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All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living
or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written
permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-7392904-0-5

Cover design by: Sam Palencia at Ink and Laurel

Editing: Amy Davies at Amy Edits

Editing: Bethany Merry at Be Merry Editing

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 Contents

1. One

2. Two
3. Three

4. Four
5. Five

6. Six
7. Seven

8. Eight

9. Nine
10. Ten

11. Eleven

12. Twelve
13. Thirteen

14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen

16. Sixteen

17. Seventeen

18. Eighteen

19. Nineteen
20. Twenty

21. Twenty-One

22. Twenty-Two

23. Twenty-Three

24. Twenty-Four
25. Twenty-Five

26. Twenty-Six

27. Twenty-Seven

28. Twenty-Eight

29. Twenty-Nine

30. Thirty

31. Thirty-One
32. Thirty-Two

33. Epilogue

Acknowledgement

Dicktionary
About the Author

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 Playlist

1. Overkill - Holly Humberstone

2. Gasoline (Feat. Taylor Swift) - HAIM

3. Means Something - Lizzie McAlpine

4. Trashfire - Tommy Lefroy

5. Garden Song - Phoebe Bridgers

6. Begging For Rain - Maggie Rogers

7. Let's Fall In Love For The Night - FINNEAS

8. Don't Blame Me - Taylor Swift

9. Say It ( Spotify Studio Oyster Recording) - Girl In Red

10. All My Ghosts - Lizzie McAlpine

11. I'd Have To Think About It - Leith Ross

12. In My Head - Maisie Peters

13. The Lakes - Taylor Swift

14. Falling Water - Maggie Rodgers

15. I'll Call You Mine - Girl In Red

16. False God - Taylor Swift

17. Glitch - Taylor Swift

18. Secrets from a Girl (Who's Seen It All) - Lorde

19. It's Not Living (If It's Not With You) - The 1975
20. Candles - Daughter
21. John Hughes Move - Acoustic - Maisie Peters

22. Treacherous (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

23. Daylight - Harry Styles

24. ICU - Phoebe Bridgers

25. The Winner Takes It All - Jae Hall

26. Reckless Driving (Feat. Ben Kessler) - Lizzy McAlpine

27. Green Eyes - Coldplay

28. Hate Me If It Helps - Alexander 23

29. Warm Foothills - Alt-J

30. Fever To The Form - Nick Mulvey

31. Labyrinth - Taylor Swift

32. Dress - Taylor Swift

33. Invisible String - Taylor Swift

Spotify Playlist available here

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D ear reader,
Please note that the following subjects / events are touched upon
within this novel:
Explicit content throughout
Open door scenes (4 detailed scenes)

Recent loss of parent (Mom)

A grief & depression arc

Brief mentions of unintentional weight loss & inconsistent eating

habits due to grief
Mentions of medication use

Brief scene of illness (may not be suitable for people who have
emetophobia)
A panic attack
I hope I have written these topics with the care they deserve.
Please read with care.

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 One
Overkill - Holly Humberstone

T he one thing nobody tells you about having an arch-enemy is how

exhausting it is. Especially when he is as much of an asshole as Ben
Bennett.
I watched him pour the last delicious drop of coffee into his usual cup: a
white, diner style mug, complete with a corny physics pun on the side. He
then returned the now empty jug to the station, leaving the rest of the
teaching staff with no coffee. It was exactly the type of behavior I should
have expected from my nemesis, but given we were minutes into the first
day back after the summer vacation, I hadn’t expected the bar to be set so
low.
I opened my mouth to scold him, still in shock at the complete disregard
for his co-workers, but no words came out. It was far too early in the
morning to deal with that type of psychological warfare. It was the earliest
I’d been up in weeks, so I desperately needed caffeine and ‘Ben the
Asshole’ was the reason I had none.
 He turned around, finally acknowledging my glare that had been burning
into him and a smug grin settled on his stupid face. He knew what he’d
done, and judging from that look, he knew I knew, and he was finding some
sort of sick pleasure in the fact. I gripped my mug so tight I was surprised it
didn’t shatter under the pressure.
Ben had been my rival since day one. He’d sauntered into the school two
years ago, immediately acting like he owned the place. Within hours, he’d
already got his grubby hands on the funding I’d set aside for the annual
department school trip, reallocating the funds to his own department, which
was–even worse–the math department.
Whatever he’d needed for his students was irrelevant. He shouldn’t have
convinced the principal that my trip to the nearest art gallery was a waste of
time and effort. Every department was suffering, and nobody saw me
shitting all over somebody else’s department for some ‘much-needed’
Sharpies.
I’d been so excited as well. I was going to focus on sculpture as there
was a special feature on at the museum with various rare statues loaned
from all over the country. For some of these kids, it would be the one
chance to introduce them to this side of art and culture, and he’d stolen it
away from me like a hungry raccoon with an unguarded sandwich at a
picnic.
Not to mention, his attitude was awful. He was rude. He’d barely look at
me, cut me off in the parking lot, and speed away like he had no care in the
world. And worse yet, on more than one occasion, he’d taken the last baked
good left out in the teacher’s lounge before I could even get one.
And trust me, from the way he’d looked at me as he crammed the sweet,
flaky Danish into his mouth, he knew it too.
 Bastard.
Ben locked his eyes on me and raised the mug to his lips, taking a long
slurp of coffee and letting out a sigh of satisfaction.
I rolled my eyes at him, scoffing as I took in his healthy sun-kissed glow.
I could only imagine it was gained from spending the summer days in the
sun. His perfectly ruffled dark brown hair had been left long enough that it
curled and waved in a way that annoyingly only made him more attractive.
Why did he have to look like that?
Clearly his arrogance was justified because he had the face of a man
you’d watch obnoxiously sipping coffee in a Nescafé commercial, all the
while wishing you were the mug.
“Something wrong, Olive?” Ben asked, brow raised in question. Why
was it that only men got the naturally full lips and thick eyelashes?
Before I could respond, a friendly voice spoke at my side.
“I was honestly feeling fine about coming back to work until I
remembered I have to teach English to teenagers for eight hours,” Hanna
whined as I turned my attention away from Ben. Her eyes narrowed at the
scowl on my face. “Jeez, did you crawl out of the wrong side of the bed this
morning?”
I controlled my breathing and tried to pull myself back from the brink of
a nuclear attack before I looked up to her.
Despite wearing flats, she still towered over me. Her curly, black hair
was swept away from her face in a messy bun, and she hadn’t done her
makeup. My frustration eased at the sight of her heavy eyes and droopy
demeanor. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only one having a rough time
coming back to work.
 Trying to regain control of myself, I shook my head. I’d already given
him the reaction he wanted; I couldn’t allow myself to give him anymore.
He’d enjoy it too much.
“Sorry, it doesn’t matter. You look like hell,” I replied. “Those kids are
going to destroy you.”
“I feel like hell, Olive. Why do we continue to do this to ourselves?”
Hanna moaned. I shrugged, but she answered for me with a grin. “Well, it’s
certainly not for the paycheck.”
Her words had my earlier fury melting even more. I could always leave it
up to her to cheer me up. I began to refill the coffee machine when Hanna
finally noticed. “Which prick finished the coffee without putting on a new
one?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” I mumbled, shooting daggers at Ben, who’d
settled on one of the old brown leather sofas far from everyone else, his full
attention on his phone.
Was he too important to make conversation with the rest of us?
“Ah, that makes sense,” Hanna replied, frowning as she put two and two
together.
A few minutes later, I had corrected Ben’s sin and steaming hot coffee
filled our mugs. Hanna smiled over at me as we sat down at our usual table
at the back of the room, giving us a perfect view of the crowded lounge.
People were chatty considering how early and un-caffeinated they were. It
seemed like everyone except for me was ready to be back after the break.
The teachers had already been back for a few days, giving us a calm before
the storm so we could set everything up for the new semester, but I still felt
utterly unprepared.
 “So, what’s the goal for this semester, then?” Hanna asked, almost
nonchalantly but when I shrugged, her eyes narrowed. “You always have a
goal.”
In the five years I’d worked there, I’d always set a sort of theme for the
semester - something specific I wanted to focus on and introduce the
students to, something that differed from the same set modules we went
through every year. Sometimes it was a specific artist I wanted to expand
on, sometimes an entire movement. But this term, I hadn’t come up with
anything–not yet, anyway. Every time I tried to brainstorm, that new
fogginess would fall over my mind, and every idea I came up with seemed
uninspired or boring. I played with the thin band on my right hand and
caressed the small ruby I’d always been envious of growing up.
“You know, I’m not sure yet. I’m stuck between a couple of different
options, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“Of course, you will. Olive Davis: art teacher extraordinaire,” she
grinned. Her bright smile lit up her face, but it only fueled the unease that
was growing in my stomach. “Remember that year you focused on pop art,
and you came in all dressed up like Andy Warhol, with black dots all over
your face? Only you’d go so far to get the kids interested.”
“It’s actually Roy Lichtenstein, not Andy Warhol,” I corrected, trying not
to sound like ‘that person’. I used to remember that day fondly. Sure, I had
a few students make some smart remarks, but it was fun, and I knew I’d
gotten their attention. But now it felt off-color Like, I wasn’t the same
person who’d done that, who’d been so enthusiastic about teaching - about
art.
Now, I could barely pick up a paintbrush. I could barely make a mark on
a blank canvas. The well was truly dry.
 She just waved a hand at me before I asked what she had planned for her
year. She gladly launched into a rant about having to cover the same book
as the previous year due to budget restraints. I couldn’t blame her. Budget
cuts had made this job almost unworkable, stripping out most of the joy of
learning and instead filled me with constant worry about not overspending.
As head of the department, I oversaw the budget for art, and it had been so
difficult keeping the other teachers on a budget that I had to cut so many of
my own plans for the department. I’d been entirely thankful when the
summer break had finally rolled around so I could rest and take a break. Or
at least that’s what I had planned to do.
I expected this year wouldn’t be any different, especially when I saw the
principal, Rob, edging nervously around the side of the room. I swear he
used to smile, but that was back when I first joined the school. He’d start
the new year with some sort of rousing speech that really set the mood and
lifted us from our end of summer slump - but those days were long gone.
It was only when Rob passed in front of Ben that I noticed how Ben’s
eyes were stuck on me, assessing me. As soon as I furrowed my eyebrows
in question, he looked away. It was far too obvious for it to be
unintentional. Why was he looking at me like that? Why was he looking at
all? I sat up in my chair, my eyes narrowing on him as his attention returned
to the phone in his hand, acting like nothing had happened at all.
“Hi, everyone! Can I get your attention for a few minutes, please?” A
hush fell over the room but my eyes were still on Ben as I watched him
redirect his attention from his phone to Rob, who was standing in his usual
spot in the middle of the room. Finally, I let my focus shift to the principal,
making a note of Ben’s suspicious staring for later. Whatever he was up to,
whatever torture he had planned for me, I needed to know. I needed to know
fast.
“I hope everyone had a great summer, got plenty of rest, and is ready and
excited to get back to work. I am sure there will be those typical first day
problems, so if you need to talk about anything, my office is always open.”
The crowd nodded, but Rob’s smile changed to a grimace as the words
we could have all predicted fell from his mouth. “As you might already be
aware, the budget got a little slimmer over the summer, and there will have
to be cuts across the board.”
A collective groan from several members of staff interrupted him, and
others yelled questions in protest, but their voices overlapped into an
indistinguishable jumble. Meanwhile, I simply sat there. I was hardly
surprised, but my heart sank nonetheless.
What would this mean? How much harder would this year be? Did this
mean cuts to staff? Glancing around the room, my sights set on my various
co-workers. Every single one of them was insanely talented and completely
necessary. But like last year, I knew it was unlikely we were all going to last
the year.
That’s how we’d lost Rosa. She got sick of trying to teach on a
shoestring, and had left us last year, moving away to go teach at a private
school. She had been the third in our group, and while I understood why she
had to go, but it still felt like there was an empty space she used to occupy.
“I don’t have specific details yet, but as soon as I know, so will all of
you. But it goes without saying we should all be looking at our departments
and cutting any waste we can.” Rob continued to talk, but he was
interrupted by the ringing of the first bell. “One last note! I’m sure you all
know this is Richard’s last year with us.” He motioned to the familiar older
man who was seated to his right. Richard Wilson, forever with a friendly
smile on his face, raised his hand as if to greet the room. “Because of this,
we will look for a replacement in the role of vice-principal.”
My heart stopped in my chest. A new vice principal could mean a lot of
things for the school, both good and bad. The position came with a direct
role in overseeing the departmental budgets, as well as the opportunity to
weigh in on decisions about the school itself. Richard had always been a
skilled teacher, but as he’d grown older and wearier, I’d always felt like
more could have been done in the role.
“So, if you’re interested, please come see me and the application process
should be made live on our website soon.”
The rest of his words faded into the background as I quietly pondered
what this could mean for the school, if it was open to all staff, and who
would be the obvious front runners for the role.
Just as Rob wrapped up, I noticed him shoot a sweet smile Hanna’s way.
They were married last summer in a small, simple ceremony that was only
for friends and family. I wondered for a moment if she had more
information on the cuts, or even the promotion. If anyone would, it would
be her.
“What?” she asked, nudging me slightly, and it was then I realized I’d
been staring at her. I shook my head, pushing down the temptation to ask.
She’d never tell me, even if she knew.
“Nothing, sorry, I should get going. I’ve got a class first thing,” I said,
trying to send her a reassuring smile.
“Lucky you. I’ve got a free period,” she smirked, cocking an eyebrow,
and I fought the urge to swear back at her. “See you at our usual spot for
lunch?”
 I nodded in response before discarding my now empty coffee mug beside
the dishwasher. I left the staff room and headed into the hallway, which was
nearly empty of students, who were filtering into their new classrooms.
“What cuts do you think we expect from the arts and crafts department
this year?” a smug voice asked from behind. I didn’t need to turn around to
know that Ben was sauntering at my tail, a grin etched into his face. My
brain buzzed with frustration, but I fought the urge to fall into his trap.
Again.
“Or maybe we can just gut the department entirely. You guys can do your
little doodles with pencil, right? Do you even need other supplies?”
That really got my attention, my head finally turning around to look at
him. It wasn’t fair that he towered over me, the smirk on his lips causing me
to grit my teeth as I talked myself down from smacking him. Sometimes, it
helped to imagine what revenge would look like, how it would finally feel
to get one up on Ben Bennett. But today, it felt like throwing gasoline on a
raging fire.
“Maybe we could cut one of the sciences. Who needs physics anyway?” I
retorted. I watched as he rolled his hazel eyes, his arms crossing across his
body as the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt pushed further up his
arms, revealing thick muscles as the material stretched. My eyes couldn’t
help but notice the outline of his shoulders, the visible strength in the dips
and curves. Had he spent the entire summer in the gym?
“Well, I’m sure there’s an argument for keeping physics, considering it
easily leads to a paying job.”
Ah, this old chestnut.
Ben was a career switcher. He just sauntered in one day, his black Audi
easily standing out in a parking lot of beat up Subarus and rusty Hyundai’s,
fresh out of some big fancy job in research. He had this attitude, a look in
his eyes that told me everything I needed to know; like because he’d been
out there, in the ‘real’ world with a ‘real’ job, he somehow thought he was
better qualified than the staff who’d gone straight into teaching, that this
was beneath him.
I’d always suspected that this was just a temporary gig for him, even
tried to start a bet with Hanna that he’d last three months before burning
out, leaving the rest of us to deal with the mess he’d inevitably leave
behind.
But two years on, and I was still considering practicing throwing darts at
a photo of his perfect face.
“Art can lead to a paying job,” I snapped, turning on my heels to look up
at him, that goddamn grin shining down on me.
“Oh sure it does, Ms. Davis.”
If I could breathe fire, he’d have been an unrecognizable bit of charred
meat. He just loved saying my name like that. On the surface, it sounded
professional, but the wild look in his eyes told me he held no regard for my
status in this school, or anywhere. It was a clear taunt, a test, to see if I’d
step up to the mark and play his game.
The door ahead of us swung open, and we both looked ahead to see
another teacher, Alan, coming our way. I said nothing and threw him a
smile and a greeting as he passed us. My smile faltered however, when his
eyebrow tweaked up, and a sly smile curled onto his lips.
There it was. The look.
The ‘there they are, flirting again’ look.
I should have been used to it. They were all so obvious about it, not even
bothering to hide it. Some had even made comments in hushed whispers,
but I always knew what they were saying.
“Oh, are you two going at it again?”
“Phew, we are going to have to throw some cold water over these guys.”
“Put me down for chicken on the wedding invitation!”
Even Hanna had made some jokes in the past about how Rob was our
couple’s therapist, but I’d shot her a look that ensured she never even hinted
at that again.
“Besides, there are other benefits to art, Mr. Bennett.” I kept some
control this time, my voice only turning bitter towards the end.
“Development of fine motor skills, expression of creativity–”
“I’m yet to be convinced of its usefulness. Seems like a waste of time to
me,” His voice dropped. He looked dangerous, his eyes practically turning
black as he continued. The hallway was silent now, and I itched knowing I
was running late for my class, but he still held on to my full attention with
an unwavering grip.
“You know what I would do if I was in charge?” He took a step closer as
he closed the gap between us, not giving me any time to answer. “I’d cut it
completely, no hesitation. Math has been looking for a new classroom, and
they could have yours.”
It was supposed to be a threat, but the way he said it, it was pure filth.
Like he’d thought long and hard about how much he’d love to get rid of me,
how he’d love to erase any sign I’d ever worked at this school. And now,
there was a deputy role opening up. He could finally do it. My heart was
racing in my chest, the space between us almost non-existent.
“Too bad you won’t get that chance.” I kept my voice steady, trying to
ignore the heat that had steadily built up inside of me. Without a second
thought, I turned on my heels and headed towards my classroom.
 “Just you wait, Ms. Davis.”
I looked back at him as I opened the door. His grin caught my eye, but it
wasn’t just that. His gaze was clearly locked on my ass. I wasn’t sure if he
was imagining kicking me to the curb in his sick fantasy or if he was
checking me out. I wasn’t even sure what the better scenario was.
Instinctively, my hand fell to the bottom of the heart patterned dress I was
wearing and pulled at the material, so it stretched further down. I was
wearing tights, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough with his eyes glued to
me.
He finally noticed I had caught him red-handed, and immediately his
cheeks turned a light pink, a panicked expression stretched across his
features.
“In your dreams, Mr. Bennett.” The words practically came out as a low
growl. His cheeks turned from pink to bright red just as I realized how those
words had sounded. I fought the urge to take the words back, to yell out a
defense or explain I hadn’t meant it like that.
Instead, I fled into the noisy classroom, wondering to myself why it had
all sounded so dirty.

