Page 81 of Between the Lines

The moment the meeting wraps, my already bouncing leg catapults me from the chair. I don’t evenaskif anyone needs me for further questions. I barely register Aaron calling out after me. I’ll have to follow up with an email later. Right now, my sole focus is on her.

I find Claire subbing in eighth grade. I stop outside the classroom, deadened in my tracks just watching her through the window. I can tell through the glass pane that she’s tired. Her students might not—she has a smile on her face, and is animatedly teaching them aconcept that she no doubt reviewed ahead of time, because she wanted to get it perfect—but even through the windowpane, I can see the heaviness in her cheeks, the purplish hue beneath her eyes that I want to erase.

Or lay claim to.

I shake my head, clear my throat, and move to take a step forward when I notice a foreign sensation in my chest.

These past two weeks, without a word from her, my heart has been stuttering. Searching. Reaching out in erratic pulses that have kept me up at night. I’d dismissed it as lingering stress. But the moment I saw her, my lungs filled generously, and my heart clicked into its right beat again.

Almost like just the sight of Claire can center my gravity.

I have no idea what to do with that.

She sees me before I have the chance to knock. Her breath catches, and it takes great strengthnotto nod and mouth the words,Me too.

Instead, I trace the lines of her smile, the one that perks up at the sight of me, but that still doesn’t reach her eyes. My mind immediately begins spinning with ways to fix that. She motions to her students, and they follow her direction, opening their textbooks as she approaches the door. My pulse quickens, but it isn’t irregular anymore, because it’s racing toward the woman who controls it.

When the door opens, I can only hear the sound of pencils scratching, and light piano music strumming from the classroom speakers.

Because she is so good.

“Mr. Harding? Is there something I can do for you?” she asks, her voice breathy. I don’t know if it’s because she’s surprised to see me, or because she’s so exhausted, and it pains me.

I steel my jaw and clench my fists to keep from reaching out.

“I heard from Mr. Russo that you’re moving in with PenelopeBarker tonight. I just needed to check on you and make sure that you’re okay.”

Needslips out. In place of all of the other professional words I could have used. Apparently my frantic heart is getting used to speaking the truth around her. This time, when her breath catches, I know it has to do with me. Her hand comes to lay over her heart, and that’s when I notice.

Her nails aren’t painted. Or, rather, her manicure is more chipped than paint.

She’s been so stressed out by whatever is going on at home that she hasn’t done the one thing she does for herself.

I don’t even think before I grab her hand, holding it low between us as I stroke gently over her unpolished fingernails. I hear the sniffle, and when I blink up, she’s holding back tears through a huge watery grin, her shoulders scrunched up to her ears.

I exhale long and hard, the restraint to only hold her hand like this and nothing else making my blood boil. She belongs against my chest, tucked into me where I can keep her safe.

But then, the bell rings. And I remember where we are.

In our place of employment. Adolescents flooding the hall, followed by teachers—the people whom I am in charge of.

She holds up a finger to indicate that she’ll be a minute, reminds her students of their homework, and saunters back out into the hallway. With it being only third period, there are still way too many hours left in the day until we can be alone.

“I’m moving out tonight,” she says softly, arms crossed as she tucks her body into the alcove that houses the classroom door, and rests herself against the wall. “They didn’t kick me out, but they made it very clear that if I continue to live under their roof, I would be following their rules. I couldn’t stand it any longer, Nathan.”

Her voice breaks around my name, and my resolve does along with it.

I scoot to stand beside her, pressing my elbow into her forearm. It’s the most I can give her in this setting, and that tears me apart.

“What can I do?”

My gaze flicks down to her and my heart breaks.

She takes a deep inhale, and the sad smile she wears fills with hope. Her eyes close as she releases her breath, her head tilts, touching my bicep, and the world doesn’t seem to be upside down for the split second that she holds herself there.

She shakes her head, offering nothing but a sad smile, like she wants to say more, but knows she shouldn’t. The warning bell rings to signal one minute until students need to be in class, and I have another meeting at the end of this class period that I need to prep for.

I’ve never taken a fake sick day,played hooky, in my entire life. And yet, Claire Benson has me wanting to break the rules in more ways than one.

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