When I got home yesterday, I fell onto the bed and cried. I felt a sense of loss so intense I wanted to curl up and die. Despite the changes that have occurred, and despite everything good I’ve experienced (which, frankly, is not much). But when I thought about it, I realised that life isn’t so different to what it used to be. I’m still hated and shunned. I’m still lonely and I’m still depressed. What kind of a life do I have, I wondered, even without Dad in it? Even without his abuse?
And what kind of a life do I have without Mr Grills’s respect?
He hates me now. He pities me. He thinks I’m nothing but a child who embarrassed and disgraced herself over him. And am I? I wondered.
He said all those beautiful things to me that no one before him has ever said, but now he regrets it. He regrets ever knowing me.
By the time I pulled myself off the bed I was mentally and emotionally drained. It was nearing three o’clock. I decided I couldn’t live with myself another hour if I didn’t speak with him, in private, one last time. I had to know if he was okay—if we were okay. I had to risk further embarrassment to be reassured that what I’d said and done hadn’t messed up our teacher/pupil relationship. Because in the end, that’s all I really wanted, wasn’t it?
It was enough for me to know that when I enter the lab next week, I would elicit a smile from him, and I would be praised for my work, like any other student with half a brain.
I showered, being careful not to wet the bandage, and changed into a pleated skirt, a white shirt and a blue vest. Like my uniform, they were a little big on me.
I refreshed my make-up. I concealed the cut on my lip with a dark shade of lipstick. Lastly, I stood before the bedroom mirror and discovered the person looking back at me was a striking young woman, not a geeky high school kid.
It started to rain. I took the umbrella and tried hastening my step. I suspected I was too late. It was ten to four; Mr Grills was probably at home, reading the newspaper or reclining in front of the TV, or maybe he had Friday night plans that he had to get ready for. I didn’t know if he was the type to stay at home all weekend, if he preferred to go out and date, or if he frequented dingy pubs with live music and boozy male friends. There was so much I didn’t know about him and so much that I wanted to know.
Either way I had hope. I had hope that he’d be at the school still, making some last minute corrections perhaps, maybe cleaning up the lab, rinsing out test tubes that the kids had been too lazy to rinse out themselves. Doing what a devout, caring schoolteacher is supposed to do.
I entered the school’s staff car park. I stepped in a puddle the size of a fishpond, sousing the bottom of my pantyhose. I didn’t care. I only cared about Mr Grills. I only cared about finding him.
When I concentrated long enough, hard enough, I thought I could feel something of him brushing lightly, almost timorously against my face. Briefly, I got the urge to wrap that something all the way around me, like a cloak made out of the softest velvet. He was there. Somehow I just knew he was there, even before my eyes were able to locate his car in the near-empty parking lot.
I shook off the umbrella before stepping inside the building.
“Hello, Mrs Drammen,” I said. “Have you seen Mr Grills?”
Mrs Drammen’s peach pudding face registered surprise. She looked me up and down, smiling cordially. “Yes. I believe he’s in his office still.”
“I thought so. Thank you.”
The passageway was empty. I found his door standing wide open. I peered inside. He was seated at a small, busy desk. He had his back to the doorway and was gazing out the window with his chin propped in his hands.
There wasn’t much to look at out there, and what there was was pretty bleak and uninspiring, just incessant rain drip-drip-dripping off rooftops, treetops and shrubbery. More puddles shimmering on the unpaved roads and walkways.
Choosing not to alert him of my presence just yet, I inched quietly forward. He appeared to be lost in thought. Still eyeing him carefully, I wondered who or what he was thinking about.
My gaze oscillated from one corner of the room to the next. The room was chaotic. Loose-leaf paper and textbooks were everywhere. I found the mess appealing, however, almost childlike.
“Hi,” I said.
I startled him. When he turned, his eyes widened in surprise, his expression emulating that of Mrs Drammen’s. Then he just stared at me for the longest time, not doing anything except taking me all in with those stunning blue eyes of his. His eyes matched my vest.
Despite the cold rain my sides dribbled with perspiration.
Do you like what you see, Mr Grills? Do you like me? Do you love me? Were you thinking of me just now? I know you were. I know it.
“I was kind of worried about you,” I said. Worried about us, actually.
Mr Grills shook his head, as if to bring himself out of a stupor. “You look…”
But I didn’t give him a chance to tell me how I looked, though I now wish I had.
“Mr Grills, sir, I must apologise to you again. I understand that what I’ve done has probably endangered our relationship. I overstepped the boundaries, but see? I’m standing on the right side of the line again and this is where I’m staying. I don’t want there to be any tension between us. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I…kissed you. I’m going through a few things at the moment, and you were just there when no one else was. You’re my brilliant science teacher, Mr Grills. You teach me things about life that are both complex and exciting to me. I want you to know that I appreciate you. I appreciate your intelligence and your integrity. I appreciate the time you spend with me in the lab, tolerating me. You’re a determined and dedicated man who belongs here, in this office, in this school, doing exactly what it is you do. When I graduate from high school to go on to university and become a successful diagnostician, I believe there’ll only be one person for me to thank. And that person is you. I thank you, Mr Grills, for being my teacher, for being only my teacher. And for please giving me no less than an A-plus—”
“Justice.”