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 Two
Gasoline (Feat. Taylor Swift) - HAIM

R at poison in his coffee.

Running him over in the parking lot.
Luring him into a classroom with a complex, unsolvable math equation,
sealing the door and removing all the oxygen and watching his pretty boy
face turn blue.
These were just some of the ways I imagined murdering Ben as I stormed
to our emergency lunch meeting in Rob’s office.
That bastard had done it for the last time. He’d pushed me too far. Now,
it would be my hands around his neck, squeezing tightly. He’d probably just
smirk and ask me if I had a choking kink, but that wouldn’t take the
pleasure away from standing over his dead body with the extra-curricular
class schedule in hand where it would clearly read:
EXTRA-CURRICULAR ART WITH MS DAVIS, 3:30pm, Room 4B
Not Room 3A, or 6C.
4B.
 With its perfect view of the garden, generous room size, and most
importantly, the gorgeous mid-afternoon glow, the room was perfect for
painting. The light was unlike anywhere else in the depressing building, and
it was the only actual option of location to host my after school class.
Unfortunately, it was also home to the most reliable projector. Which
normally wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that Ben’s stupid
Mathlete Club ran at the same time as mine, and he’d decided he needed
nothing but the best for his precious nerd group.
I’d begged Rob to change the slot, to make my class any other day. I’d
alter my schedule around the club being run on a different day, but he’d
gone on about something to do with unions and janitors and budget and told
me the time couldn’t be changed under any circumstances.
His raised brows said enough after I asked if that included murder.
All this was to say that ever since we’d both discovered the gem that was
4B, there had been a weekly race to see who would book it via our school’s
ancient online booking system that was almost impossible to navigate. Of
course, given my luck, it was always Ben that won the race. I did not know
how he’d managed it week after week, but finally, I’d beat him -
permanently. Not as permanent as death, mind you, but permanent in the
way of figuring out if I supplied Patricia in the front office with a box of
rosé first thing on a Tuesday morning, she’d enter my booking into the
system before Ben would ever have the chance.
I had been so convinced of my plan. Patricia had promised me that very
morning when I dropped off her payment, that victory would be mine. So
why, pray tell, did the timetable block appear completely blank when I
searched for it on the school site to confirm my success?
 That was the question I’d been planning on asking her when I got a call
directly to my classroom. Rob was requesting my attendance at a meeting to
discuss the clubs, leaving me with no time to book the room manually.
I opened the door, only to reveal Ben and Rob sitting at opposite sides of
the large wooden desk that stood in the middle of the private office.
“Whatever he’s told you, I swear it’s not true,” I instantly exploded at the
sight of him, both sets of eyebrows shooting up in surprise as I interrupted
their conversation. The win had been so close, I had only just begun to taste
the delicious flavor of success. I refused to let it be snatched from me so
unfairly.
“And what exactly would I have told him?” An evil smile twisted onto
Ben’s lips, an eyebrow inching upward as he looked me up and down.
Across the desk, I could see Rob scrub his hands over his face.
I simply glared at him in response. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Olive, please take a seat so we can begin,” Rob instructed, motioning to
the empty seat in front of him–and beside Ben. Ben, who was wearing a
dove gray shirt that clung to his body so perfectly it was almost successful
in distracting me from thinking up other ways I could be rid of him.
Coat his classroom with some sort of toxic paint.
Lure him into a tunnel. Collapse the tunnel at both ends. Watch him
remotely from a safe location as he slowly starves to death.
A good ol’ stabbing.
I could have been free of him so easily.
“So, I’m sure you both are aware I’ve had to make various cuts to the
budgets this semester,” Rob began, the salt in his salt and pepper hair a little
more evident since the summer. Ben and I both sat up in our chairs, my
body tightening up as I prepared myself for what he was about to say. “And
I’m very sorry, but with the upgrades to the air conditioning we need to
make, there’s no more room in the budget for any extracurricular classes.”
“I don’t understand, these classes are important,” I started, my hands
shaking in my lap. “I’ve found some of my best students in these classes,
and they barely cost anything extra. We just use classroom supplies.”
How much more of this could I take?
“What about the football team? The basketball team? What sports will be
cut if the Mathletes are expendable?” Ben’s face was flushed red, his tone
challenging Rob as he spoke through gritted teeth. It was a valid question,
but we both knew the answer before Rob even spoke.
“That’s different. They have funding.”
“But they still receive funding from the school. I bet that wasn’t
reduced.” He was being as much of a hard ass with Rob as he usually was
with me. For a moment, I could have sworn I almost liked him.
“They have also had to trim their budgets.”
“So what, they hire four football coaches instead of five this year?” Rob
was silent as Ben’s question hung in the air. “Meanwhile, Mrs. White and I
are filling in for the missing Biology teacher the department can’t afford to
replace, and using textbooks that still talk about the Higgs Boson like it’s
undiscovered. What if I was just to run the Mathletes on my own? Would
we have funding for that?”
“Hey!” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why am I the only one being cut?
It’s like you forget we all carry mini calculators around in our pockets all
day.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the budget for either of your classes!” Rob
cried, breaking up the fight that was surely about to kick off between us. “I
wish it could be different, and I know it’s difficult for you both, but I know
you’ll find a way to work.”
“If we find another source, can we keep it going?” I asked, my voice now
low and quiet.
Ben laughed sharply. “And who’s going to fund an after-school art
class?”
“Probably the same person who’s going to remove the stick from your
ass,” I shot back without a moment’s thought. He waved a hand at me
dismissively just as Rob spoke, cutting off whatever asshole remark he had
lined up.
“Yes, but it can’t come from your department budgets. You’ll have to
find somebody outside the school to sponsor you.”
I felt tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. My chest tightened at the
thought of the massive task that would be. Of course, I knew working in a
public school would be tough. They warn you about the budget cuts, the
unruly kids, and the unforgiving amount of work. But the constant uphill
fight where every inch of ground gained took too much in return was
leaving me completely and utterly wrecked. We weren’t even one week in,
and I was already running on empty.
It was only minutes later, and Ben and I were shuffling out of the office,
neither of us having much more to say to Rob. The door clicked closed
behind us and the band that had been squeezing around my stomach since
he’d broken the news tightened at the noise.
“There’s something different about you,” Ben spoke, catching me off
guard.
I looked over at him, finding those hazel eyes of his stuck on me. His
nose wrinkled as his gaze narrowed on me. Besides a messy trim of my
bangs over the bathroom sink that morning, there had been little change.
“You’re... different.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes right back at him.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Bennett,” I lied, my hand
curled into a tight fist, short sharp nails digging into the palm of my hand.
The pain was just enough for me to manage and keep some control of my
emotions and the tears that were welling again.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard those words from him. His eyes widened.
Something new taking over. Had that been concern? Ben Bennett showing
an emotion that wasn’t total smugness towards me? Had aliens replaced
him?
“Just fine. Don’t you think it’s your club you should be worried about?” I
remarked, rolling my eyes at him before turning and making my escape.
I had to get out of there, as far from him as I could–and fast. My heart
was pounding painfully in my chest as I stormed down the hallway, my
sight turning blurrier with each step. Spotting the staff toilets in the corner
of my eye, my pace quickened before I pushed inside, locking myself safely
in a stall. Sitting down on the lid, I leaned forward so I could rest my
spinning head in my hands, trying to fight through the weariness. I felt it
right down to my bones, the heaviness in my limbs becoming unbearable to
fight.
Mom wouldn’t have let this happen.
She would have found a way.
She wouldn’t have failed.
She wouldn’t be locked in the bathroom, crying at twenty-seven.
 Sticky, heavy tears rolled down my cheeks, nails digging into my skin as
the room continued to tilt on its axis.
I wanted to call her, wanted to hear her voice. She would have been able
to calm me down. She would have the solution that would seem so simple
that I’d feel stupid, like all moms always do, like she always did. Last year,
when my budget was completely slashed and I couldn’t afford the canvases
I’d planned to use for my advanced class, she showed up at the school with
all the materials and helped me make canvases by hand. She even managed
to sweet talk the workshop teacher, Mr. Hillson, into donating the frames.
That was who she was, an unstoppable force. She had been a teacher
herself. From nine in the morning until nine at night, our home had been
filled with various levels of piano expertise. It was nearly impossible to be
in the house in the early morning, hearing the same simple piano tune being
butchered by children. But as the day rolled out, the music got better, more
advanced, and eventually it faded into the background.
I missed that noise.
Deeper and deeper I fell, each breath feeling harder to grab hold of as the
sobs shook my body. She would have scolded me if she’d found me like
this. She would have pulled me up, given me a quick hug and told me to get
a hold of myself. I took a deep breath in and squeezed my eyes shut, and
everything slowed down again. It slowed down enough for me to regain
control. My head pulsed uncomfortably, but I could push it away as I stood
up, wobbling on my feet as I unlocked the stall and went to examine myself
in the mirror.
My skin was pale. Too pale, but my basic make-up had survived the
ordeal. Taking in a deep breath, I counted to eight in my head. I exhaled,
trying to let the cloud of emotions go.
 As I finally washed my hands, I tried to think back to this morning. Had I
taken my pill? I visualized it, sitting beside my bathroom sink: the little
orange bottle I’d reluctantly picked up last week. I was sure I had, and the
heaviness lost its grip as I reassured myself again as I walked out of the
bathroom–and crashed right into the hard body of Ben Bennett.
It was like walking into a wall of muscle, my body making full contact
with him momentarily before we both took a step back. A cloud of pine and
musk flew around me for a moment, and for a second, there was something
comforting about the smell before I remembered who it was.
“Jesus, what are you doing?” I asked, my brows furrowing as I looked up
at the towering man before me. He looked at me funny, eyes focused on me,
but there was a softness I’d never seen before. I wasn’t sure I liked it very
much.
“I was waiting for you,” he responded almost quietly, his hand rubbing
the back of his neck.
I’d never seen him look so awkward. Usually, he was six feet of stony
arrogance, with a grin hanging on his lips and an eyebrow twitched up in a
way that made me feel like an idiot. Yet there he was, the unflappable Ben
Bennett clearly flapped, with his voice wavering, his hand still on his neck
like he couldn’t help the motion.
“Why?” I spluttered, still trying to find my feet again, trying not to think
so much about how good he smelled or how nice his body had felt–even if
it was a fleeting moment. He was just attractive. But no matter how good
his outside was, he was all garbage on the inside.
“You looked upset after the meeting. I wanted to make sure you were
okay.”
“I told you I’m fine,”
 “Yes, but are you sure?” he pushed, lips pressing into a firm line and his
defined jaw set.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you always have to be so
annoying?”
He shrugged. “I just seem to have that effect on you.”
“Well, go have an effect on somebody else.”
He smirked, but I was done with entertaining him for the day. I passed
him, making my way up the hallway but much to my annoyance, he shouted
after me and appeared by my side.
“What are we going to do?” he asked as my brows furrowed in question.
“About what?”
“The after-school clubs.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, somehow keeping the wince from showing
on my face. “Why are you asking me?”
“I thought you’d have a solution.”
“You thought wrong. I have nothing. No bright ideas, no hope. Nothing.”
“So, what? You’re just going to let them cut the budget?” His words felt
like salt on an open wound. I’d never been able to stop them from cutting
the budget, but instead I’d just found new ways to make things happen. I
adjusted what I could teach and what supplies I could offer and which ones
I couldn’t. Slowly, it had all been stripped from me. First it was sculpture,
then it was the watercolors and those canvases I suddenly couldn’t afford.
Piece by piece, they’d dismantled my department.
My gaze dips to the floor as I shrug nonchalantly. What else could I do?
Give more of myself when I barely felt like I had anything more to give?
“Guess I had you marked wrong then,” he said, his voice changing,
drawing me back in.
 “What do you mean by that?” I questioned before I could even think
about it. If I had thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have taken the clear
bait he had lain at my feet.
“I thought you’d do anything for these kids. But it looks like you are
giving up pretty easily for somebody who would do anything.”
Who exactly did he think he was to say something like that to me? Did he
think this was easy? But there wasn’t another solution. There wasn’t
anything more I could cut or trim or adjust. It was done.
I was done.
“What do you want, Ben?” If the question caught him off guard, he
didn’t show it. Instead, he looked at me with the same stony expression, a
flare of determination in those golden eyes.
“I want my club,” he said slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in
the world. I let out a single laugh at his response, rolling my eyes as I
replied.
“Get in line because everyone here wants something that will never
happen.” My own words struck me as cold and hopeless. So infinitely
hopeless that I felt that dark void crack open once more and threaten to
swallow me up.
“You never used to say things like that. You’d always have a solution,”
he said. His defiance wasn’t easing up even for a moment.
With a small, careless shrug, I finally looked up at him, those eyes locked
on me.
“Consider me out of solutions. It’s over, Ben. I suggest you let it go.”
And with that, I made my escape, heading down the hall and
disappearing into my classroom, praying he would move on and annoy
somebody who still had the energy to care.
OceanofPDF.com
 Three
Means Something - Lizzie McAlpine

