Chapter 11 #3
“Let’s go talk inside,” he said quickly. He kept his face very stern. His eyes avoided my open cardigan, where my breasts were on full display. “And you should button up your sweater.”
We were completely alone under the bleachers, and I felt emboldened. I put my hands on my hips, not making any effort to cover up.
“Do you really want me to?” I asked in a seductive tone.
I was a little shit back then. I expected Bradley to scoff and list off the detentions I had just earned, if not complete expulsion.
Not that I cared about that anymore. But instead he looked at me for a second, letting his eyes move to my chest and shrugging.
“Up to you,” he said offhandedly. “But we are going to walk to my classroom now. If you’re comfortable with everyone seeing you like that, so be it. ”
He was completely unfazed, and it left me stunned. I reached for the bottom few buttons, doing it up enough so that my cleavage was still pronounced, but not enough for anyone to say anything about it. Bradley offered me a smile as I scowled.
Neither of us said anything as I followed him through the halls into his empty classroom. I’d never been in there before—he taught honors English, and I was always in AP.
“Where’s your class?” I asked, looking around at all the empty seats.
“Planning period,” Bradley said, closing the door behind us. “Take a seat.”
I sat on one of the desks while Bradley stood across from me, leaning against his own. It felt weird. His eyes were locked on mine.
“I don’t want to lecture you,” he said softly. “I don’t think you need it, and I don’t think it will do any good.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I do, however,” he added quickly, “understand that you have been through a lot these last few years. And I understand that being a teenager is difficult enough without everything else you’ve experienced.
So, I wanted to tell you that if you ever need someone to talk to, about anything, at any time, my door is open. ”
He looked at me sympathetically. I’d already heard this spiel so many times back then. From my parents. My grandparents. Counselors and therapists. Everyone had wanted to help me. They pitied me. It was infuriating.
“How gracious of you, Mr. Myers,” I said icily, my eyes hard. “I can talk to you about my problems? Why didn’t I think of that?”
Bradley’s face didn’t change. “You can be frustrated, Rose, that’s fine. It’s just an offer.”
I stood up. A rage bubbled up inside me and threatened to burst.
“You sure you want to talk? Because my problems are way bigger than my parents’ divorce or being dumped by a boyfriend.
An entire town hates me. People avoid me in the hallways as if I’m diseased.
” I snarled the word and kept going. “My best friend since kindergarten, Cassandra, despises me because she thinks my brother dragged her sister behind her house and raped and murdered her.”
I could feel the tears falling down my face, faster than I could stop them. They were angry and hot and raw. I felt furious that they were coming at all. “You really want to talk about that, Mr. Myers?”
I broke down then. I hadn’t cried about my situation in months, finding distraction in the comfort of all the boys who wanted me.
I didn’t think that much real emotion was still down there.
But I stood in front of Bradley, who waited with a patient expression, and bawled.
He wrapped his arms around me, letting my head fall onto his firm shoulder.
He placed a comforting hand on my back and rubbed it slowly.
“Yes,” Bradley spoke softly into my ear. “If that’s what you need to talk about, then I am here, Rose.”
It was the most genuine comfort I had received in a year. So, from that moment on, Bradley became my new distraction.
I started going to his empty planning periods just to sit in his classroom and bitch about the people who hated me and all the vile things they said.
We discussed my brother’s case at length and everything I remembered from when Alexandria was killed. He had so many questions, and it felt good to finally talk about it with someone. We also discussed my plans for college and what I wanted to do after.
One day, after sitting there for nearly an hour, he looked me in the eyes, and said, “You never told me how well you do in your classes.”
I shrugged. “You never asked.”
“You’re second in the class, Rose.”
“You knew I was smart, Bradley,” I reminded him.
By that point I was calling him by his first name. The first few times I had done it, he’d discouraged it, but now he seemed to like it.
“I looked at your SAT score too,” he said. “It’s a 2320.”
“Stalking me much?” I asked suspiciously.
“I was curious,” he admitted sheepishly. “With grades and scores like that, especially with what you’ve been through, you should be applying to Ivy Leagues.”
