Indisputable (4 page)

He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take a moment to really
look him over.  He’s out of breath and slightly red in the face.  A
light brown mop of shaggy hair sits messily upon his head, and I can’t tell if
he’s styled it that way intentionally or if it’s disheveled from whatever made
him late.  Thinking of what kinds of activities result in the hairstyle
he’s sporting takes root in my brain like a nasty virus.  It clouds my
vision as I take in the rest of his appearance—the loosely knotted tie,
haphazardly tucked in shirt, down…down to the hastily and half zipped fly of
his black slacks. 

I snort.  Loudly.  There’s no way I can sit
through a class with him. 

“Afternoon delight, Ryan?” I call out.  His face
flushes a brilliant deep shade of red.

“Excuse me?” He looks incredulous; his mouth hanging
open slightly at the brazen remark even I’m surprised came out of my
mouth.  He scans the room in anger, but when his eyes finally rest on
mine, they widen in surprise.    

I shoulder my backpack and stand.  “Don’t
worry.  I’ll show myself out.”  Snickers of my classmates follow me
down the aisle into the back of the classroom.  Maybe it’s not too late to
get my schedule changed.

“I didn’t ask you to leave.  Sit down!” he calls
after me, but I ignore his request.  Instead, I flick my hand in the air
in a sign of retreat, before adding “I’ll show myself to the office.” 
Feeling like I’ve already dug myself into a deep hole, I add, “Oh yeah, and fix
your fly.” More chuckles and hoots of laughter follow me out into the empty
hallway.  

After a leisurely pit stop at my locker to dispose of
the books I won’t need, I stroll down the halls to the double doors leading
into the senior parking lot.  To my dismay, I’m met by the school liaison
officer and the principal himself.  Crap.  Mr. Ryan is a tattle tale,
too.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stephenson,” I say sweetly,
hoping he isn’t here to haul me back to my calculus room for apologies. 
Damn me and my big mouth.

“Miss Krause.  My office please,” he responds
sternly. 

“Yes, Sir.”  I spin on my heel and lead the two
men up to the second floor offices I’ve only been to a handful of times. 
Mr. Stephenson and I are by no means strangers, but I’ve never spent any
significant amount of time with him being reprimanded.  I have a feeling
I’m in for a really long lecture.

I seat myself in the hard blue plastic chair he keeps
situated in the front of his large mahogany desk, as he rounds the back to
perch himself in the black leather rolling chair.  He sits; staring,
studying, looking at me as if he is trying to read me like a foreign
instruction manual.  He steeples his fingers beneath his chin,
contemplating where to start, I’m guessing.  His kind blue eyes look more
stern than usual as he takes me in.  He’s an older man with a short cut of
salt and pepper hair on his head.  More than once in the past year, I
allowed myself to wonder what it would be like to have him as a father figure.

“Miss Krause,” he begins.  I force myself to
maintain eye contact.  “You know why you are here, yes?”

“It wouldn’t be to discuss my outstanding academic
achievement during the last year, would it?”  My mother said I was born a
smartass.  Although a handy feature, I’ve never been able to turn it off
when appropriate. 

“We are quite proud of your achievements, Miss Krause,
especially considering your circumstances; however, that does not give you the
right to skip out on class and show blatant disrespect for your
teachers.” 

I sit silently, willing myself to hold my chin high
even though I have an overwhelming urge to stare at my hands and bite my finger
nails.  What am I supposed to say to that?

“Mr. Ryan phoned the office as soon as you left the
classroom.  Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.  Mr.
Stephenson’s demeanor is stern, but his eyes hold a familiar softness. 
The same softness he displayed when he told me about my mother’s overdose last
year.  The whole ordeal that followed has endeared him to me. 

“Nothing is going on.  I think it was rude of Mr.
Ryan to keep the class waiting ten minutes before showing up.”  I can’t
quite keep the sneer out of my voice when his name rolls from my lips.  It
would seem during our little tête-à-tête last week, I wasn’t the only one
withholding information. 
Ryan
my ass.  He seemed to have
forgotten the title ‘Mr.’  