“M adison, are you chewing gum?” I said, loud enough to be heard

across the classroom; the teacher’s voice was really a skill
honed over years of practice. It was a balance of total authority, absolute
righteousness, and a dash of snark. On the right day, the tone could
command a room of rowdy teenagers into order.
However, that day was not today.
“No, Miss,” Jessica argued before returning to her conversation with the
other girls crowded around her table, her blonde hair twisting around her
finger.
“You know the rules. Put it in the trash.”
She pushed her chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor before
stomping over to the trash can, and spitting the gum directly into the can,
her eyes boring into me the entire time. This girl was going to murder me
over a piece of goddamn gum.
As she huffed back to her place, she passed some examples of the work
that the students were supposed to be studying.
 Electric Prisms, an example of the brilliant simultanism work of Sonia
Delaunay, featured two large overlapping circles created with arcs of
primary and secondary colors placed beside each other. The rest of the area
is covered by colors in various shapes–geometric, arcs, rectangles, ovals–all
abstract and connected, sewn together like a tapestry of paint and color. It
reminded me a bit of a patchwork blanket made of mad shapes and colors.
The challenge for the class was to mimic the style of her art but make it
their own with their own shapes and colors. It was something I thought
would be easy enough for them to do, but I began to think I might have
overestimated the attention span of these teens.
A loud knock pulled my attention from the class, and I looked over to the
opening door to see Rob sticking his head into the room. The class instantly
fell silent, a few students being shoved by their friends to shut up before
they pulled the attention of the principal. Well, at least somebody held some
authority with them.
“Hello Ms. Davis, can I have a word?” he asked, pulling the door open
further. A buzz of “ooh” rumbled around the room, the students grinning
my way.
“When I come back, I’ll be calling some of you up to show what you’ve
done so far, so I’d focus if I were you,” I challenged as I walked across the
room, weaving in and out of the desks before following Rob out, the oohs
making way for whispered curses.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” He spoke as the
door closed softly, his expression unreadable. He was older than Hanna and
I, I’d never asked how much, but old enough to have a few wrinkles
creasing around his eyes.
“Good news, I guess.”
 “I found some room in the budget to keep your after-school class going
until the holidays. I know it’s not the entire year, but it might give you
enough time to find some alternative funding.” He smiled, just as my legs
almost gave out with relief. Funding–thank God.
“Rob, I don’t even know–” I began to say, but he was already cutting me
off with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t, not until I tell you the bad news.”
I paused, waiting for him to continue. How bad could it be?
“I made room in the budget by putting off some building work that can
wait, but it means I have to move a classroom about.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound like a problem. There’s a classroom just down
the hall that’s barely used,” I replied, not seeing the big deal. Sure, the
classroom down the hall was a pit, but it meant I got my club. I’m sure if I
gave whoever was moving there a hand, we could have the room reasonable
in no time. But judging from the grimace on Rob’s face, it wasn’t as simple
as that.
“Well... first off, I’m glad you brought that room up, because that’s
exactly the one I had in mind…” he trailed off, his hand rising to rub the
back of his neck as he broke eye contact, instead staring uncomfortably at
the floor. A knot formed instantly in the pit of my stomach, that unease
growing and knocking me nauseous. I needed to hear it from him. I would
refuse to believe this nightmare otherwise. “But you should know... It’s...
Physics.”
The other shoe finally dropped. That meant one person: Ben. Fucking.
Bennett.
“I don’t have a choice. It’s this, or no club,” he stated, his hands up in the
air defensively.
 Currently the only thing keeping that man alive was the distance between
us. His classroom being on the other side of campus gave me time to walk
off my rage, to get tired before I could track him down and scream at him
for whatever atrocity he had committed. Normally, I’d end up passing
Hanna’s classroom and get distracted. And Ben Bennett would continue,
not realizing how lucky he was to still be kicking.
Moving him down the hall, however, meant that safe distance was
removed.
“Are you trying to send me to prison? Because I can hardly walk down
the same corridor as him without him reminding me why I want to murder
him so much.”
Rob’s eyebrow twerked upwards. “You really hate him that much?”
“He’s impossible to work with. Always has been, always will be. It’s not
just that he’s incapable of teamwork, he doesn’t want to get along with me.”
“You aren’t much nicer to him.”
I shook my head. “I doubt that very much. Even since that first day he’s
never treated me or my department with any respect. He’s constantly
making snide little remarks, singling my department–and music–out for
cuts or to give up resources because either he doesn’t think it’s important, or
because they are the only two departments with female heads.”
“Olive, he works closely with math and that’s Mariana’s department.”
“Well, there has to be some reason he’s constantly picked on our
departments. Is that the behavior I’m supposed to put up with?”
“Do I really need to remind you about the beaker situation?”
Ah crap. Rob must have seen the realization on my face as I tried not to
recall the one time I had been close to finally pulling off revenge against
Ben.
 I had just been informed the field trip I’d been budgeting and scrimping
for had been axed completely. Ben had overheard we had enough budget to
take the students away somewhere and had suggested it be reallocated to his
department. Furious hadn’t covered it. I’d managed to juggle three extra
classes so we could afford that trip, and it was gone in the time it took to
read one snarky email from the dickhead.
So naturally, I was out for blood. I wanted to take something from him,
and I had thought it would be ironic to take something of his, something he
loved, and turn it into art. I’d been scrambling around the science
department supply cupboard searching for something to steal when the
sound of the door locking behind me startled me, causing me to take a step
back into the trolley that held the glassware for the whole department.
“The school’s entire supply of beakers. Gone. In an instant. Because of
you and your need for revenge,” Rob stated plainly.
Worse yet, I’d had to replenish the stock out of my own pocket. I swear
I’d been forced to pay for some fancy beakers instead of just the regular
stock because that shit was expensive. And was there anything worse than
personally funding your nemesis’ department?
“That was one time.”
“There were other times, Olive. I need you to both put aside your
differences and work together. If you can’t, then I’ll rescind the funding and
cut the clubs permanently.”
“How is this even supposed to work?”
It was his turn to shrug. “That’s for the two of you to sort out. This is the
solution you wanted. You get your group, he gets his. This gives you both
the time you need to find the funding.”
 He was right. I knew he was right. But he also knew our history, and he
was still asking me to get on with him. For the club. For the students. Could
that be enough for me? To let go of the years of anger, years of games and
fights. In the end, it had to be. Even if it felt like I was about to pour
gasoline all over myself and trust Ben with a pack of matches.
I sighed, resigning myself to my fate as I nodded at him. “Fine. I will try
to behave. But you’ve got to give him the same warning,” I fired back,
almost trying to imagine Ben’s reaction to it. It was probably pretty similar
to my own.
“Already did, and he agreed not to antagonize you anymore.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I grumbled under my breath. One of Rob’s
eyebrows twitched upwards. I sighed. “I’ll be good, promise.”
He nodded, his look turning solemn, “I know this isn’t ideal, but I’m
trying my best here.”
“I know,” I sent him a small reassuring smile, trying to ignore the
twisting in my gut. Then, a question rose up. “Rob?”
“Yeah?” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly going dry. “The vice principal role...
can anyone apply?”
“Oh,” he replied, suddenly uneasy on his feet. “Technically yes, the
application is open to all teachers.” He looked away for a moment, scanning
the hall around us before stepping closer. “I should warn you, Olive, as a
friend.” My heart paused in my chest, palms turning clammy. “The final
decision isn’t up to me. Of course I have sway but there is a panel including
the superintendent who will be making the decision.”
“That seems fair,” I replied, my voice matching his hushed tone. Rob’s
gaze dipped to the floor for a moment. When it returned to mine, his lips
were pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed.
“They... they have expressed a strong preference for teachers with a
STEM background to fill the role, given the importance of those subjects to
the parents.”
His words clanged around my brain, my gut wrenching uncomfortably as
I drew in a deep, sharp breath.
“I know that’s not what you want to hear, but know if you apply, I’ll treat
your application like any other teacher. I don’t want to discourage you from
applying. I’d be happy to see you go for it–you are a very impressive
teacher. It’s only a warning you’ll have an uphill battle impressing them.”
His words did little to soothe my building frustration: first Ben, now this
panel. Why was it so difficult to be taken as seriously as other subjects? As
other teachers? I worked as hard, day in and day out, just to be told I wasn’t
as good as somebody else, that Art wasn’t important. I wanted to scoff, to
tell him to stuff the job and give it to whoever they wanted. But then I’d be
at someone else’s mercy. The question begged... whose mercy?
“Have other teachers asked you about the position yet?” the question
rolled off my tongue, but with a surge of confidence, I pressed on. “Has...
Ben asked?”
He hesitated, pausing so long I was sure I had crossed the line of what
our friendship would offer, but then he spoke, voice quieter than before.
“Other teachers have asked, yes.” He ended with a small, sharp nod, his
eyes on mine. The certainty of what I had to do became clear.
“Where can I get an application?” I pressed, somehow keeping the
shakiness from my voice.
“You know, applying for the role won’t mean you can save the clubs. I
mean it when I say there is no more budget,”
 I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
He cleared his throat, shooting me a look of doubt. But I clarified,
somehow keeping my cool.
“I’m tired of being affected by the changes. I thought maybe in this role,
I could affect the change instead. I would be in a better position to help the
school.”
That, and over my dead body would I let Ben become vice without a
fight.
“The application should be live on our website this afternoon,” Rob said,
before smiling slightly, “I look forward to reading your application. You’ve
done a lot for your students during your time here,”
“Anyway, thanks. I should get back in there before they start a riot.” I
looked away, my focus pulling to inside the classroom where noise was
beginning to exceed regular limits.
“Want me to stick my head back in? Threaten a few detentions?” he
offered, edging towards the door, but I shook my head.
“Thanks, but I can handle them.”
He nodded, before turning to walk down the hall, but paused for a
moment and looked over at me again. “It would be good to have you on the
team. Vice Principal Davis has a good ring to it.”
I gave him a small smile, his words doing little to soothe my growing
nerves. He returned the smile, before turning completely and walking down
the hall. Letting out a deep sigh, I reached for the door handle, resigning
myself to my fate, before opening the door and disappearing inside the
classroom.

OceanofPDF.com
 Four
Trashfire - Tommy Lefroy

A ll was quiet on the Western Front. If the Western Front was the spare
room down the hall that Ben was due to invade at any moment.
After Rob broke the news he’d be hosting classes in that room, I’d barely
seen Ben around. There had been the odd sighting in the teacher’s lounge
over breaks and lunches, but he had yet to venture into my department.
Not that I was complaining. The longer he spent away, the better. In fact,
when days turned into a week, I’d begun to wonder if he’d decided he
didn’t need the room at all. Which seemed unlikely given how he’d
normally raid whatever resource he could from art as soon as he possibly
could.
But alas, I’d known the peace wouldn’t hold.
I was in the middle of attempting to grade a poorly written essay on the
Impressionism movement during a free period on Tuesday, when I spotted
him through the window on my door, staring right at me from the room
across from mine. As soon as I spotted him, his head snapped straight, his
attention locking onto something more interesting in the classroom. The
movement had been so fast it had me doubting whether he’d even been
looking this way at all. That is, if he hadn’t half fallen out of his chair with
shock that I’d looked back.
Unusually, I found myself stifling a laugh at him, almost gleeful I’d
caught him so off guard. The sight was so hilarious, I almost forgot to be
annoyed at him. Almost, being the key word.
While the room was usually empty, it hadn’t been the dark and dingy
room he was supposed to be in. That was down the hall. Literally as far as
possible from my room as you could get in this department. I’d checked on
it a few days ago, to make sure it was as horrible as I remembered it was.
The temperature control was completely unreliable, almost all the desks in
the room were half broken, rocking annoyingly from side to side when you
wrote, and to make sure it was extra intolerable, I’d even found myself
down on my knees, using a ruler as a makeshift screwdriver to loosen the
teacher’s desk chair screws. Somehow with my genius sabotaging skills, I’d
even managed to break the height adjuster so the chair couldn’t be moved
from its shortest height. I had grinned for hours after, just imagining Ben
sitting down, his head barely appearing above the desk because of the
broken chair.
It was a perfect hellscape, so I had no doubt Ben would thrive in that
environment. And yet there he was, sitting in the wrong, perfectly
functional room.
I gripped my pen tightly, trying to smother the rage that was threatening
to build. Having him down the hall was one nightmare I’d learn to tolerate.
Having him across the hall was like waking up from that nightmare only to
realize that there really was an ax wielding clown called Wiggles chasing
after you.
 Breathe. I could breathe and calm down and not storm over there and
demand to know why he was in the wrong room. My gaze floated to the
clock on the wall.
11.51am.
Just eight more minutes, and the bell would ring for lunch. I had to hold
out for nine–wait, no–eight more minutes.
I looked down at the paper in front of me, the pile higher than I would’ve
liked considering I’d been at this for almost an hour. I had to get through
some more or I’d end up having to take them home.
I read the first sentence.
‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement characterized by
relatively small...’
Then again, the words were not being processed at all.
‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement characterized by
relatively small, thin, yet visible brush strokes, open composition, emphasis
on accuracy…’
I felt that burning need to look again. Maybe this time I could really
make him jump out of his chair. Maybe he’d be looking back at me again–
but what if he wasn’t and he caught me looking over at him? I could see his
face all twisted up with a grin and that familiar, stupid smugness.
I couldn’t let him win. Not again. Never again.
My eyes floated to the paper again. First sentence. One more time.
‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement…’
The bell rang and I jumped out of my seat, flinging myself out of the
classroom and towards the hall. I realized my fatal flaw too late as I headed
straight for his room, the door to which was wide open, but weirdly none of
the students had moved an inch since the bell–something I thought was a
physical impossibility. Normally students practically fled my class as soon
as the bell rang, but this class had stayed in place. Maybe he was one of
those teachers who forced their students to remain after the bell under threat
of death or extra homework. ‘The bell is for me and not for you’–the kind
of teacher I’d learned to despise while growing up.
“So, it doesn’t mean the world is tied together with strings?” I heard a
student ask, all eyes still on Ben, who was leaning casually against the front
of his desk facing them. I was about to knock, interrupting the conversation,
when he reacted, smiling at the question before he shook his head. His hair
caught the sunlight from the nearby window, the brown coming alive.
“No, that’s not what string theory is about. It’s a different way of thinking
about how particles work. Instead of imagining these electrons and protons
as small spheres, string theory suggests they are more like loops of
vibration, each with its own individual frequency that helps identify what it
is.”
The class was silent for a moment as they processed the information–
hell, even I found myself thinking for a moment, rewriting the information
that had been stored away and forgotten about since my own high school
education.
“And this is like... real?” Another student piped up, and Ben let out a
small laugh, a different laugh I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him. And it
was then I realized this was my first real look at Teacher Ben.
I’d always imagined him to be everything I hated about my own science
teacher: old and dusty and boring as hell to listen to. But, here he was,
engaging an entire class well into their lunch time, answering questions that
seemed too advanced for the syllabus.
 This was a Ben I’d never known–one who was pleasant, and maybe even
fun to be around. And his smile…there was a lightness to it I couldn’t quite
identify.
“Oh God, no, it’s not proven. String theory requires at least ten
dimensions whereas our universe has four.”
I figured from the silence of the class they were as lost as I was on
dimensions. I tried to think back to what superhero films over the last
decade had taught me about the universe, but I doubted that had much
relevance.
“But it’s our best unifying theory for quantum mechanics and general
relativity, two theories that are widely accepted, with one dealing with the
big stuff, the other the tiniest,” Ben went on. “But they break down when
we try to describe the Big Bang and the depths of black holes. String theory
ties them both together–excuse the pun.”
Puns! Teacher Ben told puns! Who was this man?
“But it doesn’t work,” another student spoke up, before wildly waving
their hands in the air, “in this universe.”
“Not yet,” he grinned. “But it’s still our best guess.”
It was then he looked my way, eyes dancing over me as I stood in the
threshold of the classroom. He turned back to the class, dismissing them for
lunch, before returning to me and beckoning me in with a slight nod of his
head.
“Fancy running into you here, Ms. Davis,” Ben said, his back turned to
me as he walked around to the other side of his desk. Students began to
shuffle past me as they left, some familiar faces smiling up at me, while
others narrowed their eyes, before whispering to friends. I only took a few
steps inside, keeping the exit within easy reach.
 “You mean across the hall from the room I teach in for seven hours a
day?” My voice was dripping in sarcasm, but it did little to erase the grin
growing on his face. Why did I feel like I was walking straight into a trap?
“What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be down the hall.”
That caught his attention, his head snapping up from his desk as the last
of the students walked out, leaving us alone.
“Did Rob not tell you?”
“He did.”
His shoulders eased as he replied, “So you know precisely why I’m
slumming it in here.”
“I meant here,” I clarified, motioning to the room around us. “This isn’t
the room you were supposed to be in.”
“I know,” he said, his attention returning to the papers on his desk.
Frustration stirred within me, but I tried to remember my promise to Rob.
I had to be better than him. That had to be easy, right?
“Can you move there next period?” I don’t know why I bothered to frame
it like a question when I should have told him he was moving, taken control
and commanded him to move.
“No.”
Briefly, I imagined leaping over the desk and wrapping my hands around
his neck. If only he knew that this space was for his own good.
“Why not?” I watched as he pulled a battered leather satchel up from
under the desk. The green material of his shirt went taut on his arms, subtly
hinting at what muscles the rolled up sleeves hid, and despite the
frustration, the anger, I found my eyes glued to the movement, found myself
wondering exactly what that material covered, what he looked like...
 “Call it a hostile takeover.” He finally looked up at me, my gaze instantly
snapping back to his face, hoping he hadn’t caught me staring. The playful
glint in his eyes told me there was a chance he had.
“I’m serious, what if another class was supposed to be in here?” I tried to
claw back any embarrassment I might have caused myself with my
wandering eyes.
“Then it wouldn’t have been empty, would it?”
How could he be so cocky? So self-assured? I’d love to wipe that smirk
off his lips, take the playful glint in his eyes and turn it all around on him.
“That’s not the point,” I argued, my cheeks burning slightly “You can’t...
you can’t just come in and start using the wrong room.”
“You can’t have been serious about that room, it’s barely bigger than a
closet.” He shouldered his bag and picking up his phone from the desk.
“And it was completely unsuitable. Not that this room is much better, but at
least the lights work.”
“Well, I use this room.” I didn’t dare mention that I only really used it to
escape my classroom when I felt like screaming at my students; he didn’t
need to know that. “Besides... there’s rules.” That argument was lame, even
as I said it, I knew. But I was very quickly running out of options as he
slowly started to inch closer and closer to me, my mind struggling to focus.
“Oh, and what sort of rules should I expect to have to follow?” His voice
dropped an octave as an eyebrow twitched upwards. My train of thought
fell right off the end of an unfinished bridge, like in an old western,
crashing uselessly into a wreck at the bottom of a ravine. There was hunger
in those darkened eyes, looking at me like I was some tiny delectable
French dessert.
 My back stiffened defensively as a knot pulled inside of me, an old
familiar urge coming to life again. But... for him? Maybe I really needed to
get laid.
“Well for one, don’t take over a room without talking to me.”
“And what’s going to happen if I do that, Ms. Davis?” Closer and closer
he stepped, every inch that disappeared between us causing an ache inside
of me to grow slightly. “Because as far as I can tell, you can’t stick me in
detention. And I’ve had my eye on this room all week. It’s been empty the
entire time so I know you can’t use it that often.”
“I could tell Rob.” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew that wasn’t
an option anymore, knew we both were aware that wasn’t an option
anymore. Not with both of our clubs in the balance. We had to get along, or
the little funding left for the club would disappear, along with any chance to
save it. Not to mention the promotion. I doubt they’d want to give the job to
someone who couldn’t get on with other members of staff.
And then finally he was right in front of me, so close I could smell
cologne that I’d later hate myself for wondering the brand of. Cursing the
difference in our heights, I tilted my head backwards to hold his gaze, kept
looking into those eyes until slowly, and in a voice that was so quiet it was
barely a whisper, he said, “I don’t think you will, Ms. Davis.”
My cheeks burned at the obvious truth of it, and the curve that grew
across his lips told me he knew he’d caught me in the lie. Without saying
another word, he stepped past me heading for the exit, before stopping
turning.
“Are you coming or are you going to hang out in my classroom for the
rest of lunch?” He spoke.
 I didn’t even bother to answer him, the embarrassment too uncontrolled
to hide as I followed him up the hallway.
We were near silent as we made our way down the hall, side by side. I
tried to slow down, to put some space between us but he’d just slow down
with me, shooting me a strange look that had me glancing away awkwardly.
As soon as we made it to the teacher’s lounge, I practically ran straight
for the fridge where there was a salad waiting for me. I sat in mine and
Hanna’s usual space, a small round table with two seats sitting opposite
each other and waited for her to appear. Overwhelmed by hunger, I began
shoveling leaves into my mouth, stomach growling as I did. I tried to ignore
it, telling myself that I’d reward myself with a burger later, –but for now,
health.
Then something weird happened. Ben, of all people, pulled out the
second seat, and plonked his butt down, opening up his lunch–a pre-
prepared sandwich–and peered over at mine.
“You don’t look much like a salad girl,” he remarked, and I was almost
stunned into silence.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I finally shot back, still reeling from
shock.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, his eyes going wide as he thought his words
through, probably realizing what I had heard. “Just, I don’t think I’ve ever
seen you eating anything green before. Or even remotely healthy for that
matter.”
“People can change,” I replied with a shrug.
It was true, people could change. I, however, hadn’t. Over the summer,
my living situation had changed, so now there was somebody at home
insisting on prepping my lunches. And sure, they were remarkably healthier
than my lunches that I used to purchase from local food trucks with
offerings from delicious authentic burritos stuffed with slow braised beef
and chorizo. But did salads, no matter how fresh and crisp, really hold a
candle to a deliciously seared burgers loaded with chilli, cheese and onions?
I was yet to decide.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you have even noticed what I eat, Ben?
Obsessed much?” The last bit was a joke, but I watched his gaze flicker up
from his own food for a moment, just a single moment, and I could’ve
sworn I saw something close to panic before he pulled himself together and
shrugged. He took a bite of his own lunch.
“Why are you here?” I asked, my fork still hanging from my hand in
midair.
“I’m eating lunch,” he answered slowly, keeping his eyes on me as he
took a bite of the bread.
I rolled my eyes, before clarifying, “Why are you eating lunch here?”
“It’s the teacher’s lounge. Isn’t this where we eat lunch?”
“You know what I mean.” I swear to God we had just had this exact same
interaction a few minutes ago. “Would it kill you to actually answer one of
my questions? Why are you sitting with me?”
He sighed, putting down his food to look at me properly. “I know this is a
high school, Olive, but you don’t need to be so dramatic.”
“I am no-” I immediately went to deny, but the look he shot at me made
me reconsider. I was arguing with him over a chair, but it was the way he
was about it. All difficult and not ever giving me a straight answer. I took a
breath in, trying to sooth the irritation he caused before trying again. “It’s
just... that’s Hanna’s seat.”
“And she can’t sit anywhere else?”
 My answer fell out of my mouth, a simple, short, “No.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, before he retorted “Can’t she pull up one
of these other spare seats, and eat with us?”
The word clanged round my head like a bell. Us? Who was us? I didn’t
get a chance to ask as a flash of black curls appeared, chair dragging on the
thinly carpeted floor behind her.
“Hey, how’s your day going? Murder any students yet because I was this
close to telling Theo Brady to eat ass,” Hanna spoke, surprisingly cheerful.
Meanwhile, I was in a frozen state of anger, as Ben leaned back, the
smugness painted on. It was unbearable.
“My day’s been swell so far,” he answered, not taking his eyes off me for
a moment. Swell? Who was he? Ned Flanders? My hand gripped my fork
even tighter as he continued speaking. “New classroom with AC that
actually works. Couldn’t be better, thank you.”
I didn’t bother to even look up from the table where I scowled at one
small crumb left behind. One crumb that was just going to stay there and
accept the wrathful vibes I was mentally sending its way.
“And new hallway neighbor,” Hanna reminded with a smile, as I
imagined stabbing her lightly with my fork for the reminder, my gaze
shooting up from the crumb and up at her graceful face, a glint of sick
pleasure at my torture in her eyes.
“Yes, that too,” Ben said, looking over at me with a wide grin that could
rival the Cheshire Cats. “And she’s already been over to yell at me.”
“I didn’t yell,” I finally retorted “And if you’d just use the right room,
maybe we wouldn’t have to talk at all.” I wasn’t sure if I misread him, but I
could’ve sworn his back stiffened at my words, the playful look faltering,
for a moment before an unreadable mask covered it up.
 “And what a challenge that will be.” His words had an unmistakable
sharp edge, all jokiness gone. “Anyway, I’ll see you both around.” Without
much argument from the two of us, he gathered up the rest of his lunch and
finally left.
“What was that about?” Hanna turned to me as soon as he was out of
earshot, eyes narrowed on me.
“I have no idea, he just sat down and started talking to me.” Relief at her
picking up how awkward that entire interaction had been washed over me.
“No, not him. You.”
I gawked at her, almost offended.
“Me? What did I do?” My voice came out as a shriek before I
remembered to keep it down, not wanting anyone nearby to overhear.
“He seemed like he was trying to be nice, and you shut him down.”
“Hanna, you didn’t see him. He was being difficult and annoying. I swear
that man doesn’t have a nice bone in his body.”
She looked away from me with a small shrug of her shoulder. “You
seemed... I’ve never seen you act this way with anyone. Even before the
summer, you’d always try to be nice to him. And now you have the chance
to work with him and wear him down with your usual Olive shine, it’s... it’s
like you would rather be anywhere else than here.”
My grip on my fork loosened involuntarily, forcing me to place it down
on the table as my stomach churned uncomfortably.
“I... I don’t know, Han.” I could barely hear the words myself, something
deep down inside of me cracking open. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll try?” She asked, putting out a hand to meet mine. I almost
flinched at the touch, managing to still myself before she could react to the
sudden movement.
 I swallowed, trying to find the words, the strength to talk. For a moment,
I scanned around the room, making sure nobody else was paying attention
to our conversation. It was one thing to open up to Hanna, completely
different for another co-worker to overhear.
“It’s like... ever since school started up again, everything bas become so
hard. I knew it would be difficult coming back but I expected it to be more
of a distraction from her.”
“But it’s not.”
“I feel like... like I’m failing on all fronts, and everything I do to try and
fix it is wrong.” I finally choked out, trying to keep my voice quiet, keep
anyone from actually hearing me.
“Has it felt like this since we came back?”
I shook my head, my gaze floating down to the table again. All summer
I’d done nothing but sink further into this murky feeling, this exhaustion.
She was asking where my light had gone, when I’d stopped feeling joy. But
I wasn’t even sure how to be happy without feeling a giant wave of
tiredness and grief crashing into me, pulling me back down.
“Since she passed?”
Dad had called when he was on his way to the hospital, telling me that
Mom had an accident, that it was serious, and I should meet him there. I’d
been out, having a few first days of summer celebratory drinks with friends.
I’d been smiling and having fun while she died.
Another small nod of my head answered her question.
She sighed deeply, her hand on mine squeezing softly. I didn’t want this,
didn’t want to talk or discuss this. I could be nicer to Ben, hide away from
this conversation and be left alone.
“Have you spoken to a doctor? Or thought about it?”
 I pressed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath before finding some
remaining strength to look at her again.
“A few weeks ago, they... They gave me anti-depressants. And I take
them, at least, I do try to remember to take them. They make me tired–more
tired than I already am. But I need to take them for longer before they can
start to help.” I remember they told me that, along with a long list of rules
of things not to do, and an even longer list of terrifying side effects.
She nodded along, before asking, “Have you spoken to anyone about
this? Your dad?”
“No, he’s... he’s doing better.” I stumble through the memories of those
first few weeks, the funeral. I’d never seen him like that before, without his
smile and that little crinkle in his forehead. It broke my heart. “He’s doing
better, I don’t want to put this on him.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her throat bobbing from words unsaid.
She looked away from me for the first time, and I could practically hear her
next words before she had even said them. Before she had a chance to argue
a counterpoint, I cut her off.
“I can handle this, Hanna. I’m handling it.” I kept my voice strong,
unwavering, despite the unease in my stomach, despite my fingernails
digging into the palm of my hands. “I need to give these meds some time to
help, it just takes time.”
She softened, relenting slightly as she replied, “Well... if you ever feel
like you might…”
“I know.” I forced a smile, making sure to meet her gaze and squeeze her
hand. She returned it, a bit more unsteady than my own, but enough to
know I could finally change the subject. “Anyway, I heard you were
planning yet another night out.”
 She waved a hand at me. “You know we love a night out.”
I stifled a chuckle, but never bothered to argue. It was true, we had a
great turn out whenever there was a staff social; whether it was a birthday
or a leaving party, almost everyone except from some of the more reserved
members of staff attended. It always helped that Rob would bankroll the
first round too.
“Besides it’s a good way to integrate the new teachers,” she added,
eyeing up some of the newbies to the staff, who were keeping to themselves
and looking a little too reserved. The sooner everyone became friends, the
better.
“True.”
“So, are you going to come along?” She placed her elbows on the table,
resting her head on top of her hands as she gazed lovingly over at me. I
raised an eyebrow
“I’ll see.”
“No! You have to come, there’s karaoke!”
“God, another reason to stay home.”
“You love our duets,” Hanna whined as I fought the urge to roll my eyes
at her.
“I love you,” I corrected. “I don’t exactly love embarrassing myself in
front of the entire faculty.”
“Get enough tequila in you and you won’t know the difference.” A smile
broke out of my lips, despite my reluctance.
“Trust you to turn to alcohol.”
With a knowing smile and a soft shrug, she replied, “What can I say?
Don Julio is my partner in crime.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Five
Garden Song - Phoebe Bridges

