Chapter Two #3
I watch another student leave with her mother before turning back to enter the classroom. A few students still linger, including Teddy Krane. Like always, he is quiet, his small shoulders slightly hunched as though he expects trouble to find him.
His blond curls bounce when he moves, and his enormous blue eyes stay fixed on the ground. Teddy is one of those children who makes you want to wrap them in a blanket and protect them from the world.
He is sweet and polite, but he startles easily. Sudden noises make him jump. Raised voices make him flinch. And he never seems completely relaxed. After I met his father, I can understand why.
Teddy walks from behind me. Unlike most of my students, he rarely smiles during pickup. Today is no different.
I crouch to his level. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Teddy.”
He nods shyly. “You too.”
Before I can straighten, a shadow falls across the floor. My smile is gone before I finish turning around.
“Hello, Miss Doyle.”
I quickly stand and find Teddy’s father smiling. Something about it—him—makes my stomach tighten. “Mr. Krane.”
“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself properly. I couldn’t do that at the open house. A lot of people needed your attention,” he drawls.
There is nothing wrong with what he says, but his tone unnerves me.
“You don’t have to,” I assure him.
His eyes travel over me. Slowly. Deliberately. The scrutiny makes my skin crawl.
“I insist.” His eyes linger on me a little too long. “I was wondering if you’d let me take you to dinner sometime.”
The question catches me completely off guard. “Oh. I-I’m flattered.” I’m not. “But I don’t date parents.”
His smile doesn’t disappear. “You can make an exception.”
“I’m sorry. I really can’t,” I reply carefully, already wanting to escape.
For a second, his expression hardens. Then the pleasant smile returns so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. “Maybe another time.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Krane. School policy prohibits teachers from becoming involved with parents,” I explain, containing my fear with an air of professionalism.
He studies me for another second. When he speaks again, all warmth has drained out of his voice. “That’s unfortunate.”
My pulse quickens. Thankfully, another parent approaches for a pickup at that exact moment. Relief floods through me.
“If you’ll excuse me…” I say quickly.
Before he can respond, I turn toward the waiting parent. When I look back several moments later, he’s gone. By the time the last student has been collected, exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders.
I stay behind to finish the bulletin board, and by the time I gather my things, say goodbye to the remaining teachers, and head for the exit, the sun has dropped behind the buildings.
The sky is turning a bruised orange at the edges.
Streetlights illuminate portions of the sidewalk while headlights move steadily along nearby roads.
Several teachers leave alongside me, their conversations creating a comforting sense of normalcy. I should feel safe. Instead, unease settles heavily in my stomach. The feeling follows me down the front steps, across the parking lot, and onto the sidewalk.
Someone is watching me. The certainty arrives suddenly. I glance behind me, and I see nothing out of place. A few cars. A handful of pedestrians. But no obvious threat. Yet the sensation refuses to disappear.
I quicken my pace. For some reason, my thoughts immediately drift to Raiden. The realization should embarrass me. Instead, it comforts me. The tattoo shop sits directly across the street, its illuminated sign glowing against the failing light.
Without meaning to, I look toward it, and my pulse flutters. Is he inside? The question pops into my head. Followed by another. Is he thinking about me too? Heat creeps into my cheeks, the memory of yesterday returning with startling clarity.
His hands at my waist. The way he looked at me. The tension that consumed the room. The fact that I’d kissed a complete stranger. The thought alone should horrify me. Instead, I find myself wondering what would have happened if Sarah hadn’t interrupted.
Can he tell how inexperienced I am? Did he see it every time I looked at him? The possibility makes my face burn. I cross to the other sidewalk and start the walk toward my apartment. But the uneasy feeling lingers as I walk home.
No matter how many times I tell myself I’m overreacting, I can’t shake the sensation that someone is watching me. The neighborhood isn’t the safest. Everyone has warned me about it. My landlord. My coworkers. Even Sarah.
Unfortunately, warnings don’t magically create enough money to buy a car. So I keep walking. The feeling of being watched intensifies. Fear grips me, and my stomach tightens as I quicken my pace. The air is still thick and warm, but gooseflesh rises along my arms anyway.
Somewhere behind me, footsteps echo briefly before disappearing. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder again. It won’t help to panic.
For the first time since moving to Atlanta, genuine fear creeps into my chest. I lengthen my stride. I quickly glance up but see nothing but dark second-story windows. No sign of movement.
Still, my anxiety skyrockets as the sensation persists. Someone is there. Watching.