Page 11 of Taming His Teacher

He nods and bends to pick up his bags, slinging the backpack over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Miss Brewster.”

“Of course. See you tomorrow.”

I huddle inside the warmth of his coat, trying to deny the pleasure of being surrounded by him, and hurry across the quad. I look back before I open the door to Oliver. Shep is standing with the door open, waiting for me to go inside. Not until I swing the door open does he heft his duffel bag and go inside himself.

* * *

Shep

Could she be any cuter? I could’ve stood there all day and watched her. She’s a good dancer and she wasn’t even trying. She was having fun. I get glimpses of her silliness in class occasionally, more in Turner or when I walk her back to her apartment. But she still tries to keep it under wraps, be professional. But this was pure, exuberant Erin. I’d pay good money to see her that way again. Not likely, given how embarrassed she was.

I wanted to tell her, “Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry.” But instead, I’d let her ask me about break and given the shortest answers I could get away with.

Yes, I was at home. Yes, I had a good holiday. No, we didn’t have a big meal.

I don’t get into how my mom had gone to a food pantry to get us an actual turkey or how my dad had yelled at her for it. “We don’t need anyone’s help, Christy. I can provide for my family. We don’t take fucking handouts. I’d rather go hungry than eat someone else’s charity. It’s bad enough Zach goes to that rich, faggot school.”

I’d hustled Caleb back to our room while they fought. Not that the thin walls did much to hide my dad’s raving or my mom’s crying. I used to try to stand up for her, but she’s begged me not to so many times I stopped. I think she’s worried he might take a swing at me. He’ll scream the house down, but he’s never hit her. I don’t know what I’d do if he hit her.

Caleb and I sat on the floor between the twin beds with the mismatched quilts; his legs out straight and my knees bent because the room’s so narrow. It’s smaller than the one I have all to myself on the Hill. I’d talked to Caleb about school. He’s got a crush on this girl Emily.

“Is she pretty?”

“Yeah. And she smells good.”

“Like flowers?” Like Erin? I don’t even know what kind of flowers she smells like, but it’s definitely flowers.

“No. Like…like cookies.”

I laugh, but I get it. Of course Caleb would fall for a girl who smells like cookies, food, a warm, welcoming home instead of the dark empty house we usually come back to. Nothing wrong with liking a girl who smells like cookies.

“Is she smart?”

“Yeah, she’s the smartest girl in our class. She won the spelling bee.”

“Is there anything Wonder Woman can’t do? She sounds perfect.”

“She’s short and she doesn’t run fast so she’s not good at basketball.”

“You pick her for your team anyway?”

His forehead got all wrinkled like he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Yeah?”

“Good man. Does she like you?”

“I don’t know. She might think I’m not very smart.”

Caleb makes okay grades. Mostly Bs, the occasional A and a sprinkling of Cs. He’s not the smartest kid but he works hard. Brains aren’t going to be his saving grace anyway. He’s got this knack for getting people to like him. I don’t know what it is about him, but even the meanest, get-off-my-lawn crank seems to have a soft spot for my brother. Kid’s got sun shining out of his ass or something.

“If she thinks you’re not very bright, she’s not as smart as you think.”

“Is there a girl you like?” I should say no, but his face is bright and eager. He’s spilled on his crush, so why shouldn’t I?

“Kind of.”

“Are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?”

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