Chapter 6 Claire
Claire
What the hell was that? I’m pretty sure my brain cells just broke the record for some sort of mental marathon. From the second he got in the car, I couldn’t stop my mind from running, which isn’t exactly new to me, but interesting for sure.
Should I talk? What would I say? I could turn the radio on, but what if something ridiculous like the Black Eyed Peas is playing?
Imagine — Mr. Broody-Toughguy sitting in my passenger seat with his tattoos and cigarettes and My Humps starts blasting through the speakers!
Besides, he didn’t seem too eager to talk to me either.
Instead, I kept my mouth shut and my hands at ten and two.
It was only when it was speak or die from unbearable silence, that I was able to compel myself to thank him for bringing back the car.
Between that and his exit, it was all just strange. He totally caught me staring at him, but I guess he was also kind of staring at me? Honestly, I’m not sure what just happened. The whole thing was weird.
And intense and arousing.
And just really freaking weird.
I head back to my apartment and shower off the sweat and awkwardness, making the time now 4 pm.
Considering my situation, I scheduled a bunch of extra tutoring sessions this month, and one is today in an hour.
Perfect. That leaves forty-five minutes before I have to leave, to sit at my computer and write.
First, I throw on a loose dress, so sick of my clothes sticking to me. Then, I pull out my laptop.
I got serious about my writing last Christmas break when I suddenly had some unexpected free time.
I thought I’d be spending my break with my boyfriend of ten months, Mark, who was a first-year medical student with a crazy schedule.
I left my entire break empty, not one thing on my calendar, so we could spend all of his days off together.
Well, those plans changed abruptly when Dr. Mark decided to celebrate night one of Hanukkah by sticking his candle in his floor nurse’s menorah.
Talk about spreading the light. I can say from experience, that one did not burn for eight straight days if you know what I mean.
Needless to say, when he showed up at my apartment to tell me he cheated on me, I wasn’t all that disappointed.
I slammed the door in his face and never talked to him again.
So, Mark was done, and therefore I now had a week of break and no plans to fill it.
Thus the writing.
I’ve always wanted to write professionally.
As a teenager, I had a secret dream to write children’s books someday, but I realized soon after, that possibly the biggest part of a children’s book is the illustrations and despite my skill with words, art is another story.
So now, I just write poems, journal entries, and letters.
I write short stories from my own life too — things that I want to remember.
But what I really want to write is a novel, specifically a young adult book.
Teaching middle school has shown me the importance of kids and teens investing in reading, and what better way to get them to buy in than by ensuring they have access to great stories that are relevant to their own lives?
Now I just have to come up with a life-changing idea.
I’m reading the last two lines of a poem I started yesterday when I realize I’m thinking about him.
You flow over peaks and run down the mountains.
You glisten in heat while bursting through fountains.
Apparently, water is now sexual, and I am insane. I don’t even know this guy. Not to mention, we look like absolute opposites, and the vibe he was putting out didn’t exactly scream, "I’m interested."
I slam my laptop shut. I think that’s enough writing for today. I check the clock — 4:26 pm. Good enough. It takes fifteen minutes for me to get to the library and set up my space in the tutoring center. That leaves just enough time for me to grab a coffee on the way.