I am sick of wanting
And it’s evil how it’s got me
And every day is worse
Than the one before.
—THE AVETT BROTHERS, “ILL WITH WANT”
WILL LEANS WITH HIS BACK AGAINST THE LOCKERS. HIS legs are crossed at the feet and his arms are folded across his chest as he stares at the oor. The events unfolding have caught me so off guard I can barely stand. I go to the wall opposite him and lean against it for support.
“Me?” I reply. “How did the fact that you’re a teacher not come up? How are you a teacher? You’re only twenty-one.”
“Layken, listen,” he says, ignoring my questions.
He didn’t call me Lake.
“There has apparently been a huge misunderstanding between the two of us.” He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he speaks. “We need to talk about this, but now is de nitely not the right time.”
“I agree,” I say. I want to say more, but I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll cry.
The door to Will’s classroom opens, and Eddie emerges. I sel shly pray that she, too, is lost. This cannot be my elective.
“Layken, I was just coming to look for you,” she says. “I saved you a seat.” She looks at Will, then back at me and realizes she’s interrupted a conversation. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Cooper. I didn’t know you were out here.”
“It’s ne, Eddie. I was just going over Layken’s schedule with her.” He says this as he walks toward the classroom and holds the door for both of us.
I reluctantly follow Eddie through the door, around Will, and to the only empty seat in the room—directly in front of the teacher’s desk. I don’t know how I am expected to sit through an entire hour in this classroom. The walls won’t stop dancing when I try to focus, so I close my eyes. I need water.
“Who’s the hottie?” asks the boy I now know as Javier.
“Shut it, Javi!” Will snaps as he walks toward his desk, picking up a stack of papers. Several students let out a small gasp at this reaction. I guess Will isn’t his usual self right now, either.
“Chill out, Mr. Cooper! I was paying her a compliment. She’s hot. Look at her.” Javi says this as he leans back in his chair, watching me.
“Javi, get out!” Will says, pointing to the classroom door.
“Mr. Cooper! Jeez! What’s with the temp? Like I said, I was just—”
“Like I said, get out! You will not disrespect women in my classroom!”
Javi grabs his books and snaps back. “Fine. I’ll go disrespect them in the hallway!”
After the door shuts behind him, the only sound in the room is the distant second hand ticking on the clock above the blackboard. I don’t turn around, but I can feel most of the eyes in the classroom on me, waiting for some sort of reaction. It’s not so easy to blend in now.
“Class, we have a new student. This is Layken Cohen,” Will says, attempting to break the tension. “Review is over. Put up your notes.”
“You’re not going to have her introduce herself?” Eddie asks.
“We’ll get to that another time.” Will holds up a stack of papers. “Tests.”
I’m relieved Will has spared me from having to get in front of the class and speak. It’s the last thing I would be able to do right now. It feels like there is a ball of cotton in my throat as I unsuccessfully try to swallow.
“Lake.” Will hesitates, then clears his throat, realizing his slip. “Layken, if you have something else to work on, feel free. The class is completing a chapter test.”
“I’d rather just take the test,” I say. I have to focus on something.
Will hands me a test, and in the time it takes to complete it I do my best to focus entirely on the questions at hand, hoping I’ll nd momentary respite from my new reality. I nish fairly quickly, though, but keep erasing and rewriting answers just to avoid having to deal with the obvious: the fact that the boy I’m falling for is now my teacher.
When the dismissal bell rings, I watch as the rest of the class les toward Will’s desk, laying their papers face down in a pile. Eddie lays hers down and walks to my desk.
“Hey, did you get your lunch switched?”
“Yeah, I did,” I tell her.
“Sweet. I’ll save you a seat,” she says. She stops at Will’s desk and he looks up at her. She removes a red tin from her purse and pulls out a small handful of mints and sets them on his desk. “Altoids,” she says.
Will stares questioningly at the mints.
“I’m just making assumptions here,” she whispers, loud enough that I hear her. “But I’ve heard Altoids work wonders on hangovers.” She pushes the mints toward him.
And again, just like that, she’s gone.
Will and I are the only ones left in the classroom at this point. I need to talk to him so bad. I have so many questions, but I know it’s still not a good time. I grab my paper and walk over to his desk, placing it on top of the stack.
“Is my mood that obvious?” he asks. He continues to stare at the mints on his desk. I grab two of the Altoids and walk out of the room without responding.
