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Jocelyn wiped her palms on her jeans and straightened her spine. “Yes.”
“Very well, then.” He walked back behind his desk and pointed to the floor right next to him. “Here. On your knees. Eyes down.”
It was the first time Jocelyn wouldn’t be sitting ten feet away, and the thought of being so close to Mr. Sawyer both thrilled her and freaked her out. Though by now she knew better than to hesitate when he instructed her to do something. So Jocelyn pulled her yellow spiral notebook with the butterfly from her backpack and scurried to the front. She felt Mr. Sawyer’s eyes on her as she walked, yet she didn’t dare lift her gaze.
Jocelyn knelt, shifted her weight from side to side trying to get comfortable, though her knobby knees were too bony for that. She took a deep breath, preparing to start, but her inhale brought a smell that gave her pause.Masculinity.Woodsy—maybe cedar, mixed with leather and something else she wasn’t familiar with. There was also the slightest hint of coffee in theconcoction. She’d never really noticed a man’s cologne before, but she liked the way it made her feel. Though it made her wonder what Mr. Sawyer might be smelling this close toher. The washing machine at home was broken again, so Jocelyn hadn’t washed her jeans after her shift at McDonald’s yesterday. Chances were pretty good that she smelled like three-day-old burnt oil and french fries. Or worse, considering it was hot today and the near-empty stick she’d rubbed under her armpits after gym class had more plastic than deodorant.
“Is there a problem, Miss Burton?”
Jocelyn shook her head. Her eyes traced the first line of her paper, but when she took another deep breath to begin reading, that smell hit her again. “You smell really good,” she whispered.
There was a long pause. As she waited for a response—something . . . anything—Jocelyn worried the compliment might have upset Mr. Sawyer. But when he eventually spoke, she heard the smile in his voice, even if she didn’t look up to see it. “I’m pleased that you noticed. You may begin.”
She cleared her throat. “‘Loneliness isn’t the absence of company. It’s a haunting void you feel inside, even in a crowded room . . .’” Over the next ten minutes, Jocelyn read eight pages—describing a night her mother was at work and she was home alone. She reminisced about a stormy night, how the wind had moaned a low pitch that rose and fell in unpredictable patterns, making her shake with uncertainty. She’d taken the gun her mom kept in her nightstand and tucked it under her pillow, she was so afraid. Tears streamed down her face as she read about the time she’d visited the beach with her friend’s family, how she’d snuck out when they were all sleeping and stood on the rocks at the edge of the jetty, wondering if anyone would notice if she fell in and the giant waves swallowed her. It was gut-wrenching to say the words aloud, but reading whatshe’d written was never the worst part. The worst was the timeaftershe finished, the hour she had to look down. Because all of the feelings that had bubbled to the surface got stuck. Jocelyn wished she could look out the window, watch a finch or a blue jay, let her mind wander and find some peace. But she didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Sawyer. Plus, at some point, when he was ready, Mr. Sawyer would praise her—and that would make her feel better.
So she waited. And waited. Until eventually the shuffling of papers, the sound of the pen’s tip scratching along the pages of the notebook he wrote in, came to a stop, and Mr. Sawyer reached out. He cupped Jocelyn’s chin and lifted until their eyes met.
“Are you enjoying our sessions, Miss Burton?”
She nodded. “I don’t feel lonely when I’m with you.”
Mr. Sawyer’s lips curved to a smile. “Excellent. And have you spent time lately with the boy I sometimes see you with in the hall?”
“Lucas?”
The smile on her teacher’s face wilted. “Yes, him.”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen Lucas.”
Mr. Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. No words were necessary. He wasn’t sure he believed her.
“I haven’t.” Jocelyn swallowed. “I swear.”
Mr. Sawyer searched her eyes, but there was nothing to find because she wasn’t hiding anything. She’d blown Lucas off recently. They used to spend time together after school, sometimes make out behind the chicken coop on the side of his parents’ house, but now she mostly spent her free time with Mr. Sawyer or working on one of his assignments.
He tilted his head. “Has a boy ever touched you, Jocelyn?”
The crimson bloom of her cheeks answered for her.
“Point,” Mr. Sawyer said sternly. “Show me where you’ve been touched.”
Jocelyn thought about lying, but theway his eyes were searing into her, she was certain he’d be able to tell. She took a deep breath, held it, and pointed to her breasts.
“Anywhere else?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Mr. Sawyer’s eyes darkened. “Are you ready for more discipline?”
There was no hesitation on Jocelyn’s part this time. She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I’m ready.”
“You realize that if anyone was ever to find out about our sessions, I wouldn’t be able to help you anymore and you would lose your chance at a scholarship, right?”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Mr. Sawyer’s thumb rubbed his bottom lip for a long time. Eventually, he picked up his pen and scribbled an address on his notepad. Tearing the strip of paper away, he held it out to Jocelyn.
“Thursday. Six p.m.”