Page 27 of Unsupervised
Right. This wasn’t a great idea. “I left the box of brownies I brought you in the car. I’ll be right back,” I announce, glad to have a reason to step away.
“Take your time!” Grandma pats the couch beside her. “Let me and this nice young lady get to know each other a bit.”
Kelly laughs and takes a seat beside her.
Not a good idea at all. I can only imagine the conversation when I walk away. When I return with the box of brownies, Kelly is taking a seat at the piano and the lounge is now full of residents waiting to hear her play.
“I got you some—”
“Shh!” Grandma swats at me as I sit beside her. “She’s starting.”
The first few notes ring out clear and confident, and I can’t take my eyes off of her. Over the past weeks, I’ve seen her nervous and fumbling, funny and giggling. This Kelly, who sits with her back straight, red hair hanging to her shoulder blades, is a new sight. The effortless way her fingers move over the keys is as sexy as it is impressive, but that’s not what has me so enraptured by her now. It’s the expression on her face and her whole demeanor. The soft smile, the way she closes her eyes at moments, as if she’s feeling the music she’s creating, how she holds herself. Confidence and joy radiate from her and in that moment I know. I don’t see her as a student or a piano teacher. In that instant, I don’t care that she’s younger than me. She’s beautiful.
I’m in trouble.
The residents clap when the song ends, and she flashes me a smile before she goes on to play the next song. After a few songs, she thanks everyone, and is surrounded by residents praising and talking to her.
Grandma leans over and squeezes my arm. “That’s the one, Layton. Don’t you let her get away.”
“She’s a student. A kid.” My words don’t sound convincing even to me.
“Bull honkey. She told me she turns twenty this month. The way she looks when she talks about you, trust me, she’s grown.”
I can’t disagree. There’s not a trace of me that sees her as a kid. “She’s my student. I’ll lose my job.”
Grandma stands up and stares down at me. “She won’t be your student forever.”
Those words stick with me long after I’m home for the night and reoccur often over the next few days. There’s no denying I’m interested in her. I’m not exactly sure why. Is it the forbidden fruit, taboo nature of it? Just wanting something I shouldn’t? I don’t think so. She’s on my mind way too often. When I give myself a chance to really think about it, the age difference doesn’t bother me. I’ve known couples with much larger gaps and no one bats an eye.
It’s the teacher student relationship that makes it wrong.
If I’m being honest with myself, I wouldn’t have a problem with that either if the college didn’t, but they absolutely do. There’s no gray area there. The answer seems simple enough.
Wait.
She will only be in my class one semester. It’s true she’ll still be a student after that, but I’m not sure I’ll still be teaching there and even if I am, she’ll beastudent. Notmystudent.
I’ve always been good at finding loopholes.
That’s months away, however, and until then, I need to keep my distance. A few more piano lessons and I won’t see her outside of school and Adulting Club meetings.
* * *
Between work, practicing the song Kelly gave me, and hanging out with Dalton and Travis, the last four days have flown by. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to Monday, when I know I’ll see her again, not just in class, but at Adulting Club and the piano lesson.
The auto repair department was happy to loan us their garage and two of the teachers volunteered to help for Adulting Club today. We’re only showing them a few basics like changing a tire, jumping a dead battery, checking and refilling fluids.
I was clueless about cars, and I’m no expert now, but hearing some of the questions and comments makes me fight back a laugh. First time in my life I’ve ever heard RPM’s referred to as rippems.
The students are divided up, moving between the activities with each teacher. I have the easy job, at least I thought I did, of showing them how to check and measure fluids.
After having them measure, I step back and let them refill the fluids on the car that are a bit low. Everything is fine until I hear Kelly tell Owen. “You mixed them up!”
“I did not.”
“You did! That’s coolant!”
“What’s going on?” I ask, and Kelly turns around and holds up a bottle of coolant.