As I navigate the halls, searching for my fourth-period class, I see a bathroom and quickly duck inside. I decide to spend the remainder of fourth period and my entire lunch in the bathroom stall. I feel guilty knowing Eddie is waiting for me, but I can’t face anyone right now. Instead, I spend the entire time reading and rereading the writing on the walls of the stall, hoping to somehow make it through the rest of the day without bursting out in tears.
My last two classes are a blur. Luckily, neither of those teachers seem interested in my “about me,” either. I don’t speak to anyone, and no one speaks to me. I have no idea if I was ever even assigned homework. My mind is consumed by this whole situation.
I walk to my car as I search in my bag for my keys. I pull them out and dget with the lock, but my hands are shaking so bad that I drop them. When I climb inside I don’t give myself time to re ect as I throw the car in reverse and head home. The only thing I want to think about right now is my bed.
When I pull into my driveway I kill the engine and pause. I don’t want to face Kel or my mother yet, so I kick my seat back and shield my eyes with my arms and begin to cry. I replay everything over and over in my head. How did I spend an entire evening with him and not know he was a teacher? How can something as big as an occupation not come up in conversation? Or better yet, how did I do so much talking and fail to mention the fact that I was still in high school? I told him so much about myself. I feel like it’s what I deserve for nally letting down my walls.
I wipe at my eyes with my sleeve, trying hard to conceal my tears. I’ve been getting pretty good at it. Up until six months ago, I hardly had a reason to cry. My life back in Texas was simple. I had a routine, a great group of friends, a school I loved, and even a home I loved. I cried a lot in the weeks following my father’s death until I realized Kel and my mother wouldn’t be able to move on until I did. I started making a conscious effort to be more involved in Kel’s life. Our father was also his best friend at the time, and I feel Kel lost more than any of us. I got involved in youth baseball, his karate lessons, and even Cub Scouts: all the things my dad used to do with him. It kept both Kel and me preoccupied, and the grieving eventually started to subside.
Until today.
A tap on the passenger window brings me back to reality. I don’t want to acknowledge it. I don’t want to see anyone, let alone speak to anyone. I look over and see someone standing there; the only thing visible is his torso . . . and faculty ID.
I ip the visor down and wipe the mascara from my eyes. I divert my gaze out the driver’s-side window and press the automatic unlock button, focusing on the injured garden gnome, who is staring back at me with his smug little grin.
Will slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door. He lays the seat back a few inches and sighs, but says nothing. I don’t think either of us knows what to say at this point. I glance over at him, and his foot is resting on the dash. He’s stiff against the seat with his arms folded across his chest. He’s staring directly at the note he wrote this morning that is still sitting on my console. I guess he made it by four o’clock after all.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I pull my right leg up into the seat and hug it with my arms. “I’m confused as hell, Will. I don’t know what to think.”
He sighs and turns to look out the passenger window. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault,” he says.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I say. “In order for there to be fault, there has to be some sort of conscious decision. You didn’t know, Will.”
He sits up and turns to face me. The playful expression in his eyes that drew me to him is gone. “That’s just it, Lake. I should have known. I’m in an occupation that doesn’t just require ethics inside the classroom. They apply to all aspects of my life. I wasn’t aware because I wasn’t doing my job. When you told me you were eighteen, I assumed you were in college.” His obvious frustration seems entirely directed toward himself.
“I’ve only been eighteen for two weeks,” I reply.
I don’t know why I felt the need to clarify that. After I say it, I realize it sounds like I’m placing blame on him. He’s already blaming himself; he doesn’t need me to be angry at him, too. This was an outcome that neither of us could possibly have predicted.
“I student teach,” he says, in an attempt to explain. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“After my parents died, I doubled up on all my classes. I have enough credits to graduate a semester early. Since the school was so shorthanded, they offered me a one-year contract. I have three months left of student teaching. After that, I’m under contract through June of next year.”
I listen and take in everything he says. Really, though, all I hear is, “We can’t be together . . . blah blah blah . . . we can’t be together.”
He looks me in the eyes. “Lake, I need this job. It’s what I’ve been working toward for three years. We’re broke. My parents left me with a mound of debt and now college tuition. I can’t quit now.” He breaks his gaze and leans back into the seat, running his hands through his hair.
“Will, I understand. I’d never ask you to jeopardize your career. It would be stupid if you threw that away for someone you’ve only known for a week.”
He keeps his focus out the passenger window. “I’m not saying you would ask me that. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I do understand,” I say. “It’s ridiculous to assume we even have anything worth risking.”