“Yes, well, I have spoken to Mr. Ryan about his
tardiness, and I can assure you that a personal emergency had taken
place.  However, you are not in a position to disrespect and lecture your
teachers about their wrongdoings.  If you have a problem with one of your
teachers, you need to bring it to my attention.  I will be sure it is
handled appropriately.” 

“Yes, Sir.”  Scooting towards the front of my
chair, I eye the clock on the wall.  Now I’ll only be out ten minutes
early if he hurries this little meeting up so I can go.

“Miss Krause?”

“Hmm?” I look back to meet his gaze.

“Is something going on in your personal life,
something that may have caused you to speak out so rudely?  It seems out
of character for you, even considering you have a more difficult home life than
most students.  You know you can talk to me, yes?”

I sigh, grateful for his caring nature yet peeved he
thinks I’m having issues.  “No, Mr. Stephenson.  Nothing is going
on.  I will apologize to Mr. Ryan.  May I leave please?  I need
to get ready for work.”  I stand from my seat and shoulder my backpack.

He raises a finger in the air, halting my
retreat.  “Wait one minute.  I don’t believe an apology is sufficient
enough in this circumstance.  I have reassigned your second period study
hall—ˮ

“What?  That’s not fair, you can’t punish me with
more classes!” I cry.

“Calm down, Tatum.  You aren’t going to be taking
another academic course.  However, I have assigned you to be a Teacher’s
Assistant for Mr. Ryan second period.  You can report to him tomorrow
during that time, and I expect you’ll offer an apology first thing.  This
will give you an opportunity to get to know and respect your teacher.”

“Please, I need my study hall for homework. 
Can’t I just write an apology letter?  Do some extra calculus work or
something?”

“I’m sorry, but this will be beneficial to you. 
I am well aware of what you do in study hall, and you most definitely do not study. 
If,” he continues even though I’m shaking in anger, “Mr. Ryan has found your
behavior acceptable, and you are acting most respectfully and helpfully, I will
allow you to return to your study hall classroom after two weeks.”

“Two weeks?  You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Two weeks, Miss Krause.  If there is any more
word of your unruly behavior, we will meet again to discuss more extreme
measures.  I will not have you publicly embarrassing the teachers at this
school.”

“May I go?”  My hands are visibly shaking at my
sides.  I need to get out of here.

“Yes.  We will see you tomorrow.”

Mr.
Ryan

I slam my keys down on my entryway table, kicking the
door closed behind me with a little more force than necessary.  It slams
loudly, knocking the cheaply framed black and white picture of Venice’s canals
off the wall.  Fuck!  Ignoring the picture, I stomp my way into the
two bedroom townhouse with a single track mind.  Refrigerator.  I
need a goddamn beer.  Selecting an import dark brew, I pop off the cap,
discarding it somewhere on the countertop.  I take a long, slow glug,
loosening the restrictive tie around my neck, sighing. 

What the fuck happened today?

I run my free hand through the long, disastrously
messy hair upon my head.  I must have done that 1000 times during the
phone call before my last class started.  It’s a nervous gesture, a
frustrated habit.  Today couldn’t have gone more wrong.

Hauling my ass to the couch, remote in one hand, beer
in the other, I turn the television on ESPN but put it on mute.  As much
as I don’t want to, I need to unwind from today.  I need to revisit that
phone call, and purge the pain from my system.  A year or so ago, I would
have turned to drinking.  This one beer would turn to two, three, six,
followed up by a few shots of vodka or whiskey.  I would have passed out
and felt better in the morning.  Well, besides the killer hangover. 
But I had started running out of money and returning to work was my best option
if I wanted to survive.  Most days, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

That phone call. 

Drudging up memories from two years ago and making me
relive them in the teachers’ lounge of my new job was not really what I had
anticipated out of today.  I was already running late and stopped to use
the bathroom before my final period. 

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, putting myself
back in the moment…

I was mid-piss when the phone rang from my
pocket.  Nobody ever calls me.  I left anyone I used to care about
behind two years ago when I left the east coast, headed for something
different, something… safer.  The number on the screen was unfamiliar, but
I recognized the area code.  It was from home; rather, my old home. 
What used to be home.  I stood dumbfounded, with my dick hanging out above
the urinal, while I just stared at the stupid electronic in my palm.  The
screen went blank when I missed the call, but almost immediately began ringing
again.  The fact someone was trying that hard to get to me had me punching
the green button before I could really contemplate it further.