I took a deep breath. Then I covered my face with my hands and groaned.
“Close the door,” he said.
I closed the door, wanting the floor to open up and swallow me.
When Mr Grills stood, his chair squeaked. Then for a few moments the only sound I heard was the dulcet sound of the rain battering the roof and the north-facing window. I watched him rise and, slowly and with purpose, cross the room to me. He moved circumspectly, like a hungry predator slinking towards its next meal. Not once did his eyes look away from mine, and under that unwavering stare I think I forgot to breathe. His hair framed his face, both softening and accentuating his manly features. He was perfectly imposing. He stopped a foot short of bumping into me, and just like before, I felt his presence crawl along my skin, like something I could wipe off with a towel. But it felt so good I didn’t want to wipe it off.
My body palpitated with the need to really touch him. He stood close enough for me to touch him—or him to touch me. I realised that I didn’t have the temerity to do so, and hoped to God that he did.
I inhaled the sweet scent of his shampoo. Five seconds later, his cologne.
“First of all,” he said quietly, “I don’t have to give you an A-plus because you’re more than capable of earning it. Second of all, thank you.”
“For what?” I asked. For ruining your life?
“For being you, for starters.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, my frown deepening.
“You will, in time.”
“Well, I hope you’re willing to accept my apology.”
“I am. Apology accepted.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
Silence for a moment. Then, he gestured toward the window. “You came all the way in the downpour?”
I shrugged. I would have stomped my way through a blinding blizzard to see him. “It was nothing.”
“I was thinking about you,” he said.
“Me, too. I mean, that’s why I’m here. Is everything okay between the two of us?”
“Everything’s fine. You defended me. Now that’s rare, a student defending their teacher.”
I laughed a bit uncertainly. “Yes, I suppose so.”
He reached up and, fingers barely scraping my left breast, grasped a strand of my hair. He looked pensive. He looked almost…sorrowful. “I am your teacher, Justice,” he said, letting go of my hair. “What would everyone think?”
“About what?” I asked him, but my innocence was feigned.
“About you and me.”
I said nothing. My eyes, however, probably gave away everything.
“They’re already suspicious.”
“They have no reason to be,” I reminded him, my voice shaky.
“Haven’t they?”
My shoulder blades pressed up against the office door, hard. If they had been real blades made out of Damascus steel instead of bone, they would have left two distinct marks in the wood. I raked my brain for something intelligent to say. “I…”
“You have feelings, Justice, and you acted upon them.”
“It was…”
“A mistake?”
I frowned again. “I guess so.”
He drew even closer to me, and with his fingertip idly traced a frown line on my forehead. “You’ll develop premature wrinkles if you’re not careful. Are you careful, Justice?”
Why is he asking me that? I wondered.
“I try to be,” I replied.
“Kitty Kepler…she’s not a nice person, is she?”
“She’s so…”
“Mean?”
“The others are just as bad.”
“You realise they’re only jealous of you.”
“But before they weren’t. Before they used to laugh.”
“I saw them laugh. Now they have no reason to.” His voice was so soft now, it was almost tranquillising.
“Mr Grills?”
“Mmm?”
It was my turn to ask the question. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to envision what it would be like.”
“What?”
He studied my lips, like Caleb had done the previous afternoon. Like he wanted to lick them or suck them completely dry.
He said, “There are some things in life we can’t ignore, Justice. Some things that we know we should ignore but, try as we might, we simply can’t.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…”
Someone knocked on the door. We both jumped.
“Just a minute!” called Mr Grills. He told me to sit down and (pretend to) look over one of the essays he’d already corrected on the desk. I did what I was told. Then, without word of warning, he placed his fingers on my chin and forced me to look up into his eyes. I knew he wanted to say more, to say something undeniably important. I also knew he couldn’t as there was no time.
He turned away from me and opened the door with a flourish. “Hello, Mrs Usher,” he said blithely. “What can I do you for?”
“Thank goodness you’re still here. Some mighty big furniture in the conference room needs shifting,” she said. “Pronto.”
“So you came straight to Mr Muscles himself.” Addressing me casually, he said, “Justice? You stay here. We’ll deal with those last few questions when I return, okay?”
“Actually, I’ve got to get going.”
Mr Grills stopped. “Oh?”
I picked my umbrella up from the floor. Excess water trickled down onto my good shoes.
“Well…” he said. “I’ll see you next week then?”
I tried sounding normal. “Of course. I think I’m capable of working out the answers to those questions myself.”
He nodded.
I walked up the passageway and restrained myself from looking back at Mr Grills until I’d reached the corner. Then I turned.
His eyes cut right into mine.