17. Wren
Isurvived the first week. After classes, I hid away in the library until either my next class or my stomach protested, and I had to leave to eat.
Every time Julez was there waiting like he’s got some weird sixth sense.
When I asked him about it last night, he laughed and told me, ‘I always know where my Pookie is,’ and waved me off.
I’d checked my uniform and bag for a tracker this morning and came up empty-handed, so maybe it really is luck?
Though I did find something else in my bag that had me itching to skip my meeting with Mr. Adler.
I wouldn’t because I didn’t want to get in trouble, but damn did I want to.
The dean had already bent the rules to let me attend and catch up. I needed to be invisible, not cause problems.
I’d had years of practice; maybe I’ll finally be good at it here. Heaven knows I was terrible at it back home.
I also need to talk to him about getting to a store. I’m in desperate need of snacks, especially with my period right around the corner.
The guys think I’m a terror now; they don’t even know the half of it.
We hadn’t talked about a specific time to meet, so I took the liberty of deciding now is good; hopefully he’s awake and here.
The halls are so quiet, I second-guess my decision with each step. Maybe nine in the morning is too early?
I’m already close enough that it would be silly to turn around without at least seeing first. Worst case, he’s not here; I can always come back later, after I’ve tried my new baby.
I stand in front of the door, listening for any kind of sound. I don’t hear anything, but for all I know, the room could be soundproof.
Only one way to know for sure.
I rap my knuckles on the door, and the sound echoes around the otherwise empty hallway, making it sound much louder than I intended.
“Gavin, I swear—” He cuts himself off as the door swings open and his eyes fall to me. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yup.” I pop the p and press my lips together, unsure what to say. Clearly, he expected someone else, Gavin, from the sound of it. Did he mean my Gavin—I mean, Gavin as in my roommate, not like, mine, mine. Or maybe he’s not the only one in the school with that name, which also makes sense.
“Is now a bad time?” I ask when we spend another few uncomfortable seconds staring at each other.
“Time for…” he trails off, clearly having no idea what I’m referring to.
It takes all of my self-control not to roll my eyes.
Men.
“Our meeting?” I remind him, and now that I really look at him, I notice things I’d missed at first glance.
The left side of his face is red, with lines running down his cheek; his shirt is a bit rumpled and untucked; and his tie is missing.
Even more noticeable is the fact that his hair is down. His dirty blond hair hangs loose over his shoulders, and it’s a really good look for him.
Like really fucking good.
I’m also clearly a little too obvious in my checking him out because he quickly straightens, running a hand down his shirt that does nothing before he gathers his hair into a low man bun that’s closer to his usual but still just unkempt enough to be sexy.
“Right, sorry.” He moves aside and waves me in, and as I sit in the same chair I did last weekend, it dawns on me why he’s so out of sorts.
"Do you sleep here?” I ask before I can think better of it, making him pause before he sits in the chair across from me.
"No, well, I’m not supposed to. Faculty housing is just past the recreation center.”
Huh, I didn’t know we had a recreation center, and I didn’t know there was housing for the teachers either. I’d thought they just came in daily, but I guess it makes sense.
I also heard what he didn’t say. He has an apartment and doesn’t have to sleep here, but clearly that happens, and I’d say it must be fairly common considering how he worded it.
“Speaking of the recreation center, we also need to talk about your extracurricular activities. Meadow Ridge requires all students to participate in something, be it a sport or playing an instrument. Though both are encouraged.”
I know where this conversation is going even before he says it, and the panic creeps in.
“I read through your file.” He flips a page, completely oblivious to my rapidly deteriorating mental capacity. “And while it shows you have a few talents, it looks like your aunt and the Dean have specifically requested that you participate in the showcase and spotlight your—”
The air gets thick, and my lungs stop taking in enough oxygen, leaving me heaving as Mr. Adler’s head finally snaps up and his lips move, but whatever he’s saying is lost on me.
Black dots flash in my vision, and I know I’m going to pass out if I don’t get myself under control.
I don’t have time for this. I have things to do, freedom to gain, but even still, I can’t seem to get a grip on myself.
It’s as if my brain can’t process how to make my lungs take in a real breath.
I clutch the necklace that hangs around my neck, the one that Jordan gave me after we lost Mom and Dad, and squeeze my eyes closed.
It helps, but it’s not enough…
Everything stops as I feel the steady rhythm of a heart below my hand, the rise and fall of a chest that centers me, allowing me a moment to mimic it without thought.
I’m not sure how long it takes before I’m able to peel my eyes open, but when I do, I’m both shocked and not at all surprised to find Mr. Adler on his knees before me. His brows are drawn together, worry clear on his face, but he doesn’t voice it, at least not yet.
My hand rests on his chest, and I know I probably should pull away, but I can’t, not when he’s the only thing that’s helping me keep it together.
He doesn’t pull away, doesn't ask any questions, or even look at me weirdly as he sits perfectly still, letting me find comfort in him.
It should be weird; he’s not only my guidance counselor but also my professor and practically a stranger, but somehow it’s not. There’s something about him beyond his good looks, though I can’t put my finger on it.
“My mother taught me to play.” I offer, in way of an explanation that he didn’t ask for but feels deserved.
He could have let me lose it; I’m not really his problem.
That’s what most everyone else in my life would do, with the exception of maybe Julez.
Still, he doesn’t talk, and when I peek back up at him through my lashes, I don’t see pity the way I’m used to but instead a sadness that says he understands that kind of loss.
My fingers fist in his shirt, and now my heart races for a completely different reason.