“Hello?” I breathed cautiously.

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr. Jacoby Ryan?”
The voice was deep and vaguely familiar.  No, it couldn’t be. 
There’s no way he’d be calling me out of the blue. 

“This is.  Who’s calling?

Silence greeted me.  If it weren’t
for the heavy breathing in my ear, I’d think he’d hung up. 

“What do you want?” I snapped, unable to
control my anger.  I want nothing to do with these people.  I’ve put
that part of my life behind me.  “I’m sorry, but I have to go, I’m running
late.”

“Wait a minute, please. 
Brother…Jacoby,” he cleared his throat and my chest burned with the
confirmation of the caller.  “I’ve been trying to reach you for some
time.”

I stalled, hand on the phone, phone to my
ear.  After two years, they are trying to contact me—for what?  “Why
are you calling me?  This is a really bad time.”

“It’s about Carol.  She’s, well, she
isn’t doing so good.” 

I ran my hand through my hair.  Over
and over again, as if the gesture could make the buzzing inside my head
cease.  “I don’t care.  You know.  Of all people, you know.”

He sighed.  “I know.  Fuck, I’m
sorry but she has some things she wants to tell you.  Look, it’s not my
place, but she’s dying.” His voice cracked on the last word.  “The doctor
said there isn’t much time left and she wants to clear the air before…”

“How much time?”

Mid-swipe my hand grabbed a fistful of my
hair, almost of its own accord.  I felt myself trying to anchor to
anything.  I could barely choke the words out past the lump in my throat. 
Try as I might to remain unaffected, I couldn’t.  Why was this happening
to me?  Haven’t I suffered enough?  Faintly, I heard a bell ring from
somewhere in the distance.

The line was silent for a few
moments.  “They don’t think she’ll make it to Christmas.” 

I spun away from the urinal, toward the
single trash can in the room, leaned over and heaved, retching into the mass of
discarded paper towels.  Once, twice, a third time before my body was
wracked by only dry sobs.  “God damnit, Brent.  Tell me this is a
joke.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. 
There are some things you should know about what happened, about Harper—ˮ

“What about Harper?” I cut him off. 
The room began to spin as I held that trashcan like a damn life raft.

“It’s not for me to tell.  I’m
sorry.  Call Carol.  Come home.  Let us explain.”

I’d heard enough.  “You’ve had two
years to explain.  I’m not coming around so she can clear her damn
conscience.  I’m not ready for this shit.  Do not call me again,” I
barked, swiftly ending the call.  I squeezed the phone tightly in my fist,
holding back the tears that had threatened to overtake me.  How else is
one supposed to act when the person they viewed as a mother was on her
deathbed?  Not that I should care.  She’s treated me ruthlessly for
the past two years.  Ever since Harper’s death…

“Fuck!”  I shouted. 

Then it hit me.  I had a class to get
to.  Brushing my hands down my shirt, I realized my dick was still hanging
out and hastily zipped my fly before tearing off into the hallway. 

The memories have been hitting hard all day since the
phone call.  The accident, her screams, the blood.  Oh God, all the
blood.  I leap up off the couch, feeling the need to pace, or run, or
punch something.  I need a distraction.  Unwinding hasn’t helped one
damn bit.   

I begin stalking around my living room as another face
comes to mind.  Tatum.  Holy hell, I’ve kissed my student. 
Kissed is a damn understatement.  Ravished her would be more
appropriate. 

I’ve spent the past week thinking of nothing but
her.  Her light hazel eyes and luscious lips.  The way she quirks one
eyebrow while spouting her endearing sarcasm.  Wondering why she ran away
from me so fast when it was clear she was feeling what I felt.  Surely she
was.  She gripped me to her body like I was a life raft and she was about
to drown.