He glances at the note on my console again and quietly responds, “We both know it’s more than that.”
His words cause me to wince, because I know deep down he’s right. Whatever was happening with us, it was more than just an infatuation. I can’t possibly comprehend at this moment what it must be like to actually have a broken heart. If it hurts even one percent more than the pain I’m feeling now, I’ll forgo love. It’s not worth it.
I attempt to stop the tears from welling up again, but the effort is futile. He brings his leg off the dash and pulls me to him. I bury my face in his shirt, and he puts his arms around me and gently rubs my back.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I wish there was something I could do to change things. I have to do this right . . . for Caulder.” The physical grip he has on me seems less like a consoling hug and more like a goodbye. “I’m not sure where we go from here, or how we’ll transition,” he says.
“ ‘Transition’?” I suddenly start to panic at the thought of losing him. “But—what if you talk to the school? Tell them we didn’t know. Ask them what our options are . . .” I realize as the words are coming out of my mouth that I’m grasping at straws. There is no way in which a relationship between us would be feasible at this point.
“I can’t, Lake.” His voice is small. “It won’t work. It can’t work.”
A door slams, and Kel and Caulder come bounding down the driveway. We immediately pull apart and reposition our seats. I rest my head against the headrest and close my eyes, attempting to conjure up a loophole in our situation. There has to be one.
When the boys have crossed the street and are safely inside Will’s house, he turns to me. “Layken?” he says, nervously. “There’s one more thing I need to talk to you about.”
Oh god, what else? What else could be relevant at this moment?
“I need you to go to administration tomorrow. I want you to withdraw from my class. I don’t think we should be around each other anymore.”
I feel the blood rushing from my face. My hands start to sweat, and the car is quickly becoming too small for the two of us. He really means it. Anything we had up to this point is over. He’s going to shut me out of his life entirely.
“Why?” I make no effort to mask the hurt in my voice.
He clears his throat. “What we have isn’t appropriate. We have to separate ourselves.”
My hurt quickly succumbs to the anger building up inside of me. “Not appropriate? Separate ourselves? You live across the street from me, Will!”
He opens the door and gets out of the car. I do the same and slam my door. “We’re both mature enough to know what’s appropriate. You’re the only person I know here. Please don’t ask me to act like I don’t even know you,” I plead.
“Come on, Lake! You aren’t being fair.” He matches his tone to mine, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “I can’t do this. We can’t just be friends. It’s the only choice we have.”
I can’t help but feel like we’re going through a horrible breakup, and we aren’t even in a relationship. I’m angry at myself. I can’t tell if I’m really just upset about what has happened today, or about my entire life this year.
The one thing I know for sure is that the only time I’ve been happy lately has been with Will. To hear him tell me that we can’t even be friends hurts. It scares me that I’ll go back to who I’ve been for the past six months, someone I’m not proud of.
I open the door to the car and grab my purse and keys. “So, you’re saying it’s either all or nothing, right? And since it obviously can’t be all —” I slam the car door again and head toward the house, “you’ll be rid of me by third period tomorrow!” I say as I purposely kick the gnome over with my boot.
I walk into the house and throw the keys toward the bar in the kitchen with such force that they glide completely across the surface and hit the oor. I step on the heel of my boot with my toe and kick it off in the entry, when my mother comes in.
“What was that all about?” she asks. “Were you just yelling?”
“Nothing,” I say. “That’s what it’s about. Absolutely nothing!” I pick up my boots and walk to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I lock my bedroom door and head straight to the hamper of clothes. I pick it up and dump the contents out onto the oor, searching through them until I nd what I’m looking for. My hand slides into the pocket of my jeans, and I remove the purple hair clip. I walk over to the bed, pull back the covers, and climb in. My st tightens around the clip as I pull my hands to my face and cry myself to sleep.
When I wake up, it’s midnight. I lie there a moment, hoping I’ll come to the conclusion that this was all a bad dream, but the clarity never comes. When I pull back the covers, my hair clip falls from my hands and lands on the oor. This small piece of plastic, so old that it’s probably covered in lead-ridden paint. I think about how I felt the day my father gave it to me, and how all the sadness and fears were eliminated as soon as he put it in my hair.
I lean forward and retrieve it from the oor, pressing down in the center so that it snaps open. I move a section of my bangs to the opposite side and secure it in place. I wait for the magic to take effect, but sure enough, everything still hurts. I pull the clip from my hair and throw it across the room and climb back into bed.