Page 32 of Marked By The Kings

A little later, the phone rings while Holy is teaching, and I answer. My dad is on the other end of the line, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he hears my voice. “Honey, are you okay?”

I’ve heard that question a lot today. I give him the same answer that I gave Holy. “I’m fine, really. Elliot startled me more than anything. His behavior was unexpected.”

He tells me he loves me and can’t wait to see me at home later. It’s a short conversation, but I can feel every ounce of fear in his tone. He was afraid that some boy had hurt his daughter. It’s been his fear since I was born, but today was the closest it’s ever come to happening.

When I see him later, he holds me tight. “I suspended him,” he announces. “Only for a day because I couldn’t justify any longer, but I stuck him with a week of detention, too. Coach Baize might bench him for the next game, too.”

I feel bad for Elliot, but he brought it on himself. I don’t know where that conversation would have led if Holy hadn’t been there to break it up. “He didn’t even hurt me,” I mumble into my dad’s chest. He has his arms wrapped so tightly around me that I feel like I’m being crushed. “He just scared me.”

When Dad finally lets me go, he breathes a sigh of relief. Like seeing me made it real for him that I’m perfectly fine. “I know you know how to take care of yourself, honey, but I’m your dad. I worry about you all the time. When you have your own kid, you’ll understand.”

My heart skips a beat and jumps into my throat. “Yeah,” I mumble, “one day.”

I’m inundated with texts and calls throughout the evening, but the only person I want to hear from is Holy. He stays on the phone with me until I fall asleep.

Life is pretty much perfect. There are a few blips here and there, but I manage my time between friends, school, Holy, and family. It’s a juggling act, but I love every minute of it.

23

HOLY

Our relationship exists in the daylight and shadows.

During the daylight hours, Danielle isjustmy teaching assistant. We share little moments here and there, like when she texts me first thing in the morning to tell me that she loves me. It puts a smile on my face and gets my day started right. It’s even better when I see her across the lunch room with her friends and a text bings on my phone.

I wish you were eating me right now instead of that slice of pizza.

Ichoke on my soda when I read it, and Danielle’s dance instructor, Jennifer, moves closer to pat me on the back. “You okay?” She asks in a concerned tone.

I shift away from her touch and manage half a smile through the tears in my eyes. Expelling soda from your nose is a unique, painful experience that I don’t wish on anyone. My nostrils burn, and everyone stares at me; I’m red with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe,” I tell her swiftly.

Jennifer turns back to the others at the table, and they go back to discussing extracurriculars and which students are pissing them off lately. It comes up in passing that Elliot Graham was recently sent to the Principal’s office and benched for the latest football game. A game that they lost, and some people blame the Principal for benching their star player.

“He physically assaulted another student,” I glare at them, interrupting even when I know I should keep my mouth shut. “He deserved more than a single-day suspension and losing his starting privileges at one game.” If I had my way, I’d have knocked his head off his neck. But I’m a reasonable man, and I don’t want to go to prison.

My outburst silences everyone at the table, but Jennifer dares to say, “I heard it was Mr. Fulton’s daughter.” And it kicks off another discussion entirely.

Gossip travels fast in high school. Not just among the students but among the teachers, too. I’ve spent years listening to idle gossip about Danielle Fulton and never knowing what to expect. I have loads of useless information in my head about who’s dating who and who got in a fight at lunch. It’s like watching reality television, except these people are right in front of me. They’re fifteen and sixteen-year-old kids making out and making up.

In hushed tones, my coworkers start discussing the intimate relationship between Elliot and Danielle. It’s all speculation, of course. I know the truth because I asked her about it the next time we saw one another. She told me everything she did with the bastard, including all the cuddle sessions and late-night make-outs. It hurt to hear, but I can’t fault her for fooling around with high school boys. When I was a high school boy, I would have cut off my left arm to fool around with her.

During the shadow hours of our relationship, Danielle and I are a couple. She comes to my house because we can’t go to hers. We transition from teacher and student to boyfriend and girlfriend. We become our purest selves.

Some nights we go for long bike rides stretching across the Flint Hills, visiting little towns like Alma and Enterprise. We thrive in the fading summer sun and through the early days of fall. Danielle loses the mini skirts and dresses by October because the chill in the air when she’s on the back of my motorcycle brings goosebumps to her flesh.

“You didn’t win,” she tells me one day, “I’m just cold.”

And I hold her in my arms for as long as she’ll let me. We stand before the Scenic Overlook and watch the sunset at 7:00 pm, so much earlier than when this all began.

On other nights when I have meetings with the Kings, Danielle switches between joining us or lounging in my bedroom. While her presence is noted by everyone, everyone kindly ignores the obvious: I am dating a teenage girl that oozes sexuality and virtue like two sides of the same delicious coin.

When there’s serious business to discuss, we send Danielle home. The other Kings do it because they don’t want her to spill the beans. I ask her to leave because I don’t want her to be implicated. I am not as involved with the criminal aspects of the Kings Of Carnage as some of the men, but I occasionally do business for the Valenti crime family. I’ve been known to peddle drugs in my younger years. I’ve gotten in a fistfight or two on behalf of my brothers.

More nights than not, it’s the two of us sitting in the living room or curled up in bed together.

When we’re in the living room, we’re working. She types on her laptop at a mile a minute or annotates papers she printed in my classroom earlier that day. I work on lesson plans and grade papers she didn’t finish during her TA hours. We’re so domestic it makes me want to go to the jewelry store and pick out a ring.

When we’re curled up in bed, it’s after exploring each other’s bodies. One night I lie down and tell her to mount me. Danielle smiles as she tosses her leg over my waist. I stop her a second later and point to my face. “No. Here.”

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