I groan, swiping a hand through my hair.  But
she’s my student!  What we did was entirely inappropriate.  This
semester is going to be absolute torture.  My last ditch attempt to keep
her from leaving was to phone the principal.  I wanted her to come back so
I could speak with her after class.  Instead, he said he’d take care of
it.  I should have thought through my actions.  He informed me after
the final bell today that I would be stuck with her for the next two weeks as
my assistant.  I’m not sure who he’s trying to punish more—her or
me. 

Who speaks to their teacher that way?  Obviously
the intriguing woman I shared a meal with is nothing more than an immature
brat.  

I should get changed, blow off some steam in the
gym.  Taking the stairs two at a time, I stumble when my phone rings
again.  I’m dangerously close to throwing the damn thing away. 

“What?” I snap, pulling it out of my pocket and
answering without looking at the caller ID.

“Jacoby, hi.  Everything alright?” 
Melissa’s sweet voice sounds in my ear.  I’m not sure if I should be
annoyed or pleased, but I feel some of the fight seeping out of me.

“Hi, Mel.  Sorry, yeah I’m fine.  Rough
first day of school.”

“Do you need something to take your mind off of
it?  I can help, you know.”  Suddenly, the gym idea is off the
table.  Something about losing myself in a woman sounds exactly like what
I need. 

“You know the address.  I’ll be here,” I respond
before ending the call.  Turning my phone off, I tuck it above my
refrigerator.  I don’t have the capacity for any more draining phone calls
this evening.  Besides, Melissa will keep my mind, and body, plenty busy.

Less than twenty minutes later, a knock sounds on my
door.  Opening it reveals a tastefully dressed Melissa, sporting tight
skinny jeans, black heeled boots, a long sleeved white sweater, and a deep
brown chunky knit scarf.  Her bottle blonde hair is piled messily on top
of her head.  She’s the type of woman who doesn’t have to dress the part
because she knows exactly what she’s getting when she comes over here.

She saunters in like she owns the place, which is
amusing since she’s only been here a handful of times.  Usually, I end up
at her house or the backseat of my car if we’re out somewhere.  She’s my
go-to, no strings attached girl, and it suits us both well.

“What’s the matter, Jack?  You want to talk?” She
asks flirtingly, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger.

“You know we don’t ‘talk,’ so don’t try that crap.
 I don’t have the energy to deal with clingy relationship type stuff,
especially not today.”  Shit, I sound like a dick.  “I’m sorry,
Mel.  That was rude.  It’s just been a long day,” I sigh. 

She smiles at me, offering her hand I know to be baby
soft, which I take.  “Don’t worry about it.  We both know why I’m
here and we’re both okay with it.  Bedroom?” She asks, batting her
eyelashes at me.

“Lead the way, baby.”

Melissa is lounging in a matching red satin thong and
bra set when I roll over from my post-fucking doze.  She looks sexy in my
bed, all mussed up hair and smudged makeup.  She’s a very confident and
comfortable girl; I like that.  But we’ve had too much history to see each
other on any type of relationship level.  She’ll find a nice normal guy to
treat her right someday.  That thought eases my guilt a little.

“What time is it?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“It’s just after midnight, sleepyhead,” she replies,
scooting down to cuddle into my side. 

Fuck, I slept a while.  “I think you should
go.  I have class tomorrow.”

“Aw, do I have to?” She pouts.  “Can’t I stay the
night?”

“You know I don’t do the sleepover thing.  We
aren’t dating.  This is just for fun,” I tell her as I sit up and
inconspicuously shake her from me.  I can’t allow myself to get that close
to another woman.  I’m too fucked up over my past.  I thought Mel and
I were clear on that.

“I know.  Just thought I’d ask, see if you needed
the company, that sort of thing.” 

I kiss her gently on her head.  “Thanks, but I’m
alright.” 

We both dress; her in the clothes she came in while I
don a pair of sweats, and I walk her to my front door. 

“I’ll see you later.”  I give her a chaste kiss
on the lips. 

Something in her expression makes me uncomfortable,
however, she gives me a cheery wave on her way out the door.  “Bye. 
Next time,” she says with a smile. 

I’m not so sure there will be a next time.  Maybe
it’s time to cut her loose before she gets too attached.