T he rest of the day passed in a blur, and before I knew it, I was home.
Crashing into the couch in the living room, I took a moment to
relax, finally feeling the weight of the day release. I’d moved back home
over the summer. I’d been spending all my days here anyway, staying close
to Dad and helping him with whatever he needed.
Hanna wasn’t entirely convinced of the plan when I told her. She’d
worried that being back would be too much. And while it was hard
sometimes being in the space that was so strongly connected to her, it was
also where I felt closest to her, closest to the happy memories that I was
trying to hold onto so tightly. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Looking around the living room I let myself linger in the memories for a
moment, reminiscing on cuddling up on this very couch with Mom
watching The Great British Baking Show while Dad was away at work, the
baking we’d done together when I was a kid only to nearly burn down the
house, the hours sat beside her learning piano, my fingers aching.
 Meatball, my mom’s black Pomeranian, jumped up onto the couch with
me, forcing a big smile as I looked at her cute little face. She was a small
fluffy dog I’d thought was completely ridiculous at first–especially with a
name like Meatball–but I’d soon come to love her, especially being here so
often. You never felt lonely with her around.
“What are you doing sitting in the dark?” My father’s head popped out
from the kitchen, the most beautiful aroma of garlic and rosemary floating
in the air.
“Oh nothing, I just got home,” I replied, watching as he stepped into the
room and turned on a corner light, illuminating the dark space. I turned my
attention back to the small dog, giving into her small demands for pets and
ran my hand over her fluff.
“Be careful, she’s shedding, you’ll be covered in that little bastard’s black
hair before you know it,” Dad swore. I let out a gasp.
“Meatball, he didn’t mean to call you such a bad name! Such a rude
name!” I cried, replacing the pillow with the little dog and squeezing her to
my body.
“Well, maybe if she didn’t want to earn such a name she’d stop eating my
shoes!” He shook his fist at the dog in frustration, but I just rolled my eyes.
Dad vs Meatball was a well battled war in this house–with the small toy-
like dog winning over and over again. Luckily for her, Meatball had
cuteness on her side and after a few weeks even Dad had ended up
harboring a secret love for her. I swore he loved her like a child. The dog
might’ve eaten better than me some nights. He’d never wanted a pet. I’d
gone almost every day of my childhood begging my parents for one, only
for Mom to go out and adopt one the day I graduated from college without
so much as a discussion with my dad. He had started with ‘the dog isn’t
coming inside the house, she can live in the garden’ to the dog sleeping on
the bed by the end of the week.
“Maybe if you put your shoes away, she wouldn’t get to eat them.”
Dad looked straight at me, a sad smile on his face, and I knew what he
wanted to say–but neither of us would dare.
That’s exactly what your mother would say.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, putting the dog back on the floor and
pushing myself up from the cushions.
“Coq Au Vin.”
Dad was a born chef, which was lucky because Mom and I had
absolutely no sense in the kitchen. I could make grilled cheese, but that was
about the limit of my skills. I could help with chopping and basic tasks, but
the actual cooking had always been left to Dad, and he was happy to do it.
Which was great because the alternative was food poisoning.
I followed him back into the kitchen, the warm air filled with the
delicious smell of the chicken. Looking at him again, I noticed that his
clothes were still a little loose fitting but overall, he was looking better. Dad
had really struggled that first month. He’d stopped eating completely,
barely left the house. I think having me around to feed had really helped,
giving him a reason to find his passion for something again. But now he’d
taken over my lunches, announcing that he wouldn’t let me eat such
processed crap (his words not mine; I loved that processed crap) while I
lived under this roof. I’d been thankful that he wasn’t aware of my college
diet that primarily consisted of Cool Ranch Doritos and instant mac and
cheese.
Without saying anything else to each other, we fell into our usual rhythm.
He served up the dinner, while I set the table and poured us each a small
glass of red wine. We both sat down together at the table, like we had done
for so many years. On bad days, we’d eat silently, all too aware of the
empty chair to our left. Today, however, we ate with comfortable
conversation. He asked about my classes, if I had much grading to do, any
trouble with any of the students, and I asked him how he’d spent his day.
On Thursdays and Fridays, he worked at a local bistro. He’d retired a few
years ago but had found it too hard to give up completely. He’d always
come home glowing, and I’d always asked him why he didn’t try to pick up
more shifts. But he’d shrug me off, calling himself an old man. My heart
squeezed too tightly when he said that.
“Are you finished?” I asked, indicating to his nearly empty plate. He
nodded, and I stood to take our plates to the dishwasher when he gruffly
coughed, clearing his throat.
“Olive, I was thinking about your mom’s things,” he started.
“What about them?” I slowly sat back down, watching him as his gaze
lowered to the table, that all too familiar fog of sadness drifting over him. I
hated the way his shoulders dipped when he spoke about her. He used to
smile when he saw her, now even just mentioning her was painful.
I can’t even remember the last time I heard her name spoken aloud.
“I was hoping we could go through them. You know her, she kept
everything, and I want to make a little space,” he added, wiping a little at
his mustache.
“I... I don’t know.” My full stomach churned at the thought, the very idea
of going through her things; opening the door to her study and flicking
through her notes, seeing her handwriting, sorting out her books. “Can I
think about it?”
 I wanted out, away from this conversation, from this pressure that was
rising so high it was getting harder and harder to breathe in and out,
squeezing all the air out of the room. Did he want to go through her
clothes? What would we do with them? How... how could we know what to
keep, where to put everything?
He nodded in response, his lips pressing together in a thin line of
disappointment. I wanted to make him happy, tell him I could do this with
him, but everything was screaming at me to get out, to avoid that question
before I exploded.
I stood up, the rush causing my head to burst with dizziness as I tried to
walk on unsteady legs to the dishwasher.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked, his voice still wavering. I placed the dishes
on top of the counter before gripping it for support.
“I-I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. I’ll probably go upstairs and get
some painting done.”
His eyebrows furrowed, the firm wrinkles in his forehead creasing with
worry. I prepared myself for more questions, to have to fight him to leave
me be, but instead he settled.
“I understand. I’ll take Meatball for a walk and let you get some peace.”
I thanked him as I headed upstairs, the dizziness easing only slightly as I
left, only to be replaced quickly with guilt. I gripped the stairs railing too
tightly as I climbed, anger at myself raging inside the pit of my stomach. I
needed to be stronger, needed to be a better daughter. I was supposed to be
here for him but instead I was slinking off to my room to hide.
I nearly let myself climb into bed, the temptation to bundle myself away
and hide overwhelming. But instead, the blank canvas I’d set up in the
corner of my room caught my eye. I sat down opposite the clean white
surface. How many weeks ago had I set this up?
Closing my eyes, I saw the white hot rage. At Ben, that smirking jerk,
and how even after I’d pointed out he was in the wrong room, he’d stayed
and refused to change. At the school, the frustration of the job. At…at Dad.
I didn’t want to go through her things. Couldn’t he see I wasn’t ready, that it
was too soon to be sorting her things out?
I felt around the rage, trying to see if I could find any inspiration in it.
Painting had been my therapy, my outlet, for years. Through every emotion
I’d painted, even if it was terrible. It felt like if I could get it out of my body
and onto a canvas, then I could see the problem, find the solution, and sort
it out. But that was until I met grief.
And instead of that well of inspiration, all I found was an impenetrable
brick wall.
I gave up, abandoning hope of finding that flicker. I’d never had a dry
spell like this, not ever. In college, I’d found completing the painting
assignments the easiest to do, the path always clear on what I wanted to do,
wanted to show and convey. It had all been too easy, and now it felt
completely and utterly impossible.
The ache in my heart was all too much. I missed that feeling of getting
what was inside of me out into the world, the painting explaining how I was
feeling better than I could ever put into words.
But for now, it all had to stay inside. Bottled up, till I could get past this
block. If I ever did get past this.
She wasn’t coming back. Maybe the inspiration wasn’t either.

