Page 29 of Between the Lines

Her phone vibrates on the table between us, and thank God for it. Where didthatcome from? It can’t be that one interaction at the library and another in my office suddenly have feelings kindling, can it?

She bites her lower lip, and sadness washes over her, putting a complete halt on the thread I was about to follow. Her shoulders slump as she thumbs over the alarm to silence it. Her sigh is heavy, and for some reason, her gaze flickers tomeas she whispers, “I’ve gotta go,” in a way that drips with remorse.

The rest of the table joins in the sadness of losing Claire. Thewomen dole out hugs, and the men wave as Penelope walks Claire to the door. I grip the edge of the table to stop myself from following.

“…take care of her siblings or something,” is what I catch from Aaron as I return to the conversation.

“That sucks,” Sam says, snagging a tortilla chip and loading it with salsa before crunching into it.

“That explains why she loved college so much,” Lucy adds. “I can’t imagine coming home from school to raise your five siblings like she does.”

A noose cinches around my heart in so many ways.

Pain and empathy. Remorse for the way I’ve treated her. An inherent need to make everything better that has somehow snuck its way up on me.

The conversation peters out in the Claire department, the topic transitioning to a mixture of talk about work and home life. I catch none of it—it can’t even go in one ear and out the other when my brain is so swollen with information about Claire. I need time to unpack, to lay the pieces out like playing cards, flat on the table; right now, they’re like dominoes, collapsing as I attempt to line them up.

I have misjudged Claire Benson from the very inception, and as I see myself reflected in the mirror of her, I wonder how much of myownpast has actually been doing the talking.

fourteen

nathan

My anxiety isat an all-time high. Between Callahan’s annual physical approaching, the threat of my finances hanging over my head, and the slew of older teachers in the building still bucking me on the new curriculum that the district purchased, I cannot face sitting alone at home and letting it eat me alive.

So, instead, I am at school, well past sundown, attempting to bury myself in work until I can pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Now that it’s creeping toward seven-o’clock, I’m running out of things to do. My fingers rattle anxiously in an erratic rhythm against the arm of my desk chair. All of my emails are answered. Parents have been called. Meetings with teachers have been scheduled—to go over yearly evaluations, approve new clubs and sports advisors, and to speak about student behavior concerns. Ever since Claire and Lucy brought this check-in/check-out system into play, more and more teachers have been interested.

Claire.

The way she has infested my brain is absolutely maddening. She shouldn’t be there to begin with. But instead of the image I keep trying to concoct to deter myself—of her standing in the morning dawn with pink in the apples of her cheeks and apologies on her lipsfor setting off the alarm well before the birds were awake—my mind keeps her on a polymorphous loop of those ever-changing manicures wrapped around my cock, clutching at the stark white of my sheets, joining my hand that I use to apply gentle pressure to her throat.

I grunt.

I’m hard in my office again. Thinking of Claire. This needs tostop.

But I can’t go home. Instead, I decide to take a walk.

No one else is in the building, but I’ll make my rounds. I decide to start in the sixth grade hall. The sensored lights hum as they flicker on in my presence. I take a nice slow pace as I gaze at topographical map projects and character analysis posters, math coordinate graphs that, when done correctly, make a jack-o-lantern. I don’t even realize I’m in the seventh grade wing until I hear music growing louder, overcoming the hum of lights that, now that I’m more aware, didn’t flicker on.

Because they were already on.

Pop music blasts from Juliet Ford’s classroom, and my attention catches as Claire shimmies across the doorway. She’s darting from one side of the classroom to the other with colorful papers in her hands, arranging something I’m sure is for tomorrow morning. I inch closer to the doorway and notice her head tilting with the beat of the music, her hips swaying back and forth as she quietly sings along to the song. I can’t make out the words, because I’m suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place.

I can’t pretend like I didn’t see her, right? I have to say something? We are the only two people in the building—if she hears footsteps, and then sees nothing, she might get paranoid, and then her mind might start to wander, and all of a sudden, the thought of Claire wandering this building alone, scared to death of a predator makes me?—

“Holyshit, Nathan!”

I hadn’t even realized how close I’d gotten to the doorframe untilshe shouted, and as I startle, my forehead whacks right up against the metal.

“Oww.”

“Oh my God!”

The moment has split into utter chaos in a matter of seconds.

I palm my throbbing forehead. Claire drops the bright papers in her hands, letting them flutter to the floor like confetti, and rushes to me.

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