Page 25 of Taming His Teacher

“I’ll walk you back to Ford, son.”

“That’s all right, sir, no need for you to go out in the cold.”

It’s March but the chill’s lingered, paying us back for an overly warm fall, I guess.

“I could use a stroll, walk off some of that pot roast.”

His hand on my shoulder tells me not to argue. Instead, we head down the stone front steps and into the dark.

His spit-shined oxfords clomp along the path next to my scuffed ones, which need to be replaced. Are we going to walk the whole way in silence? That would suit me fine, but the not knowing freaks me out. I’m racking my brain for something innocuous to talk about when he interrupts my thoughts.

“In case you were worried, we heard from Mr. Chase. Ms. Brewster is going to be fine.”

I swallow hard and stare straight ahead, clenching my hands in pockets. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

I know he’s staring at me, those laser eyes of inquisition boring into my brain, searching for the truth. “We got interrupted before. What were you doing in Sullivan anyway?”

Every muscle in my body is tensed. I could lie, say I needed to ask a question I’d forgotten to in class, or I was dropping off a book I’d borrowed from one of the guys who lives there. But in my almost four years on the Hill, I’ve never lied to Headmaster Wilson and I have far too much respect for him to start.

“In class. She looked sick. I went…to make sure she was okay.” I’m breathing like I just finished running a dozen suicides by the time I’ve gotten it all out. I’m ready to bolt if he shows any sign of being pissed. But when he raises his hand, it’s not in an about-to-strike way. I’ve been in enough neighborhood scuffles and hockey riots to know. No, it comes to rest on the back of my collar at the junction of neck and shoulder. His voice is strained when he says, “You’re a good man, Mr. Shepherd. We’re lucky to have you.”

I close my eyes for longer than a blink. “Thank you, sir.”

Chapter 7

Erin

The baby is gone. The baby is gone and Will’s been cheating on me. My money’s on Lana Davis, but it could be someone else. It doesn’t matter. No matter how you slice it, this is awful. I grip the wheel of my Civic in the parking lot of the hospital. They’d looked me over this morning before discharging me, but it looks like the miscarriage was complete so I shouldn’t have any more gut-wrenching pain. I’m to call my midwife if I have more than cramps or if the bleeding is “excessive.”

I throw the plastic bag of my ruined clothes over the bloodstain on the passenger seat of my car. Excessive indeed.

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to go back to school. Will is going to be there and sympathetic faculty members who will make me want to put an eye out. At least the boys are gone. Poor Shep is probably traumatized for life. It might be awful and selfish of me, but I’m glad he was there. It was a bright spot in the otherwise grey horridness of the past twenty-four hours.

I don’t want to go home but I can’t stay here. I start up my car, a smile slipping across my face as I remember Shep cursing up a blue streak because my car’s an automatic. He must be able to drive a stick shift. I never learned. I wonder if he would teach me?God, Erin, howSay Anythingof you.Shep may be John Cusack but I’m no Ione Skye.

I guide my car down the back roads toward school. Shep took Route 2 here, which would be faster but it’s always made me nervous. I’m so distracted by self-pity and malaise it would be a bad idea. I learned to drive around here—my grandfather taught me the summer after I turned sixteen—but I still think Massholes are out of control.

Pulling into my spot behind Sullivan, I hope against hope Will will be gone. I don’t want to see his face, hear any more wild accusations. I’m tired and numb. I want to lie down and not get up for a very long time.

I trudge up the stairs, overwhelmed by how exhausted I am. Thank goodness it’s spring break. I’ll have two weeks to get my head on straight before we have to finish out the semester. The boys deserve my best, especially the seniors I’m prepping for their APs, and I’m in no condition to give it to them at the moment. Hopefully this will wear off before allergies hit. Every spring finds me sniffly and watery-eyed, no matter what meds I take.

I slip my key in the well-worn lock and it turns, letting me into my small, oddly shaped apartment. Correction: not my,our. The person who makes me a “we” is sitting on the couch.

“Erin—”

“Save it, Will. I’m tired.”

He’s on his feet, blocking the hall to our bedroom. I’m too worn out to push past him so I stand there, wishing he would move, tears surging to the surface but not quite brimming over.

“Erin, angel, look at me, please.”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice to stay steady.No, I will not look at you. I will not do anything you say. You’ve never earned it, and I’m going to take it back.

His hands come to my biceps and I stiffen, wanting to scream.Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.But instead I close my eyes and sniff. He takes it as a cue to pull me into his arms. Because I’m too destroyed to do anything else, I drop my bag and cry. His body goes stiff and awkward. He pats my back like he’d seen it in a movie.This is what you do when women cry, yes?

“I’m so sorry, Erin. It won’t ever happen again, I swear. I was angry at you and I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve talked to you instead of running to someone else. She’s easier to be with because we don’t have real problems. But I was an ass. I swear, Erin, I swear, it won’t happen again.”

He eases me away from him and I scrub a fist over my face, angry I’m letting him see me in tears. What else is he going to take from me?

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