OceanofPDF.com
 Six
Begging For Rain - Maggie Rogers

I t was finally Friday, and I was easily the last to arrive at the bar. it was
already packed with its happy hour regulars as well as the rowdy
teachers all finally glad to be done with the week.
“Olive! You made it!” Hanna cried gleefully when she spotted me. “Rob,
get her a drink!” She yelled, turning towards her husband who was already
being served at the bar.
I grinned back at her, still having my hesitations about coming along. I’d
left the decision right to the last minute, spending at least an hour cuddled
up with Meatball and dreaming of ordering take out and watching movies
all evening. But alas, I had a feeling Hanna would arrive at my doorstep and
drag me out herself if I canceled.
“You look hot, have you done something different with your make-up?”
I looked myself up and down, I’d decided to try and make an effort.
Dress better, feel better–right? At least that had been the logic when I pulled
out a long forgotten dark red dress that I’d bought with great intentions of
wearing all the time, only for it to be pushed to the back of the closet.
 It clung to me, giving me great curves that I usually kept hidden under a
sweater or oversized top. When I’d looked into the mirror, I had to fight the
temptation to tear it off and wear something less nice. I’d paired it with
some converse and a leather jacket, which made me feel more comfortable.
“Nothing new. You look great too,” I smiled, returning the compliment.
Her black hair was down in easy curls, and she was wearing a strappy black
dress paired with some red heels.
“Have you heard from Rosa?” Hanna asked as I furrowed my brows in
question “She said she’s sent you a few texts but you haven’t gotten back to
her.”
Realization surged through me. Even though we no longer worked
together, we had promised to keep in touch. She’d been one of my closest
friends, and we’d had every intention of making time to see each other
when we could. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to reply. “Shit, yeah
she has. I always tell myself I’ll respond later but it slips my mind.” I pulled
up the app, and clicked on her picture, seeing the multiple messages I’d
forgotten to reply to. I’d been a terrible friend, blatantly ignoring the
messages despite our closeness.
In fairness, I’d been struggling to respond to messages that weren’t
urgent. Rosa hadn’t been the only friend I’d been putting off. It was
exhausting to keep up the act, to pretend to so many people that things were
fine and I was fine and everything was fine and not at all on fire. That
getting up for work every day wasn’t a job in itself, and teaching was still
everything it had been to me. Especially when the majority of my friends
were teachers themselves, or in other successful roles. Hearing how well
things were going for them, despite how despicable it made me, it only
made me feel worse about my own performance.
 So I’d started to avoid, and ignore, and disconnect. But clearly Rosa
wasn’t having any of it judging from her multiple texts and even a
prompting from Hanna.
“Who’s out, anyway?” I asked, changing the subject as Rob passed me a
wine glass filled with my usual white.
“The usual crowd, plus the new joiners from English and math,” she
responded before a dark look fell over her features. “And Ben.”
“Ben’s here?”
I wondered what hell had frozen over so he’d come to one of these
events. He never appeared at these things. He was probably too busy at
home torturing puppies or planning mathematical world domination,
whatever that would look like. Hanna nodded slightly, looking a little
awkward. I took a long drink, trying to settle my nerves. Why had I agreed
to come out? It had felt like a bad idea from the start, and now I had to deal
with Ben outside of school hours? Which sadistic bastard had even invited
him?
Without thinking, I scanned the bar, looking for his familiar dark hair. I
wondered how much it would annoy me today, the perfect mess of it all. I
bet it was soft and perfect.
“You know, you and Ben have more in common than you think,” Rob
piped up, joining in the conversation. My head snapped towards him in
disgust, mouth wide open in shock.
“I always thought we were friends, Rob. I thought we were cool.”
“We are cool,” his voice went up an octave, getting all defensive.
“Then why would you go and say something like that?”
“All I’m saying is you both really care about your students and classes,
you both get really good feedback...” he trailed off, the horrified look on my
face telling him to shut up. He looked to Hanna for support, who just
grinned at him.
“I told him not to say anything,” she admitted, looking over at me.
“Well, what did you expect?” I squawked, before taking another
mouthful of my drink.
“Personally,” she started. “I think he actually likes you.”
“Are you actually on drugs?” I retorted, not even able to consider her
words.
She snorted a laugh in response. They weren’t usually this drunk early
on, but given the absolute insanity they were talking about, it seemed more
and more likely.
“Go on, tell her,” Hanna said, looking over at her husband and nudging
his arm.
“No.” He shook his head, looking back down at her, and completely
ignoring me. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“But you did,” the smile across her lips was wide. “And you should tell
her.”
“Tell me what?” I interrupted, my blood thrumming.
Rob opened his mouth to tell me, but Hanna cut him off before he had a
chance.
“He gave up the improvements on his lab to keep the clubs going for a
little longer. Clubs, as in both of them.”
“Who? Ben?” the question tumbled out of my mouth as my eyes darted
between the two of them, searching desperately for answers.
Hanna’s crazed grin dropped momentarily, before she rolled her eyes at
me and said, “No, Santa Claus,” she retorted, before clarifying, “Of course,
Ben.”
 I looked directly at Rob then, who shot one last look of irritation to his
wife, who was back to wildly grinning, before confirming.
“He’s the reason the art club has funding this year. Not me.”
There wasn’t a glimpse of a lie in his eyes. No sign this was some sort of
twisted practical joke and cameras were about to jump out at me at any
moment.
“He only told me earlier today, and obviously I would have told you
sooner but I wanted to see your face,” Hanna added.
Ben, rival, archenemy, and noted art hater, had given up something that
sounded rather important, to keep my club going.
For some reason, all I could think of was the moment after the day in
Rob’s office when he’d told us the clubs were being shut down, when he
caught me coming out of the bathroom. He’d asked me if I was okay. And
he’d... known. Known I wasn’t okay and had done something about it.
But why?
“I think I need another drink,” I murmured, my attention turning to the
now almost empty glass in my hands, my brain completely wiped of any
other intelligent thought. I broke from the couple, who were now bickering
playfully between the two of them about the importance of work/social
boundaries in their relationship.
I forced a smile to my lips as I passed a few of my colleagues, promising
to return for a chat, before landing on the hard wood of the bar, mentally
begging any bartender to quickly find me and put me out of my sober
misery.
“Let me buy your drink, as an apology,” Hanna said, suddenly appearing
by my side.
 “And what about all the therapy I’m going to need?” I asked, but her grin
should’ve given her away as she leaned across the bar and gave our order to
the bartender. As he disappeared to go make the drinks, she answered me.
“Oh boohoo, your hot co-worker did something nice for you.” I opened
my mouth to argue back but she cut me off before I had a chance to answer.
“And don’t tell me you don’t think he’s attractive. I’ve seen you looking.”
“I do not look.” The words fell out as a splutter. I barely believed what I
was saying, something Hanna had no issue calling me on.
“Oh really? Yesterday, when we were talking in your classroom and you
just so happened to look across the hall-”
“There was a... child... running... with scissors,” I lied, trying to keep my
cheeks from going red and hot. I didn’t know if it had been the way he
leaned against his desk, his hands gripping the edge, his navy blue shirt
rolled up halfway his arms. He had looked good, deliciously good. So good
I forgot to hate him for a moment. I found myself imagining how tight a
grip he had, imagining how that new third day stubble would feel against
my skin.
“A child? In a school? How shocking.” Hanna interrupted my train of
thought with a knowing look, and I cursed the fact she could read me so
well.
“It’s just... it’s weird, okay. He’s being nice, and I don’t know why.” I
began to wonder where on earth the bartender had gone so he could save
me from myself.
“I think we both know why,” she sang playfully, and I shot her a plain
look.
“He does not like me, that’s ridiculous.”
 “He doesn’t have to like you,” she reminded me. “You don’t even like
him. But the way you look at each other, I bet the sex would be hot.”
I almost laughed at the thought, before imagining. All the hatred from the
years, the annoyance and the frustration. It had built and built. And recently,
there had been a definite buzz between us, growing so loud it was becoming
impossible to ignore any longer.
Maybe I needed a cold shower.
“Did you apply for that job?” Hanna asked with a little nudge of her arm,
abruptly changing the subject. She stared at me, her eyes lined with smoky
eyeliner.
I groaned slightly. “The application’s been open on my laptop all week.”
I must’ve sat down at least five times to finish it off, but every time I had
ended up online shopping or staring at the questions, unsure where to even
begin with the answers.
“You should apply, you’d be awesome at it,” she smiled reassuringly at
me. “Plus I promise to try my best to swap sexual favors with Rob to make
him more amenable to giving you the job.”
Instantly, the unease shifted and I smiled at her. “I knew I could rely on
you to have my back, but I’m pretty sure Rob isn’t in charge of this
decision.”
She laughed. “Damn, knew I should’ve gone higher up the food chain.”
The bartender returned, but my relief at his sudden appearance was short-
lived as he placed two shot glasses in front of us, before filling them up to
the brim with an all too familiar clear liquid, salt and lime wedges on the
side.
“You can’t be serious.” I looked at Hanna, completely aghast.
 “What? You, Olive Davis, will refuse a drink?” She smirked, and I knew
this level of no bullshit between us was why she was my closest friend.
“No, but it will set my forgiveness back,” I grinned back at her, picking
up the shot glass. We hit them together, before downing the booze. It was
tequila, as predicted, the liquid burning my throat as it went down before
we both grabbed lime slices and sucked the sour fruit. We looked at each
other and laughed. Then, almost reading my mind, Hanna called the
bartender over and ordered two more.

It had been a couple of hours, and I’d found myself a few bars over,
dancing with some co-workers from the art and music departments. We’d
all completed the section of the night where we only complained endlessly
about work and side eyed the more stuck-up departments, and now the
alcohol had loosened us up enough to be dancing wildly to whatever music
the DJ was playing.
Hanna and Rob had left us an hour ago, Rob telling us he had an early
Saturday as he was playing golf with some of the other principals in the
area. Hanna had almost stayed out, but when Rob reminded her that meant
she’d have to make her own way home, she relented, giving me a strong
hug while demanding I let her know when I went home, and to share a taxi
with one of the other teachers when I left.
I passed some of the teachers on the dancefloor, and ended up sticking
with them, dancing to the music the DJ was playing in between karaoke
sets. The DJ called up a couple of the teachers for the next song, and the
opening chords of a too familiar tune started. Immediately my chest went
tight, my heart stopped dead in my chest as the guitar riff began to whine.
 My vision started to spin as I struggled to take in a breath. I was spinning
around, trying to find the exit and fighting to get out of the crowds of
people. The entire room was turning on its axis as my heart thudded against
my chest. I struggled against the crowds of people, praying I didn’t run into
anybody I knew.
Finally, I made it outside, the cool night air shocking me slightly. I
managed to walk away from the entrance, just up the street where I would
have a little bit more privacy before collapsing against the stone building,
dropping onto the dirty ground.
But the song kept playing, over and over, and a familiar and warm floral
scent filled the air around me, choking me until it felt impossible to take in
any fresh air. I saw her smile, bright and completely carefree as her favorite
song played over the radio.
She’d always put it on during those rare truly sunny summer days, when
she’d suddenly appear in my bedroom doorway with a grin as she asked me
if I wanted to go for ice cream. Dad would always be at work, and
sometimes it was the only time we truly had just the two of us.
She’d roll all the car windows down, the warm wind rushing in, and take
the long way to the ice cream parlor, sometimes foregoing the closest for
another town over, just to make the drive longer.
But those summer days were gone.
She... was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
 Gone.
My hands shook hard as I tried to wipe the tears from my face, my lungs
burning for some fresh air as the words echoed around and around. I’d
forgotten how to breathe, how to get control, and instead I kept falling.
Hands appeared on my shoulders, forcing my bent spine to press against
the wall behind me. My vision was so blurry from tears I couldn’t make
them out. I fought the pressure for a moment, pushed against the hands but
they held firm, the coldness of the brick behind me beginning to radiate into
the skin of my back.
“Just breathe.”
The words echoed around me, chasing away the ghosts as it came back
into focus.
“Focus on your breathing, try to hold in a deep breath. I can count with
you,” they commanded, as my tears continued to roll, my breathing still
choppy and out of control. “Hold the breath 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8...
and inhale 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... And again.” I followed, and slowly
I began to regain control.
The world around me slowed down, the tightness in my chest loosening
as my sobs calmed down; the tears were still rolling but I was back in the
driving seat.
“Feeling better, Olive?”
And then it all clicked into place. My head snapped to the right, peering
over my shoulder, until I was staring up at the concerned face of Ben
Bennett.

