door.

Oh my God. My hand just curled into a fist and knocked on the door! I need to leave! Now!

Mr. Connelly answered. “Hi, Cadence.”

“Uh huh.”

He smirked. “Would you like to come in?”

“Uh huh.”

I stood frozen to my spot.

“Maybe now?” he suggested.