“Do Ivy Leagues like sisters of alleged killers?” I replied.
“When they have an ACT score of thirty-four, yes. They do,” he said, and his hand reached out to touch my shoulder, lingering.
His thumb gently stroked my arm, and I stopped breathing.
It was the first time he had touched me, other than that first hug when I was crying, and after that moment, he became all I thought about.
I started dressing even sluttier to school, and I didn’t miss the way he noticed, his eyes roving over my chest but quickly looking away whenever I caught him.
He helped me apply to colleges and wrote me a hell of a recommendation letter. He called me a “whip smart, indomitable force of a young woman.” He was there for me in a way no one else ever had been.
And even once we had talked through all of the hard stuff to exhaustion, he still seemed sincerely interested in my life and opinions.
After so many years in a house where my brother’s conviction consumed every waking moment, his attention fulfilled me in a way I didn’t understand.
He even seemed to believe me that Will wasn’t guilty—or he didn’t contradict me, at least. I started to shed my roster of guys until I’d stopped having sex altogether.
The day school let out for Christmas break, I stayed late and made my way to Brad’s classroom. He had told me he had a present for me. The school was empty, only the odd janitor hanging around. The door to his classroom was unlocked, so I slipped inside.
“There you are,” he said, brightening. “Good.”
I was wearing a dress, which I never usually did.
A skintight American Apparel number that accentuated the size of my waist and breasts.
Bradley stole a look at my chest when he handed me a wrapped present.
I opened it: a Dartmouth sweatshirt as a token of good luck for the early decision results that would come out in two weeks.
I smiled and thanked him, reaching up for a hug.
When he moved to pull away, I stopped him.
I watched his face, my arm hooked around his back.
“What are you doing?” Bradley asked, his voice suddenly serious.
I didn’t answer him. He stood completely still as I pushed my body against him and pressed my lips to his.
I had thought about this moment for weeks, every time I came into his room to talk to him.
He was all I thought about when I touched myself at night. I wanted him.
He didn’t move when I parted his lips with mine.
But when my tongue pushed into his mouth, he finally responded.
I felt his hands on me, one on my waist and the other grabbing at my ass.
His mouth was firm, his tongue pushing roughly inside as his hands roamed my body.
I could feel his erection pressing as he grabbed at me, kissing me harder.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled away, shaking his head. “Rose, I … We can’t.”
His face was blotchy and red. He took a step back from me, still hard, and almost tripped over his desk chair.
“It’s fine,” I told him, reaching for him. My fingers snaked around one of his beltloops. “I’m legal.” I had turned eighteen the month before, something I had made sure he knew.
He didn’t respond and so I moved toward him again, kissing him, my tongue tracing the inside of his mouth. I made sure to press my breasts against his chest, and he groaned into my mouth.
“Rose, I could lose my job,” he pleaded.
I took a step back, bothered by this. “You really don’t want me?” My voice had gone hard. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”
Bradley sighed. “Want doesn’t matter. I am your teacher.”
I rolled my eyes at this and crossed my arms. “So what?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said, So what? I’m an adult. Who is attracted to you and wants to have sex with you. You’re … what? Eight years older than me? If we had met anywhere else, no one would care.”
Bradley looked conflicted. “Rose …”
I jutted out my lower lip, furious. I wanted him. I needed him. I couldn’t go back to having sex with asinine eighteen-year-olds.
“Would you rather I go find someone else?” I asked curiously. “Because I will. You know I will. I’ll find someone who doesn’t care about me at all. Someone who will tell everyone what a bitch and a slut I am two days later. Is that what you want?”
Bradley shook his head. “Of course not. I would never want that for you.”
“So don’t make me do that,” I said, my fingers finding his belt loop. “Show me how it should feel. Show me how it feels when someone actually cares about me.”
He moaned and his fingers found mine. I moved closer to him, my breath hot on his neck. He sighed, looking resigned.
“We can’t do this here,” he said firmly, and I nodded in agreement.
“Leave through the back entrance of the school, by the track,” he said. “Near the orange groves. I’ll come pick you up. I have a Camry. It’s black.”