OceanofPDF.com
 Seven
Let's Fall In Love For The Night -
FINNEAS

I nstantly, I tried to scramble away like a small woodland animal coming

face to face with a fox–a fox with its eyes directly on mine and a look
that screamed danger.
Ben Bennett’s head was all too close to mine. A proximity alarm was
blaring in my brain.
“Is this, okay?” It was his teacher’s tone, firm and authoritative. His
hands were still pressed against my shoulders, practically holding me up
against the wall. His grip was solid, but the contact kept me grounded,
keeping me in my body as the elastic band around my chest oh so slowly
began to ease, still there but my lungs more easily able to inhale. He moved
backwards, still staying on his knees to remain eye level with me. Almost as
soon as he let go of me, I started to tip forward, the strength in my muscles
completely drained.
“Whoa,” he said, catching me before I could fall, his hands firm on my
shoulders as he helped me up. I didn’t flinch under his touch, instead
accepting the help, noticing the delicious coolness that radiated from his
palms. I was burning white hot, my head still spinning. “Has this happened
before?”
“Once.” My voice was hoarse and dry from trying to catch my breath. I
finally looked at him, finding his gaze already on me, soft and... was that
concern? The cold temperature of the brick wall began to soak thankfully
through my clothes, the sensation like the icy cool air from a fan against
sunburned skin.
The last time... had been at the funeral.
Most of that day was lost in a haze, but there was a moment where life
had felt normal. Like she wasn’t dead, none of that had happened. It was
only for a second that I forgot about the grief.
We were waiting in a room, friends and family buzzing in and out as we
got ready for the ceremony to begin, and I had turned to my dad, ready to
ask him if he knew where Mom was. The words were so natural, like an
instinct I had never had to think about before. But as they echoed around
my mind, I fell apart.
Dad looked like he had seen what I’d been about to say, and placed a
steadying hand on my back but it… it wasn’t enough. After retaining
enough composure, I’d excused myself to the bathroom but hadn’t even
made it halfway there before the room started to spin. I’d fled into a back
room, and could barely remember the rest apart from an overwhelming
squeeze of extreme, pure, animalistic panic.
“Panic attacks can be common for people with anxiety.” His voice was
soft and soothing, my heartbeat steadying after the shock.
I shook my head, straightening up as I managed to find my strength
again. “That’s not what this was.”
 “It’s okay if it was,” he added, moving to my side and leaning against the
wall with me.
“I just need to go home, that’s all.”
In the corner of my eye, I saw him nod, the moment friendly and
accepting. His body was so close to mine, his right side pressed against my
left and I could faintly smell his cologne, could still feel the ghost of his
touch on my knees–missed it almost.
“You can go inside. I’ll be okay, I’ll go home,” I stuttered, feeling a little
awkward at seeing this side of him.
“I’m happy to stay with you, it was getting to be a lot in there anyway.”
For a single moment I wished to have the evil Ben back for a moment–
evil Ben wouldn’t have a problem leaving me alone. That thought caught
me off guard. All these years I’d wished for a nicer Ben, for him to just be
more considerate of me, and now he was doing that it felt like I was running
around a field full of hidden bear traps.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will be. If there’s anyone I don’t have to worry about
being okay it’s the great Olive Davis.” I looked at him and for a moment
our eyes connected as I tried to sense if that had been some sort of terrible
joke. But apart from the genuine smile on his lips, there was no hint of
humor in his eyes. “But maybe I need saving from the guys in my
department who’ve been insisting I make a fool of myself with karaoke.”
Despite everything, despite the squeeze still loosening its grip on my
chest, and the fact my heart hadn’t stopped hammering in my chest and the
waves in my brain threatened to pull me back under, I asked, “What song?”
“I think they were still going through the Britney back catalog when I
managed to make my escape.” His head tilted to the side, his lips pressing
together into a lopsided grin that made him look a little silly.
“I’m sure you’ll smash the key change in Stronger.” I ignored the
roughness in my throat, the words burning slightly as I spoke.
“Yeah, I don’t think they realized I grew up with an older sister who was
very possessive over the car radio growing up. I can kill a Britney track.”
I chuckled, trying to imagine how that would even look: Ben stood alone
on the small platform, mic held raised above his head, the head tilted down
to meet his mouth as he confidently squawked through the vocals. “I’d pay
to see that.”
He barked a laugh, turning his head away from me for a moment. The
comfort of the moment suddenly struck me–was this really a trick? Were
serial killers as charming as he was right before they strike? Is that what
this was? He was planning on murdering me, bury my bones and steal my
department to fund his evil Math fueled purposes.
And yet, he was here. He’d seen me upset and had followed me out to
check on me, made sure I was safe. Despite the fact I’d not given him a
reason to be nice over the last few weeks.
“Do you like pizza?” he sent me a half smile and I lost the feeling in my
legs again.
“Do I like pizza?” He’d caught me off guard, and not for the first time
tonight. “Do I enjoy the internationally beloved carbohydrate-based dish?
Why not ask me if I have taste buds?”
A smile broke out on his face, joy lighting up his features in a way I’d
never seen before, and I swear to God my heart swooned.
“Come with me,” he said, pushing himself up off the wall and coming to
stand in front of me, his hands outstretched towards me. I tried to calculate
the risk in my head for a moment.
 But the equation was meaningless to a tipsy–and now he mentioned it,
starving–brain. Besides, there's a reason I was an Art teacher, not Math. So
I took his hand, our palms sliding easily together. His palm was soft, but his
fingers that grasped around my hands had small pads of rough calluses, the
change in texture sending strange sparks up my arm.
He helped me to my feet, and I dropped our hands so I could brush
myself off, letting him walk slightly ahead. I followed him, watching as he
kept turning his head to make sure I was still there.
“Did I miss you and Hanna doing the karaoke this time?” His face was
still lit up with that smile, and I found myself unable to look away. Gone
was the scowl, the stony stares, the murderous glares–this smile erased
them all. I wanted to memorize it, paint it, use it against him next time he
looked at me like I was insane for wanting to buy basic school supplies with
my own money.
“No, I managed to hide from her.” The words were cautious, and I found
myself unsure of exactly what insanity was causing me to follow him. “She
wanted to do Meatloaf but I did not want to attempt the Cher parts.”
He grinned in response, turning to walk backwards so he could keep
facing me. “I don’t think you could beat ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’
anyway.”
“We did that one last year.” I stopped in my tracks, trying to figure out
how he’d seen it. “Did someone record it?” He just shrugged, as if it was an
appropriate response. “Then how did you see it?”
 He cocked his head at me, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I was
there,” he said slowly, like I was five.
“I don’t remember, I thought you didn’t come to staff night outs.”
“I do attend some, just not all of them. I am a head of a department, I
show up for the other science teachers,” he explained before beginning to
walk down the street again, this time keeping to my side.
“Oh,” was all I could muster.
“I’m not offended; we never spoke before,” he added simply with a
glance my way.
I nodded, a little lost for words. I’d always assumed he was so unfriendly
he’d never bothered to show up at our socials, but maybe this was more on
me. Maybe I’d been the one missing him all that time.
“So, where’s this promised pizza nirvana?” I asked, genuinely interested
to see where he thought the best pizza was.
“Ah, Gianni’s Pizza.” He lit up, and I stifled a smile. “They have a
window out of the kitchen where you can buy a slice of the most delicious
pizza Italy could only ever dream of.”
“I think I’ve heard of that place.” I could barely contain my smile. “It’s
up here, right?” I said, pointing up the street to the small window on the
otherwise plain building. Around the corner was a different view of the
restaurant. Big open windows, a tall candle on every table, low romantic
lighting. But if you asked me, walking down the street with a single slice in
hand was the ultimate way to consume pizza.
He nodded as we crossed the road towards the building before asking,
“Have you been before?”
I grinned. “A few times.”
 We finally reached the window, and an older man popped out, a familiar
scowl on his face.
“Can I get two slices of the vegetable?” Ben ordered, but the chef plainly
ignored him, bushy gray eyebrows pressing together as he looked directly at
me.
“Olive, what are you doing out this late?” He shook a spatula in his
hands, his little white mustache twitching as he told me off. I smiled
brightly back at him.
“I’m twenty-seven, Dad. I’m allowed to stay out this late.” My voice
dripped in sarcasm, but Ben stood in silence, almost frozen as he tried to
catch up. “Cancel that order for the vegetable please.” My face screwed up
at the idea. Peppers, onions, and mushrooms on a pizza were far too boring.
“You know my usual.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, and suddenly I was a kid begging
my father for a midnight snack, standing in the middle of our living room.
My cheeks turned rosy, but I was too drunk to be embarrassed at the
interaction.
“Your dad works here?” Ben whispered loudly as soon as dad
disappeared into the building to get the order. I looked up at him, not
expecting to see him looking so taken back, his eyes wide, skin slightly
pale. An uncontrolled grin broke out across my face. When he told me this
is where we were going, I knew it would be fun to mess with him a little bit,
but I had vastly underestimated how delicious the moment would be. Is this
how he felt when he taunted me?
“He trained the owner,” I shrugged, watching him as he started to relax,
his shoulders slumping. “And it keeps him busy. He loves to cook.”
 Looking back at the window, I caught my appearance in the reflection of
the glass. Thankfully, I hadn’t worn enough make up to be disturbed by the
minor breakdown I’d had earlier, the dizziness of which was lessening by
the second. The exhaustion, however, was not. But at least I didn’t look like
a horrific mess afterwards, my eyes barely puffy thanks to the cooler
autumn night air.
Dad appeared back at the window, two paper plates in hand.
“Here you go, my lil Olly,” he said using a nickname he only used when
he wanted to embarrass me. With a grin of his own, he handed me my slice
before turning to Ben, pulling his plate away before Ben could grab it. They
locked eyes.
“And who’s the man out with my only daughter at this late hour?”
Ben’s head snapped to me, his jaw slack as his brain completely
overloaded.
Addicted; I was addicted to seeing him so wound up.
“This is Ben, now give him his pizza.” His face screwed up as I spoke,
but he also handed the plate out again, allowing Ben to retrieve it.
“Ben the...”
“Ben the head of Science from the newsletter? Yes, that Ben, this is him.”
I scrambled to make up an excuse, waving my arms about Ben as though
revealing a flashy car at a convention. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later, bye!” I
quickly tossed my dad a $5 bill before grabbing onto Ben’s arm and hauling
him away for dear life. The man knew exactly how to embarrass me.
“Ben the what? From what newsletter? We don’t have a newsletter at the
school, Olive?” Ben practically screamed in joy as I yanked him away from
the window, further and further away from my father that seemed hell bent
on making life even harder for me. “What was he going to call me, huh?”
His lips stretched to reveal a full-blown grin, curiosity sparkling in his dark
eyes.
I’d shown my hand too much, and Ben had read the cards perfectly.
Squirming, I crammed the slice of pizza into my mouth, taking that first
delicious bite and ignored the roasting hot sauce that threatened to burn my
entire mouth before mumbling something inaudible.
He rolled his eyes, before crying “Liar!”
Did he have to enjoy this so much?
Finally, I relented, “Asshole. Ben the asshole.”
But his lips didn’t budge. We were facing each other again, and I found
myself wondering where all the space between us had disappeared to; I
could practically feel his breath on me.
Too close, he was too close. Too exquisitely close, and for a second, I
swear just a fleeting moment, I glanced at his lips. Perfectly pink, perfectly
kissable, perfectly... Then he spoke, breaking the spell.
“Just asshole?”
“I’m not going to swear in front of my dad,” I admitted, making sure to
step back from him, get some space between us. “I might be an adult but
that won’t stop him from trying to ground me.”
He chuckled, before taking a bite of the pizza, his eyes practically rolling
back as he bit into the delicious dough. My legs turned to jelly beneath me
as I almost melted into the sidewalk at the sight of him. Watching the
ecstasy on his face, caused by a foodgasm or otherwise, it was bordering on
pornographic.
“I grew up with this pizza. Imagine this – every single Saturday night.”
He looked like he was dying in jealousy, eyes wide as he took another
bite, too enamored with the food.
 “I’d be destroyed for all other pizza if this was my standard,” he spoke,
mouth still halfway stuffed with pizza, but I couldn’t blame him for the lack
of etiquette. The pizza was that good.
“Oh I am. But we’re close so I have an unlimited supply,” I added like it
was no big deal, but it was true. I was extremely picky about my pizza after
growing up with this kind of quality.
“So, if your dad’s a pizza God... what does your mom do?” he asked, not
looking at me anymore, but instead gazing at the half eaten slice in his hand
with the love and intensity of a new lover.
My spine stiffened at the question and I completely lost my train of
thought for a moment.
“She taught piano,” I said after a beat, blinking a few times but burying,
burying it all down. Not now. Later. I’d deal with it then.
“Must’ve been a creative family,” he added. I looked up at him,
expecting a snort, a look of disgust. But instead his attention was on me, his
head tilted ever so slightly to the side, those perfect lips parted just a little.
“Your worst nightmare,” I forced a smile, still analyzing his reaction.
“All my family work in STEM,” he added before taking another bite of
his slice.
“Nerds,” I said, as I took another delicious bite, eyes still on him.
He chuckled. “Pretty much. My oldest sister is insane, she’s got two
degrees and a secret job with the government.”
“No way.” I looked up at him, awe transforming my face. “That’s so
cool.”
“We all had to get background checks. It was the proudest I’d been of
her,” he added matter of factly.
 “Oldest sister? You have more than one?” I asked, finally processing the
small detail he’d dropped earlier.
“Two, both older. I’m the youngest.”
“That explains so much.” The revelation was too much for my still
sobering brain. What if it was the youngest child syndrome? He ignored my
excitement this time, instead finishing off his slice of pizza.
“But it would’ve been nice to have some outlet in the family. Mom and
Dad were very analytical and quiet so there wasn’t much room for any art
or music in our house. I do have an uncle who does amateur theater
though.”
“That’s cool, is he any good?”
“Define good?” he smiled, and my heart warmed at the sight. “I always
thought he had more guts than us anyway, putting himself out there to do
the thing he loves. None of my family would dream of getting on a stage
like that.”
I searched for something to say back, but words, all of them in fact, had
left me at a loss. I didn’t know this side of him existed. This side that
thought took guts to put yourself out there creatively, that could see the
value of it.
“I have a proposal for you.” His tone altered the light atmosphere that
had surrounded us, his back stiffening from the friendly slump he’d
adopted, his full height reminding me how small I was in comparison to
him. “I think we need to work together to save the Mathletes.”
“And the art club?” I asked, looking up at him for confirmation that he
hadn’t reverted back into the asshat I’d previously known him to be.
He nodded, “Both clubs.”
 My heart squeezed painfully at the idea, my throat turning dry as unease
settled in. “I- I don’t understand how working together is supposed to solve
things? We barely manage to work together just organizing the damn
thing.” I pointed out, not even able to imagine what working together would
look like.
“I think Mathletes have the best chance of getting outside funding –
because of the potential winnings in the competitions,” he carried on, his
body turning towards me as we walked.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Art has competitions,” I reminded.
“Sure,” he said, waving his hands dismissively. “But Mathletes would
definitely appeal to more practical people–like business people.”
“Gee, and you wonder why I wouldn’t want to work with you.”
He rolled his eyes, ready to respond, but I knew exactly what words were
about to fall out of that idiotic mouth of his. So instead, I cut him off. “But
the real question is: why do you need me? If you dismiss what I do so
easily.”
He paused mid-step, his arms held out in front of him in midair. “Because
people like you more than me.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes at him. “That’s because I’m not rude to
people,” I retorted, taking another step forward, only to find him frozen, his
lips pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed.
“I’m not rude to people.” His head shook as he spoke, the mess of hair
ruffling slightly in the night air.
“You’re rude to me.”
His mouth opened, and I waited to hear his justification, hear his excuse,
whatever it was this time. But instead, nothing came out. He closed his
mouth, as if he thought better of his response.
 I took this as my cue to carry on, turning my back to him as I continued
walking. “This is why I wouldn’t want to work with you. You’re just so...
frustrating! You can’t stand to admit when you’re wrong, and you
constantly talk down to me like what you teach is better. I’m your equal but
you’ve always gone out of your way to make sure I never feel like it.”
“I’m difficult?” he laughed, taking a long stride and immediately
catching up with me.
Curse his long legs.
“The most difficult.” My heart was in a frenzy in my chest.
“Why don’t we talk about you for a moment instead?” He stared right
into my eyes, straight down at me, and he’d never seemed so large. Not in a
dangerous sense, but... almost intimidating, dark. Like all the frustration at
me had resurfaced, all the times I’d irritated him instead of the other way
around. Like I’d finally cracked him open. “Who was it that refused to give
up their field trip budget when no other department had even considered a
trip all year?”
“I cut as much as I could within my own department to be able to afford
it. I took in my own supplies. I saved for that trip.”
“No, the school saved for the trip.”
“We’ve had our budget hacked over the years and yet you think it’s okay
to march in and start taking the things we’ve bought with our own budget,
just because you’ve overspent,” I defended, but he shook his head.
“And what makes you think we aren’t in the same boat?” He cocked an
eyebrow, and I stumbled, trying to think of an excuse, another insult to hurl
his way. “We didn’t overspend, we’ve got math coming in and stealing our
calculators and workbooks, not to mention our department essentially
covers three different departments with Chemistry and Biology sharing the
budget.” He ran his hands through his hair as he spoke, his gaze wildly
unfocused.
Meanwhile, I was silent, my heart hammering so hard as I got the side of
the story I’d never bothered to ask for.
“It was never personal, Olive. It was never supposed to be, anyway.
And..” he trailed off, and my eyes were glued to him, his face lit up in
purples and neon colors from the signs that lined the street. He took a deep
breath. “I’m sorry if it ever felt that way. If I made you feel that way.”
And I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched straight-laced Ben, all come
undone, his gaze soft and for the first time, I felt like I’d finally burrowed
my way past his grumpy exterior. His chest heaved in and out as I burned
under the intensity of his gaze, like a thousand-watt lightbulb shining
straight down on me.
This was Ben. Ben who had given up the funding to keep both clubs
open, both of them, for as long as he could give us. And he’d found me
after the panic attack. He’d known how to keep me grounded, and then kept
me suitably distracted. I hadn’t even thought about it again until now.
He stepped forward, just a single step that closed some of the gap
between us.
It was like a coin had flipped.
One side: Ben the enemy. Must be destroyed or avoided at all costs.
Would single handedly burn down my department for any possible gain,
personal or otherwise.
The other: Ben, the co-worker. Who taught so well his students listened,
who wanted to save his after school club so much he’d try to work
alongside people who thought they hated him. Who had seen me, today and
before, and had recognised that something wasn’t right.
 Had seen me. Followed me. Helped me.
But the question remained. Was he friend or enemy? The intense, stormy
look on his face said enemy. The closing space between us said friend, said
something more than friend as he took another step closer, and I was forced
to really look at him under the light of the street lamp shining down on us.
The size of him, his body tall, the extra height that always had me craning
my neck when he got too close.
I didn’t know if I’d ever stood this close to him before, close enough to
wonder if it was his aftershave I smelt or if he smelt this good naturally.
“Olive.” The way he said my name was smoky, his voice low as his eyes
focused on mine, the golden hint of the hazel gone. My eyes, meanwhile,
had been fixed on his lips, pink and soft. Would he be all light touches,
grazing, a hand slowly moving up my back. Or hard and needing, and
pressure–delicious pressure.
Somehow, I needed to find out.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and I didn’t have the answer. His words
felt like a hallucination at first, but they cemented themselves in my brain
as I stepped forward, pushing myself up onto the tops of my toes so I was
closer to his height. My hand snaked around his neck to the soft skin there.
His gaze stuck on me, the alarm erased and replaced with a burning heat as
he realized what I was doing. I pressed my lips to his, feeling the softness of
them move against mine.
It was like two magnets colliding, the electric pull of him kept me going,
kept him meeting my lips, moving against me. He tasted spicy, like ginger
ale and brown sugar and rum. And now that I’d had a taste, I wanted more.
I pulled back momentarily, my lungs burning for air as I waited for my
sense of self to take hold again. I immediately missed the pressure, the taste
of him. He stared back at me, and blinked, like he too was trying to process
what I had just done. I lifted my hand from the back of his neck as my heart
fell into my stomach.
“Shit, Ben, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking–” I started to
babble, panic building as I continued to process what on earth I had actually
just done.
I’d kissed him. Out of nowhere. What on earth had I been thinking?
“Olive.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, the sound like
stones rubbing together.
I blinked, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in my
throat, “Yes?”
“Shut up.”
And then he was wrapped around me. One calloused hand finding my
lower back, the other landing on my opposite shoulder as he pulled me
impossibly close. His lips were on mine, the velvet softness landing with a
pressure that clearly demanded more.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eight
Don't Blame Me - Taylor Swift