I think his understanding is what pushes the rest of the words from my mouth, words that feel heavy and thick as I say them.
“After she died, I was only ever able to play for Jordan…”
There’s more. Fuck, there’s so much more, so much nobody knows about, but I can’t force it out. Years of abuse and trauma shut me up, even when I know I’m away from her and with someone who feels safe.
Will anyone ever actually be safe?
“Fuck.” Now his eyes are sad, but understanding shines in them as well. His hand comes up and rests on mine when I move to pull away, worried I’ll overstay my welcome, and he gives me a hard look.
“I can’t get you out of that showcase, Wren,” he says, his jaw clenching in anger, but I don’t think it’s directed at me. “There’s a note in the file that says if you refuse to participate, you will be expelled.”
I’d love to say I’m shocked, but I’m not. My aunt has always had a knack for finding cruel and unusual punishments. I didn’t think he would be able to step in. I’d never even think to ask him for that kind of thing, but that he even considered it makes me warm up to him even more.
I need to get myself under control. A crush on a hot teacher is one thing, but this…this feels like it has potential to be something else, something much more consuming.
“Do I have to practice or can I just perform?" I ask, my voice sounding weak and pathetic even to my own ears.
It takes him a second, but I see it when he catches on to what I’m asking.
“Nothing said you had to do anything other than perform.”
It’s not perfect; the idea of performing anything at any time still steals the air from my lungs, but for now, it’s a future Wren problem.
“When is the showcase?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Three months. We do something halfway through the year. The first quarter is for our performers, a friendly competition where everyone plays, and the judges score each person. The first winner gets 10k, the second 5, and the third 2. It’s silly, but the school has done this kind of thing for hundreds of years, or so I’ve been told. ”
Two grand… that’s a lot of money.
Ten is fucking crazy, and for a moment, I just stare at him, unable to form words or thoughts past the dollar signs.
That would really help me disappear after I graduate.
I worry my lip before I suck in a sharp breath and steel myself to the idea that this is happening.
“I enjoy the violin and the cello. Do you have any openings for those?”
Mr. Adler looks at me, his eyes searching mine, and I’m not sure what he was looking for, but I’m pretty sure he finds it when he gives me a curt nod and pushes to his feet, taking every bit of calm I’d just built with him.
I manage to hold it together, but just barely, and when he moves around his desk to look over a piece of paper, I almost smack myself. The reason he pulled away was because of me!
He pauses for a moment, his gaze flicking up to meet mine before he resumes sorting through the stack of papers.
“Any sports?” He asks as he jots down my name under Thursday for cello and Tuesday for violin.
“No.”
He pauses and purses his lips.
“Are they required?” I ask, and honestly, if he says yes, I might just lose it.
“No,” he looks up, his gaze holding mine as he searches my eyes. “But your file…”
I can’t stop the sharp breath I suck in. Is there anything that isn’t in that file? Does he know my cycle, too?
“Unless it’s required, I’ll stick with music and catching up on all the work I have to do to make up for the time I missed.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, and I swear it looks like he wants to argue, but after a second, he nods and turns his attention back to the paper, letting me breathe a sigh of relief.
“Alright, I’ve got you in for cello and violin. I also added you to the piano class on Fridays, but I’ve put a note in for the instructor that you do independent studies, so you don’t have to report to the rehearsal hall if you don’t want to.”
I try to thank him, but the words get stuck in my throat.
When’s the last time someone was this nice to me other than Julez?
I still don't know why he’s being nice to me.
I fear with him I might end up the butt of a sick joke, which is why I’ve tried to keep myself at a distance, but Mr. Adler seems different.
I’m pretty sure I’m overthinking this, though. He’s my guidance counselor, and he’s offering me guidance, that’s all.
Don’t make this weird, Wren.
“Thank you, Mr. Adler.” I finally manage to get the words out as I push to my feet, more than ready to leave.
“Dimitri,” he says, and I pause, my head snapping up to see him staring at me with a look I can’t seem to make heads or tails of.
“What?”
He pushes to stand, moving around the desk, stopping less than a foot away from me, close enough that I have to crane my head back to meet his gaze.
He’s not as close as he’d been earlier when I was panicking, but with us both standing, he’s much more intimidating like this.
I don’t think I really realized how big he was compared to me.
“Mr. Adler is fine in class, but I prefer Dimitri outside of the classroom. Titles feel too formal.”
Would he feel that way if he hadn’t just seen me lose my shit? Or does he go by a first-name basis with all his students?
Why does the thought of that annoy me?
“Thanks, Dimitri.” I don’t mean for it to, but his name catches in my throat, making it come out husky and more like a question.
I follow the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard, my eyes snapping up to meet his, and I swear they're darker now than they were a moment ago.
“Anything I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Something about him feels safe and familiar.
I wait for him to tack ?something else onto that statement.
Something like it’s my job or I want to see you succeed, but he doesn’t, and as the stretch of silence goes on, it feels as though something might snap at any moment.I nod and force myself to turn away, sure that if I let myself, I’d stand here all day.
I make it to the door before I remember a question I had, and he seems like the only person I might get a straight answer from.
“Oh, hey, is there a bathroom upstairs in the dorms?” I turn back to look at him over my shoulder before I leave and find him looking at me in the most peculiar way.
“Never mind.” I wave him off and head out.
It’s not until I’m halfway down the hall that I realize what a stupid thing that was to ask.
I’m supposed to have a room up there; the last thing I need is to cause more problems with my roommates.
For someone who’s supposed to be so smart, I sure can be stupid sometimes.