Page 32 of Unsupervised
Zara restrains a grin as I roll my eyes at her. “Your sarcasm is endlessly helpful.”
“If you want someone to help you feel sorry for yourself, that isn’t me. But I will tell you what I think.”
“Which is very you.”
She tosses her napkin at me before continuing. “You aren’t giving yourself enough credit. You left a lifestyle that didn’t demand anything of you but to look pretty. You didn’t just leave it. You blew up the bridge behind you to get your freedom. Since then, you’ve found a job, friends, you pay your own rent and take care of yourself. You’re completely independent. There are tons of people our age who can’t say the same. I think you’re doing awesome.”
Her words put a lump in my throat. It never occurred to me that others might see me that way. “Thanks for…saying that. Most of the time, I feel like I’m just stumbling through the days, trying not to screw up.”
Zara grins at me. “We all do.”
“How are things going for you?” I ask.
A bright smile is her reply. “I’m really enjoying my classes this semester. My entire women’s studies class is planning a fundraiser so we can go to the Women’s March.” She taps the table with her fingertips. “Which reminds me. I gave Miles your number. He’ll probably call you today.”
Right. The date. It’s probably a good idea. Something needs to distract me and keep me from mooning over my teacher, for fuck’s sake. “Great. Do you want to help me pick out what to wear? Serena will have me in a halter top and shorts with my ass hanging out.”
“Absolutely.” She pauses for a moment before adding. “If it’s just the one class giving you so much trouble, you can drop it. We haven’t passed the cutoff date where you couldn’t get your money refunded.”
Drop Mr. Aldrich’s class? My knee jerk response is no. I wouldn’t get to see him as often or get to hear his smooth, deep voice lecture on things I couldn’t give a warm fuck about. Rationally, I know that’s ridiculous. I can’t spend money to take a class just to ogle the teacher.
Zara misunderstands my silence. “It’s not a failure to drop a class, Kelly. I’ve done it. Even Remee has. Especially an elective.”
“I’ll think about it.”
It’s on my mind the whole bike ride to school. I’m not going to do well in that class, and if I drop it, I could take more hours at the music store. It wouldn’t be much, but the idea grows on me more and more.
My stomach churns walking into Mr. Aldrich’s class. It’s such a strange combination of dread, anticipation, and a little embarrassment. Instead of sitting near the front like I usually do, I take a seat in one of the middle rows, hoping to blend in. No such luck.
Mr. Aldrich enters wearing jeans and a button up shirt, the arms rolled to the elbows. His forearms are fascinating, hairy and strong and—
“Since so many of you had trouble with the quiz, let’s go over a few things.” I’m jerked out of my arm porn drool fest by his booming voice and find that his gaze is focused right on me. He doesn’t keep it there long enough to be obvious to the other students, but it leaves me frantically trying to figure out what that look was about.
Was I the only one who blew the quiz? Did he notice I was checking him out instead of listening? Is he still pissed that I kissed him?
Damn it. He’s been talking about the quiz, and I haven’t heard a word.
I’m wasting time and money here. Decision made.
I spend the rest of the class avoiding his gaze, staring at my book, the board, out the window, anywhere but toward the man I can’t seem to get out of my mind. When the class ends, I’m the first one out the door. Before I can second guess myself, I stop in the admissions office and withdraw from economics. It still feels like a failure to me, but I try to keep Zara’s words in mind.
Music class is the high point of my day as usual, especially because I have the perfect idea for our required music in the community project. I’ll have to talk to Debra, the activities director at the retirement home, but I’ll bet they’d be happy to have us put on a little concert for the residents. I’m sure a few of the other students would be willing to team up with me as well.
The thought of it keeps a smile on my face as I wait for Owen in the parking lot. I’m glad he also attends the Adulting Club. It really helps that I can ride with him to the house. We make a quick pit stop for a coffee which makes us the last to show up.
“Nice of you to join us,” Mr. Aldrich says, not unkindly, when we walk into the empty house.
Maybe it wasn’t smart to continue with this club in light of the circumstances either, but I’m not leaving it. The stuff I’ve been learning is important. Plus, I’m determined to be mature about this. I can’t just run from every uncomfortable situation. I’m just going to act natural and play it cool.
We follow him into the kitchen where a few other students stand around.
“We needed coffee,” I remark, patting myself on the back at how even my voice comes out when my insides are practically vibrating. I lean back against the wall and my shoulder flips a switch.
A loud, grating, snarling sound startles me, and my arm jerks like I’m trying to fend off a barrage of arrows. All that’s missing is a shield. Although, Mr. Aldrich is the one who really needs a shield. It seems to happen in slow motion, as I’ve noticed most mortifying moments have a tendency to do. My iced coffee flies out of my hand and all I can do is watch in horror as it slams into Mr. Aldrich’s chest. It explodes across his shirt and up into his face in a spectacular fashion.
Panic is a wild animal racing through me. What do I do? The loud growling noise drowns out some of my babble when I apologize while still looking around frantically for the source of the clamor.
Owen reaches over and flips a switch behind me, and the noise stops, just as I realize what it was.