I ’d never needed anyone like this. Desperate for more, more skin, more
taste, completely and utterly starved on their touch. His touch. And
judging from his matched eagerness, the parallel pressure of his lips, I
thought it was safe to assume he was into it as much as I was.
There was nothing sweet about the way he kissed me. His lips were soft,
but that was about it. This kiss was all hunger and lust as our mouths moved
against each other. He’d run his teeth against my bottom lip, pinching it
playfully, and I’d return the favor with my tongue teasing him, earning a
deep guttural groan of desire from him.
Utter filth.
I couldn’t beg, wouldn’t beg for more. That was too desperate, but I was
about to combust if this didn’t go somewhere more private. His hand
traveled up into my hair, pulling gently but hard enough for me to know the
pressure was intentional. I tried to stifle a moan, but it treacherously
escaped, and he bit my lip again in response.
 The way his lips moved against mine, the softness of his skin, the stubble
he’d sported during the week erased–it was driving me insane. The tension
between us continued to build higher and higher as he slid his arm from my
shoulder to my waist, snaking around my body, his hand searching for
access. His touch was already sending shivers up and down my spine. How
would it feel against naked skin? He pulled me into his body, hard against
him this time, and then as he pressed his lips into mine, I felt his hardness
against me, a strong reminder of what this could all turn into.
And Jesus Christ, did I want him. I wanted to wreck him, ride him, take
so much of him I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how long I’d been hurtling
towards this without realizing it. How long had this tension had been
building? But I was done fighting it, especially when it felt this good.
Suddenly, a car drove past, its horn blaring despite the late hour. At the
same time, we untangled from each other, pulling away like the wrong sides
of a magnetic field. Instantly, the space between us felt wrong, the chill of
the night suddenly so alarming despite the raging heat of my skin. I could
still feel the pull towards him, the need to drag my hands through his hair,
press my lips to his again and taste him till I forgot what anything else ever
tasted like.
“Are you okay?” His voice was breathy, his chest lifting up and down as
if he’d just finished running a marathon. And to be fair, I felt the same way,
my heart racing in my chest. When I didn’t answer, he took a step forward.
Immediately, I lifted my hand up to keep the space between us.
“Just... give me a minute,” I said, voice quiet but firm as I tried to regain
control of myself, trying to understand how much had changed between us
with one quick, world altering kiss.
 Who decided to let a man as handsome as Ben Bennett be that good a
kisser?
Taking a deep breath, I tried to pull myself together. This wasn’t like me,
I didn’t lose control. Certainly not for a while, and never with co-workers.
Especially with Ben Bennett. And yet, here I was, still wondering what it
would be like to be pressed up against him again, tangled up in his arms;
what it would be like to feel him on me, his skin touching mine.
I felt good, better than I had in months. My brain felt temporarily eased
from the permanent gray fog that had rolled in one morning and never left.
Like a buzz of something good, something warm and intoxicating I could
get lost in for an hour or two. A chance to feel something other than gray.
“We can forget this happened, if that’s what you need. Nothing has to
change, we can get you an Uber and pretend on Monday this never
happened,” Ben began to babble, coming undone all over again. A pink
flush appeared across his cheeks, his hands running through his hair.
Nervous Ben was kind of cute.
“I mean this wasn’t what I was expecting, but… I don’t think I want
that,” I responded, putting the poor boy out of his misery with a small,
reassuring smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he said, the voice coming out crackled before he cleared his throat
with a single hoarse cough. “Yes, I’m good.” He awkwardly shifted on his
feet, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he looked down at the
ground. My heart squeezed traitorously at the sight, not sure if I should
reassure him further or if he was starting to regret the kiss.
“Maybe... I should go home,” I offered. The words tasted sour as I said
them. But one look at his face–the immediate glance up, his eyes holding
onto mine followed by his mouth opening and then closing, his throat
bobbing as if he’d forced himself to swallow his words–told me exactly
what I’d been hoping for. “Or,” I added, that invisible cord between us
pulling tight, a familiar tug back to him forcing me forward.
“Or?” A sly grin lit up his face, a grin that only hours ago would’ve irked
me to the ends of the earth, but now sent small tingles down to the base of
my spine. “We could go back to mine?”
I let his words hang in the air for a moment, waiting for a voice in my
head to kick in, tell me no or remind me of the hundred different ways this
was a terrible idea. But... nothing. Because it wasn’t just the hunger for
another taste caused by one look at him, with his shirt half undone and his
usually perfect hair ruffled, but also the wanted distraction. For one night, I
could dive head first in, turn off my brain and truly escape. Get myself lost
in a tangle of sheets and pleasure.
“We should set ground rules,” I reasoned. The last thing I needed was
either of us thinking this was more than it was, more than what I needed.
“Sensible as ever, Ms. Davis,” he said, taking a step forward, his eyes
holding a playful glint.
“Like that. That can’t happen,” I said, pointing a finger up and down. I
ignored his step closer to me, staying exactly where I was as the distance
between us closed slowly. “There can’t be any work talk. Not even an
acknowledgement.”
“So, no calling you Ms. Davis.”
“Exactly,” I said as he took another small step closer.
“Even if I enjoy the look you give me when I call you that?” He wiggled
his eyebrows and I rolled my eyes.
“Especially if you enjoy it.”
His grin was incomparable, radiating with wicked joy.
 “Well, that’s no fun.” He stepped forward again, with all the cunning of
an animal on the hunt, prey on target. Mirroring him, I took a step back,
keeping the distance between us.
“Well, that is the point of this. Fun. That’s all this is. Get this,” I said,
pointing again between us, “this tension out of the way.”
“Get it out of our systems, once and for all,” he agreed, with a nod of his
head, his eyes dark with hunger and glued to me like I was his next meal.
“Exactly.” Hot pleasure ran through me at the agreement. “So do
you…?”
“Live nearby?” he finished. I nodded, both of us refusing to break eye
contact for a moment as the air turned thick and heavy, as that need, that
longing, returned and I felt the weight of the night lifting. “A few blocks,
five minutes walk?”
“And if we run?” I didn’t think that wide grin could grow, but I swear it
nearly doubled as he broke into a light laugh, flames alight in his eyes.
“Eager are we?”
“Only to see if you work that mouth as well as you do when we argue’” I
smirked back at him, just as he broke eye contact, peering down the street.
“Seems I have some expectations to live up to.” His eyes bore into me,
his hand rising to the side of my face, fingertips caressing softly down my
cheek before meeting my jaw line, and then oh so carefully, tilting my neck
up, his other hand snaked behind my neck, his thumb on my throat.
“Or a lot to make up for,” I mumbled.
He didn’t seem to disagree with me as he dipped low, closing the gap
between us once and for all.
The journey to his apartment would have been short if it hadn’t been for
all the pausing to sneak kisses and soft touches all the way up the sidewalk,
–and a couple of dimly lit side streets. Ben had pressed me up against the
cold brick, trapping me between his arms, his head dipping down to meet
my lips. He was insatiable, and I wasn’t much better.
We finally arrived at a new style apartment block, large, darkened
windows lining the walls of the building. I spotted his familiar black Audi
parked outside, grinning as I realized we’d reached our destination.
A lump formed in my throat as he stepped ahead and pulled open the
heavy glass door. He paused, looking at me, his eyes concerned when he
noticed I hadn’t moved.
Was this really what I wanted? A night alone with the master of all that
had been horrible in my professional life? Did it make me a massive
hypocrite, after years of swearing he was the devil in a very attractive skin
suit, going back to his apartment after one night of making out on the
street? What would they think if it ever got out at school? I could
immediately imagine the faces of some of the other members of staff, the
judgment. Sleeping with a co-worker was bad enough; let alone one you’ve
had a very public distaste of.
But he wasn’t who I thought he was. He’d proven that tonight. He was
arrogant certainly, but after seeing him with his class, after learning he’d
given up improvements to his classroom and come up with a way to
temporarily save the clubs, he’d shown me he was more than an enemy. He
could have just shrugged it off when I left in a rush, but he’d followed to
check if I was okay, and stayed when he realized I wasn’t.
And now I was following him inside for a night of torrid, no strings
attached sex.
I pondered on the idea for a moment, enjoying the slick hot feeling that
wrapped itself around me. My mind conjured up an image of how it would
look to wrap my body around him, the feel of his mouth against the
sensitive skin between my legs. The promise of the bulge I’d felt lightly on
the way here.
I looked up at him; his eyes were on me.
“Are you coming inside? Or I can call you a car. If you’ve changed your
mind.” His words were apprehensive, as if he hated the sound of them as
much as I did. And for a moment, I didn’t know which way I was going to
go. If I was going to take him up on his offer, nod gently his way and
apologize for leading him on. There would be plenty of rideshares around.
It wouldn’t take long, and then I’d be home, stuck in my childhood room, in
that small bed, lying awake staring up at the ceiling all night. Alone, mind
wide awake thinking about everything; about her.
Instead, I bit my lower lip, shaking my head slightly as I took a step
forward. He pulled the door open again, and I squeezed past him, walking
into the lobby.
We’d barely made it through his apartment door, before he turned, and
pressed me up against the hard wall, thankfully avoiding any light switches
or hung pictures. His body was firm against mine as I enjoyed the pressure
of being trapped against him. His head hung low as his lips met mine again,
rough and hard and needing, as if the small break had driven his lust to new
heights.
Ben pulled away momentarily, just to rip off his jacket and toss it away,
before he stood before me. He leaned down and slowly put his hands on the
outside of my thighs before he ran his hands up, pushing the red material
higher. Every single inch of my skin claimed drove me nuts, the feel of his
palms against my soft skin, the feel of the edge of the dress slowing
growing shorter.
 Then, he hoisted me up in one clean motion, his hands pulling me up.
Without a second thought, my legs wrapped around his waist, my dress
pushing up to my waist as I pulled his body against mine, as finally I found
myself level with his beautiful face. The weight in my stomach dipping for
a moment as I adjusted to the movement.
We paused momentarily, looking straight at each other. I could barely see
him in the dim light of the unlit hallway, the only source of light a window
that looked out onto the street below. But I could still see his eyes, all color
gone and his pupils dilated with want, with need and lust.
He wanted me. And as if I needed more confirmation of it, I finally
became aware of what pressed into the center of me now as I wrapped
around him. Thick hot pressure, and I was suddenly reminded of all those
times I’d found myself wondering how exactly it would look, what the
source of all that obvious self-assurance and swagger would feel like. I’d
immediately dismissed the inappropriate thoughts, wondering what the hell
had happened to me to be daydreaming about Ben Bennett’s penis.
But now I was in exactly the position to find out. The luscious
anticipation felt like it would crack me open, and I wasn’t exactly sure who
or what would be unleashed by the answer.
I melted against him as our lips rejoined, his fingers pressing hard into
my thighs as mine pulled at the material of his shirt, craving more and more
skin, needing more and more of him. He grinned against my lips, obviously
catching on to what I was trying to do.
With no warning, he pulled away from the wall, his arms wrapping
around my torso to keep me attached like a spider monkey. With impressive
pace, he marched through the apartment to his bedroom.
 Slowly, he laid me down on his soft bed. The sheet smelled like fresh
cotton and something familiar I couldn’t place my finger on while he eased
away from me, still standing over me as I laid across the bed. Looking
down at me, that look in his eyes told me, promised me that I was about to
enjoy very much what was about to take place. I could barely look away
from him, already missing the feel of him against me. Hot anticipation built
as I imagined the weight of him pressing down on me.
I needed him. Needed and wanted only him. His weight and pressure, and
that thick promise of all good things to come that hung between his legs.
“Take those off,” he ordered, motioning to my shoes. I didn’t dare to
argue as I kicked my shoes off.
“It should be illegal for your ass to look like it does in this dress,” he
grumbled as he started to undo his shirt, his fingers stumbling over the
small buttons. I didn’t bother to fight the pleased grin that crawled onto my
lips.
“You’ve never seemed to have a problem with them before, but it’s good
to know you’re an ass man.” He only managed to undo the top buttons of
his shirt before impatience got the best of him; his hands went to the
bottom, and he pulled the material over his head. My mouth practically
watered at the sight of him. He was all deliciously large: firm muscle and
smooth skin.
“You don’t know the half of it, Olive.”
He didn’t give me any time to think before he leaned down, getting on
his knees at the side of the bed. Effortlessly, he pulled me into position,
dragging me down the bed, until my backside met the edge, legs resting on
his large shoulders as my heart leaped at the sight of him above me. A
wicked grin was painted on his lips.
 “I can’t wait to taste you.” he said huskily, his attention on the bottom of
my dress. His hands slid up, pushing the material up past where it had fallen
down to my thighs to reveal my underwear. He kept pushing, my bottom
lifting to give him access as he pushed higher, his hands skimming past the
dip and curve of my hips.
Momentarily, I pushed myself up to give him access to the top half,
allowing him to pull the red material over my head, before discarding the
material completely.
He sat before me, his gaze raking across me, from my collar bone, my
bra, my stomach. It felt like he took every inch of me in, before with a
heated gaze, he says one word.
“Beautiful,”
Then he pulled under my knees again, catching me off guard as he
dragged me to the edge of the bed again, forcing my back down to the bed.
I almost passed out when he pressed his hand against my lacy underwear,
the dampness in-between my legs growing in anticipation as my fingers
twisted into the sheets, needing to grip something as if I was holding on for
dear life.
“I’ve always fucking wondered what you taste like, Olive.”
I could barely hear him as his lips skimmed down the skin of my thighs,
the touch nearly driving me over the edge as he made contact with my
softness. I swore out loud, but he kept talking and I burned hotter with
every word.
“We’d be in mid argument. You’d be saying something annoying and a
little thought would pop into my head, curious about how you’d feel against
my tongue, the noises you’d make,.”
 My breathing was deep and labored as the tension built further, his face
hovering over my underwear. He curled his fingertips under one side of the
material, pushing it to the side.
Instantly, I shot up, cheeks turning red as I started. To say I’d been less
than prepared for this was more than an understatement.
“Oh fuck, it’s... it’s been a while, and I just haven’t bothered,” I babbled,
trying to make him understand, praying praying praying this wouldn’t turn
him off. It had been at least six months since I’d last slept with somebody,
and when the nights grew long and lonely, I’d begun to grow a little lazy
and comfortable and shaving had become an afterthought. He shook his
head, eyes practically black as he looked down at me.
“Don’t apologize, Olive,” he smirked, dipping lower again. “I prefer your
pussy like this.”
And then his warm, wet tongue dragged against me, licking slowly and
oh so pleasurably. He lapped me up, and
I. Lost. My. Mind.
A breathy moan escaped my lips, followed by another and another as he
kept running his tongue across me, the feel of his mouth against me
completely overpowering. A firm touch of his calloused fingertips pushed
my thighs open wider for him. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him
closer as delicious pressure built higher and higher between my legs.
His hand moved from holding me in position, and reappeared at my
entrance, two fingers pressing inwards but not all the way, no further than
his fingertips. He held them in place and it was too much not to move
against him, desperate for the fucking feel of him inside of me as his mouth
worked. The rhythm of his mouth matched that of my hips as his fingers
slowly, slowly, slowly eased deeper inside, stretching me out while giving
nothing away and entirely making me work for it, making me ride his hand
the way I wanted it. And God, did I.
For a moment, he raised his head, looking up at me with a glistening,
undeniable grin, and I took the opportunity to push up into my right elbow
and reach down to where his hand pressed against me. I wrapped my hand
around his wrist, guiding and showing him exactly how I wanted him
against me. I pressed him further in, showing him the pace I needed until I
began to lose all ability to function, wild waves of pleasure crashing over
me.
“You want it rougher?” he asked, eyebrows pushed up as the grin turned
into surprise lined with awe and a fiery heat that told me he loved the idea
as much as I did.
“Yes,” I said, the word coming out breathy and desperate as I closed my
eyes as I imagined how it looked, watching his fingers pump in and out of
me. Wild. I was absolutely wild for him.
“Good girl.”
His words nearly pushed me over the edge as he pressed his mouth
against me again, rougher this time, and sucking perfectly on all the right
places. He kept up the pace and pressure, working me harder as the knot
inside me grew tighter.
“I’m gonna come,” I gasped, managing to break past the involuntary
moans.
“Come for me. I want to feel you against my face,” he said, barely raising
his head up from my sex to speak. I lost it, completely and utterly unraveled
as the knot, that feeling and pressure loosened and tightened at the same
time, waves of pleasure rolling into me, over and over.
 He didn’t stop, kept up the pace. Not a moment to let me breathe or
recover as I kept moaning and moaning, head pushing back into bed and it
started to feel like this moment would never end, that this intensity would
continue till I tapped out or simply just passed out from orgasm overload.
“Ben.” His name was a sin on my lips, and slowly he pulled away, letting
me melt into the mattress. It took me a moment to recover, a moment to
remember exactly who was in-between my legs, grinning up at me like the
devil.
“Fuck, that was good,” I murmured, still trying to collect the pieces of
myself back up again, my mind dizzy and spinning off center. Who knew
Ben Bennett could use that mouth of his so well for something other than
arguing with me? Who knew oral could feel that toe-curlingly good?
“Was?” He smiled hungrily as he wiped his mouth against his arm,
cleaning away some of the wetness that glimmered in the low light. “Don’t
tell me you’re done for?” He pulled himself up from the edge of the bed,
crawling up beside me and lying on his side as he looked me up and down,
eyes catching on the plain black bra I was still wearing. “Because Olive,
I’m far from finished with you. If I only get one night, I’m going to make
sure I work every bit of it I can.”
This time it was my turn to grin at him.
“Hell no,” I said, getting up and softly pushing him onto his back, taking
him completely by surprise. I swung one leg over him, so I sat on his lower
belly, being careful not to press my entire weight onto him. I was reminded
again then of his thick cock nudged in-between my thighs, and it took more
strength than I had left not to let myself grind against it, against him, feeling
the length of him against me.
 He could barely get words out as I worked myself over him, feeling him
trapped against the thin material of his underwear as I rocked over him,
working the length of him, enjoying immensely how he looked wrapped up
in lust, the need for me etched clearly on his face.
I wanted to let him suffer, let him yearn a little longer but my own self-
control had long evaporated by this point.
“Do you have condoms?” The question was breathy, barely audible as the
words fell out of my mouth. My own eyes were closed as I grinded hard
against him, trying to make it as hard as possible to get him to answer me.
“Top drawer,” he answered, the words laced with a frustration that
brought a pleased smirk to my lips. I lifted myself off him, giving him the
space to move so he could remove his underwear. I was glued to the sight of
him as I watched it all in slow motion, electricity buzzing under my skin as
I watched his thumb dip under the elastic at the top before pulling down,
exposing more and more pale, unblemished skin.
I felt like I’d been trapped on a deserted island, with nothing but a diet of
coconuts and fish to survive on for the last eternity. A person, starved and
starving, now looking at the most delicious and picturesque Thanksgiving
feast as my eyes danced over the length of him, the girth.
I watched helplessly as he rolled on the condom and pulled out a bottle of
lube, applying it for good measure. Then, in one swift motion, I was back
on top, refusing to give up the position, to give up control.
I wanted to fucking torture him. To hear him groaning underneath me, to
go slow when all he wanted was for me to fuck him fast and hard and... all
that went straight out the window as I lowered myself onto him, slowly,
trying to let myself get used to the feel of him inside of me–adjust to the
thickness of his cock.
 I moaned loudly, the sound almost primal as I rocked, working him
deeper and deeper, the tight pressure feeling so unbelievably good it had me
seeing stars, gasping for a full breath.
“Fuck, you feel incredible.” His words were barely more than a growl as
I looked down at him.
“Don’t feel so bad yourself,” I said breathlessly.
His eyes opened, connecting with mine as I shot him a cocky smile,
before grinding forward, deeper than before, and I swear that boy’s eyes
rolled back in his skull.
I was enjoying it, the power, the control. Enjoyed making myself feel
good on him, using him as much as he was using me. Years of built up
tension were finally reaching a boiling point. I’d always thought this point
would result in a murder, never thought for a second it would end up with
us tangled up like this. Never thought for a second I’d be riding him,
controlling every motion and exacting my payback by toying with his
pleasure.
But I had to admit, I certainly preferred this method of working it out.
I kept a steady pace, moving my hips front to back, up and down,
enjoying every single sound that escaped him and the looks that crossed his
features. All the while, I was fighting the urge to go harder, rougher. I was
fighting the need to give my body exactly what it was crying out for.
What it demanded was to go over that closely nearing edge.
I felt his hands on my hips as he helped me keep the rhythm, helped me
rock forward in the way he wanted and felt un-fucking-believable for me
too. I kept swearing, not even bothering to keep my curses under my breath.
I leaned back, giving it an entirely different angle as I adjusted to the feel of
him. I lost myself entirely for a moment, my mind going completely blank
as he helped keep the pace.
“Go faster” he begged, pulling me from the space I’d found myself in.
My lips curved into a sly smile, knowing the moment I’d been waiting for
had finally arrived. “I want you to really fuck me, Olive. The way I know
you want to.”
“No,” I shook my head. His eyes shot open, still awash with hot pleasure.
“Why the hell not?” His words shot pure icy delight into me, more erotic
than anything filthy he could have whispered.
“You’ll enjoy it too much.”
He cocked an eyebrow, finally realizing what I was doing, why I was
holding back. Payback.
“I think someone’s enjoying the power a little too much.”
I smiled, a small chuckle escaping my lips as I kept the same pace,
refusing to give into the pull of his hands on my hips.
Then without any warning, his left hand moved from my hips and planted
behind my shoulder. He pulled down so I was chest to chest with him, my
face buried in his neck. Instantly, I pushed back, trying to regain the
position, but he had me trapped against him.
His right hand had seized the opportunity, pressing on my lower back as
he thrust wildly up and up, fucking me from below, holding me as close as
possible as he sped up. I was powerless, completely powerless to him, to
the pleasuring building up inside of me. He was still below me, but he was
very much in control, every thrust forcing me closer to the cusp. Rushing
towards it. That knot inside of me pulled tighter and tighter, impossibly so,
the edge coming towards me now.
 I wanted to fight, wanted to regain the control he’d stolen from me but it
felt too fucking good. I was losing my mind, losing all conscious thought
when he finally pushed up, flipping us over so he was finally above me, his
cock still buried in me.
“Did you have fun? Teasing me like that?” he asked, but I didn’t have
enough tangible thought to respond, every brain cell buzzing on the feel of
his dick moving inside me. “Did you enjoy using me, Olive?”
I was going to come again. I was going to come again and it was going to
be hard. I gasped, trying to find the words, my nails trailing down his back,
digging into his skin as I held on for dear life. That didn’t slow him down,
he kept his rapid pace, his body rocking into me.
“Well, it’s my turn to use you now.”
He grabbed onto my hair and forced my gaze up to meet his. His eyes
were pure black, his lips in a thin smile that made my pussy pull tighter
against his cock.
“You’re all mine, Olive Davis. You and your pussy are mine.”
I’d never had anyone talk to me like this, never seen a hint of this side of
him. And the very idea I was his should have me rebelling against him, but
instead, my traitorous legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer if it
was even possible, and spreading my hips open wider. Is this what it was
supposed to feel like? Was it supposed to feel this fucking good?
“Which means you have to ask to come. You have to ask me before,
Olive.”
“I... I... Ben, please,” I mumbled, the ache undeniable and uncontrollable.
I needed the release, I was there. My mind was begging to let go, but I
couldn’t. Not without him.
Fuck you was the only intelligible thought I was really capable of having.
 “Please what, beautiful? You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“Please!”
“Please, what?”
His grip on my hair tightened, forcing me to look up at him again as he
pushed in and out and my grasp was loosening, the dam threatening to
break as I swallowed, trying to collect myself for one moment before I
blacked out.
“Please... please let me come.”
The four simple words felt like an accomplishment but they were nothing
compared to the intense pleasure that had built up. I needed this and only
this.
He took a moment, his lips twisting in a smirk. “Then come.”
A deep, guttural moan escaped me as I unraveled in his arms.
Gone.
Tangled in him, him tangled in me, his arms clenching tight around me.
He buried himself inside of me, his head in the crook of my neck as he
sped up to an uncontrollable pace, groans of pleasure escaping him on deep
breaths. Finally he collapsed on me, the weight of his hot body nothing
against mine.
He lifted his head momentarily, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he spoke.
“Holy shit,” he said.
Holy shit indeed.

OceanofPDF.com
 Nine
Say It (Spotify Studio Oyster
Recording) - Girl In Red

I t had taken me a moment to remember exactly where I was when I

finally woke up. Eyes wide, snuggled up in unfamiliar but incredibly
soft navy cotton sheets–and completely butt ass naked.
I was on my side facing the window, a mid-morning sunlight streaming
through the thin curtains. I slowly twisted around and found the space
beside me suspiciously (and thankfully) empty, the sheets pushed back as if
they had been previously inhabited.
Slowly, the night before began to piece itself back together.
The bar.
Hanna and Rob and a lot of shots.
Ben.
Then Pizza, and…Dad?
Oh God, Dad.
Oh God, making out on the sidewalk.
Oh God–orgasms.
 When exactly had I lost my mind? When had I entered the alternate
dimension where sleeping with Ben Bennett was a good idea? Hanna was
going to lose it when I told her. I couldn’t decide if it would be from glee or
horror. And then there was the job we were both applying for; Rob had all
but confirmed Ben had approached him about it as well. He already had an
advantage over me, and now I’d slept with him. If that got out...
Pushing all panicked thoughts aside, I decided to focus on the most
important task at hand.
Locating my clothes. Thankfully, they were all in the room, and it didn’t
take long before I was scrambling around, finding pieces until I was fully
clothed, bra excluded. That fucker had decided to hide and I had to cut my
losses and get out of there before Ben returned from wherever he’d gone.
I’d get a clean exit, leave before we could talk about last night and suffer
the ensuing awkwardness. It was just some big mistake. He’d probably had
one too many, as had I, which had us both taking our clothes off and
screwing each other’s brains out.
Luckily, my phone was still charged with less than 20% remaining. If
made my way out of the bedroom, shoes in hand to keep noise to a
minimum, hopefully he’d be in the shower and I’d be able to escape.
Maybe I could pick up a breakfast muffin from a nearby market while I
waited for a rideshare. There was one just down the street that I’d been
meaning to try all summer. I heard they baked the muffins in store and used
maple smoked bacon, my personal favorite.
I crept down the hall, freedom in the form of his apartment door in sight,
hand reaching out to grasp the door handle.
“And where do you think you’re going, Ms. Davis?”
 My heart stopped dead in my chest and I turned to find him across the
room lazing against his kitchen counter. His shirt was missing but he wore a
familiar smirk on his lips, and a pair of grey joggers were hanging low on
his hips.
“Home?” I grimaced, my hand still firmly wrapped on the door handle.
“Without so much as a goodbye?” he tsked, forcing a frown onto those
perfect lips, his hands going to his hips. I smothered a laugh at the sight.
“Goodbye,” I said, finally letting go of the door to wave sarcastically, but
he ignored me, instead grabbing a mug from one of his cupboards.
“Do you still take milk with your coffee?”
I narrowed my eyes at him as he set the spare mug on the counter, and
filled it up with delicious coffee, the smell of the freshly brewed liquid
singing to me like a mermaid to a sailor.
What did he mean still? How did he know? As much as I was craving my
first sip of caffeine of the day, I knew spending another minute in this
apartment was a mistake. A huge mistake. Last night had been insane, but
we had an agreement. One and done. No repeat performances. And this
morning after charade felt too close to crossing a line.
“Ben, I should really go.”
He gasped. “You mean you’re sneaking out instead of believing we can
both act like adults who just had sex?”
“Exactly,” I shot back, smirking.
He shook his head and beckoned me over. “Come eat. I made toast.”
I opened my mouth to fight back, but the low grumble of my stomach at
the mention of food had me thinking otherwise. I knew fighting Ben would
probably result in this going on longer. Maybe if I ate his food and drank
his coffee, he’d let me leave in peace. Who was I to turn down free food?
 Besides, I could always pick up the breakfast muffin after I left.
“Good to see you exhausted your culinary skills trying to impress me,” I
grumbled, stepping into the kitchen and finding a seat, the counter acting as
a breakfast bar. I looked around the kitchen, finding it rather... clean? The
countertop was clean of clutter, nothing like my own when I’d had my own
place. I’d been less of a ‘put away groceries’ person and more ‘leave it out
on the countertop for maximum access to snacks’ kind of gal. In fact, his
entire apartment seemed well-organized and tidy. That shouldn’t have
surprised me given how neurotic he was at work.
“Hey, it’s a certain kind of person who knows the perfect setting on their
toaster,” he said, a genuine smile lighting his face up. “Now, almond or
peanut butter?”
“Nutella?” I answered, but he rolled his eyes at me.
“Of course, you have the preferences of a child.” He shuffled through his
cupboards, moving various jars out of the way. It was then I noticed the
subtle red lines running down his back. I nearly choked on my coffee. He
turned, oblivious to the fact he had claw marks running down the length of
his back, holding the tub of hazelnut spread proudly in his hand.
I smiled awkwardly back at him, trying to hide my reaction before
replying. “Don’t hate me because I’m fun. Besides–if it’s so childish, why
do you have it here?”
“I keep it for my niece,” he said with a shrug, turning to pull the toasted
bread out of the hot toaster, then grabbing the tub and removing the lid, the
veins in his forearms rising to prominence as he gripped it, causing an
unholy reaction deep inside of me.
“I didn’t know you were an uncle,” I said, trying to ignore everything
that had just happened as he passed me over the toast.
 “My oldest sister travels often so her kid, Cara, comes here to stay for a
few weeks during the holidays,” he explained nonchalantly, grinning and
gazing down at the floor. “You know, she was one of the reasons I knew I
could teach. Looking after her… teenagers are different, but she was just so
much fun and gave me the confidence to take the job.”
“Like a holiday at Uncle Ben’s,” I added, taking a bite of the toast and
fighting the urge to moan at the chocolate spreading on my tongue.
He barked a single laugh, still not looking at me, “That’s Fun Uncle Ben
to her.”
“Oh come on now, how fun can you be? I bet you sit down and solve
math problems together.”
He laughed again, the sound light and joyful enough to force me to smile
slightly in reply. “Fun math problems,” he added.
I shook my head at him, muttering “nerd” under my breath.
A silence fell over us as we ate, Ben lapsing back into leaning against the
counter as he sipped his coffee and I polished off the toast.
“Are you okay with last night?” he asked, breaking the silence, his hazel
gaze focused on me.
“What do you mean?” There was a lot of last night I was still very much
okay with, even if it hadn’t been the smartest thing to do.
He chuckled slightly, but I shot him a scowl in return.
“Well, with it being a one-time thing. Have you changed your mind now
you know for sure how impressive my bedroom skills are?”
“No, Ben, you fucked me so perfectly now all I can think about is your
hand in marriage and spawning your demon child.” I rolled my eyes. “Of
course, I haven’t changed my mind.”
 “Good,” he nodded and took a long drink of his coffee. “So, when can we
get started on saving the groups?” He looked at me, eyebrow twitched
upwards like it was the most innocent question in the world; leaning
casually against the counter and looking rather delicious without his shirt
on.
I looked down at the dregs in my mug, not really sure how to answer his
question. Of course, I wanted to save my club, more than anything. But to
work with Ben, to team up with him, with us both going for the same
promotion… If we succeeded, he’d look better, come out on top.
Meanwhile, I’d still be that pesky Art teacher trying to reach outside her
lane. I’d practically be handing him the promotion.
“I’m not sure about that.” I obviously caught him off guard, and his eyes
narrowed at me.
“Why not?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, his eyes still
laser focused on me. “We’re friends now, right? We can work together with
clothes on and off.”
“First off, you gotta forget about last night. You can’t keep bringing it
up.”
“I know, I’m sorry–you’re so easy to tease.”
I huff out a breath. “I’m saying... I’m not sure if we should work
together. Just because we can get along for one night doesn’t mean we’re
the best of friends. I mean, given our track record I doubt we’ll be able to
work together for longer than fifteen minutes without turning to
strangulation or sex.”
The minute the words left my lips, I regretted them. The bitterness of
what I was saying and unwillingness to try anything hit me. Had I always
spoken to him like this? Or had it only been since the summer? Judging
from the way he barely flinched, the words seemingly rolling off him,
maybe I’d been a villain in our relationship for longer than I’d realized.
And now I saw him in this new, strange light, I finally had a chance to see
things, re-examine them.
Maybe Ben Bennett wasn’t the only asshole in this relationship.
The room fell silent for a moment before he shrugged and sent a
completely undeserved smile my way.
“Well, I feel pretty friendly. In fact, I feel so friendly, I’ll spare you the
embarrassment of trying to convince your Uber driver you aren’t doing the
walk of shame and I’ll drive you home.”
He lifted his mug to his mouth again and drained it. He gave me a
moment to put myself back together and time to push all those pesky
invasive thoughts away for later. He pulled on one of the kitchen counter
doors to reveal a dishwasher and loaded the used dishes inside, taking my
empty mug and plate from me without saying a single word.
It’s only a short silence, but it has me wriggling in my seat, so desperate
for it to end as I watch him close the dishwasher and settle on the other side
of the breakfast bar. His palms pressed into the counter as he stood
opposite, leaning ever so slightly forward and looking straight at me.
But when he looks, he really looks; his gaze is intense, burning,
analytical. Like I’m a puzzle and he’s holding all the pieces, trying to figure
out how they all fit together without knowing the final picture. I try to read
him right back. I can see the thin ribbons of gold in his eyes, see that
morning shadow starting to creep in across his jaw, and I want to graze my
hand across it, feel that roughness against the softness of my fingertips, then
trail them across his sharp jaw to see if I can get a reaction from him, watch
his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
 It’s another of our power plays. Apparently last night hadn’t been enough
to get it all out of my system; the current in my body turned haywire under
his burning gaze. What did he expect to find? What did he want to see?
Like waking up from a spell, I become aware how hot it suddenly
became, and how hard it was not to run my fingers across his skin, the need
to touch him intensifying under the realization.
“T-t-thanks,” I started, desperate to break that silent intensity but the
words came out all strangled, closer to unintelligible noise than language. I
had to cough awkwardly to clear a lump from my throat before I continued,
the moment growing more and more uncomfortable. “Thanks for the offer...
of the ride home... but are you sure it’s okay for you to drive?” I was
fighting a rosiness that threatened to darken my cheeks.
He furrowed his brows in silent question, and I immediately clambered to
clarify myself. “I mean, since we were drinking last night.”
Realization smoothed his features, his fluffy brows relaxing and his eyes
clearing.
“I’m good, I only had a few last night,” he replied, still looking at me,
still reading me. The intensity fades and a smile returned to his lips.
“Besides, I wasn’t the one sinking shots with Hanna at the bar all night.”
“I do not know how to say no to that girl,” I grinned in response, thankful
for the air easing around us. He stood up straight from the counter, before
leaning over and scooping up keys I hadn’t realized were there until now.
“Should we go?”

A few minutes later, he led me out of the building to where his familiar
black car was parked. I would’ve thought it was brand new if I hadn’t seen
him drive it to school over the years–there wasn’t so much a crumb or piece
of rubbish lying anywhere. But after seeing his apartment, this didn’t
surprise me. It even still had that smell, the unmistakable but indescribable
new car smell, but there wasn’t an air freshener to be seen.
God forbid he ever saw the inside of my car–it was a rolling storage
facility. I still had some bits and pieces from when I had moved back home:
an old chess board I still hadn’t found the pieces for, a bag of clothes to go
to Goodwill, and the trash left over from about a dozen fast food meals I’d
sneakily eaten in the car. Not to mention I couldn’t tell you the last time I
cleaned it out. I grimaced at the thought of what I’d find when I finally did.
Some things were left best undisturbed.
The car jolted out of the parking space, immediately turning to do a U
turn in the middle of the road. My fingertips wrapped firmly around the
handle on the car door, my body rigid as we pulled out onto the street.
I was yanked from my thoughts as the car came to a violent stop at a
junction, Ben slamming on the breaks. I looked for the danger he had to
stop so suddenly for but found the road empty. Without warning the car
accelerated, turning so quickly to the right that my butt slid slightly across
the leather of the seat, and sped down the road.
“Watch your speed, the speed limit is 20,” I reminded, side eyeing his
speedometer. He shrugged me off, the speed slowly creeping up past thirty-
five.
“It’ll be fine,” he smiled, and I swear he pressed down on the accelerator.
“Take a left here, I just realized I didn’t give you my address.”
A strange look twisted across his features, but I didn’t have time to ask
him what the problem was before my body jolted forward as he yet again
did an emergency stop at a junction.
 “Jesus, why do you keep doing that?” I yelled, as the seat belt pulled
painfully tight across my body. There was a car in front of us now who’d
stopped with plenty of time at the junction. It was Ben who was the
problem.
“Doing what?”
“Braking like that! You’re going to get us into an accident!” And then it
hit me. All those times he had pulled out in front of me in his car. His first
day at school, even just last week. “Who taught you to drive?”
“My dad.”
“Did you ever get any lessons? Like from an instructor?”
“No, why would I need those?”
My eyes widened at the realization. “Has anybody told you that you are
the most terrifying driver?”
He smirked knowingly. “It’s been mentioned here and there.”
“I cannot understand how you still have a license.”
“Some people think it’s a fluke.”
“It’s absolutely some kind of miracle.”
The rest of the car journey I spent clutching onto the door handle for dear
life, my body rigid to stop myself from swinging forward every time he
braked too hard and accelerated away again. He followed my instructions
home, and I tried to avoid any major roads for both of our sakes. At points,
I’d wanted to yell at him to pull over and let me drive, but I figured getting
him to even safely stop might have been beyond his skill set.
“This must be pretty handy for work,” he commented, finally pulling up
at the edge of the leafy sidewalk. I’d always loved how this street looked in
fall, which was clearly in full progress judging by the number of red and
orange leaves covering the road. “What is it? A ten minute drive?”
 “Five if I’m lucky.”
“I live across town, so I always have morning traffic to compete with.”
“Unluckily for the traffic,” I muttered under my breath. When I glanced
over at him, he grinned wide.
“I thought you lived across town on Second. When did you move?” he
asked, his head tilted slightly in question.
I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering how he’d known my old address.
It was, in a word, creepy. “How did you know?”
“I saw you a couple of times, my gym is across the street. I put two and
two together when I saw your car outside all the time,” he answered,
shrugging me off like it wasn’t a big deal. But I was already onto a follow-
up question.
“Why didn’t you say hello?”
The question was simple. I could see him clearly in my mind, standing
outside the old gym I’d never dared to go into, gym bag in hand, a pre-work
out in the other. He was probably shorts paired with an old college
sweatshirt kind of guy, and meanwhile I’d be across the street, lost in my
phone or with a friend. So close, almost tied together, but separated by a
road and a shared disdain for each other.
“Well, I already annoyed you enough at school. I didn’t think you’d want
more irritation after hours,” he answered, giving me a look.
There was nothing in his posture, not even in how he said the words that
told me there was more to it, but I had the feeling anyway, a buzz on my
skin daring me to dig further. I wasn’t entirely convinced I’d enjoy the
answer, so instead I let out a sigh, breaking eye contact with him and
glancing out at the familiar house instead, still devoid of life in the early
morning hours.
 “Thanks again for driving me home.” I smiled slightly, trying to ease the
tension that had appeared, but failing as he flashed a smile my way that
didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see you about, I guess.”
“See you Monday, Ms. Davis.” His voice was light, playful, but with an
echo of something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Climbing out of the car, I fought the urge to turn around and invite him
in; for coffee, food, anything really that meant this moment could keep
going between us. For years, we had worked against each other, and I could
barely tell you any actual information about this man other than how crazy
he drove me. But in one night I’d gained more ground than in two years
working together. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give that up, even if his
driving was completely terrifying. Holding myself together, I marched up
the front lawn, stepping onto the porch that wrapped around the house. My
keys twisted in the front door, and the familiar smell wrapped around me. It
wasn’t until a few moments after I’d closed the door, that I heard him drive
away.
I wondered for a moment if he had also hesitated. If he’d waited.

OceanofPDF.com
 Ten
All My Ghosts - Lizzie McAlpine

M onday was the Monday to end all Mondays.

Not one but two teachers were off sick. I had to cover two
classes at the same time during second period, which meant fifty teenagers
must’ve been hitting their caffeine peak of the day on my watch–not to
mention a student threw up in the corner of one classroom. And worst of
all, the projector had stopped working.
Like I said, the Monday to end all Mondays.
I’d stayed in the classroom over lunch, finally taking a moment to myself
to try and find some peace in this day. In between deep diving into
influencer food porn and searching for a new shampoo, I had pulled up the
tab for the vice principal position on the school’s website, and stared lazily
at my half filled out application. I’d scrolled through the questions, looking
at my half-assed responses before remembering that the broken projector
needed fixing. Not that it was just an excuse to procrastinate the application
any further.
 I was perched on top of a semi steady desk, the front right foot just
slightly shorter than all the others, locked in battle with the aforementioned
unruly projector and all its snaking wires when he found me.
“Is any of this safe?” Ben’s voice was a velvet roll of seduction with a
heavy hint at the smirk I knew was already on his lips as he paused in the
doorway of the empty classroom.
I turned to look at him, just a quick glance over my shoulder, finding that
he was leaning against the door frame, hands in his front pockets. Fuck, he
looked hot.
Underneath my weight, the table jolted suddenly, and I tensed in surprise.
Refusing to give him any more satisfaction, I turned my focus back to the
projector, willing myself to not look at him again, at least for a moment
more before I pathetically caved.
I didn’t have the time or energy for Ben today.
He’d already taken up far too much of my attention for something that
was supposed to be a distraction. I’d spent Saturday night trying to stop
myself recalling the finer details of the night before. The feel of his skin
dragging against mine, his tongue pressed hungrily against me, the way
he’d gripped my hips, his thumbs pressed into my skin, helping me keep
pace as I rode him, even when I felt myself falling to pieces, he kept me
going and going and right into the next orgasm.
Store that memory away for later and think of something else, Olive.
“If I could find the ladder I would, but like everything in this department
it’s gone missing.” I furiously pulled cables out of the projector and jammed
them back in, mentally begging the projector to burst into life.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer. “That’s the power
cable! What are you even trying to accomplish?”
 “I’m trying to fix it.” My teeth were gritted as I abandoned the cables and
instead fiddled with the various buttons on the projector. My fingers were
barely able to reach them as I rose to the edge of my toes.
“It looks like you’re trying to break it.”
I fought the urge to break him.
“If I was trying to break it, it would be nothing but tiny pieces of plastic
by now.” I sighed and flopped my arms to my sides, exhausted and aching
from all the upwards stretching. Finally, my head rolled to the side, giving
into the urge, and found his gaze on me, a soft smile on his lips.
Did he think about it too?
My fingers grazed the bottom edge of my dress, my cheeks burned as I
realized how short it would’ve been with my arms raised. It had been on the
edge of school appropriate, so thankfully I’d paired it with dark black
tights.
“Come down from the table, Olive, and explain the problem to me.”
I looked at him as it dawned on me that this was the first time I’d been
taller than him, no matter how ever so slightly. I’d been his height on
Friday, when he’d pressed me up against his wall. Stared right into those
eyes that were again fixed on me. I had to stop thinking about it before it
grew too obvious.
“Oh, are you an IT expert now?”
Ben smiled brightly in response and my heart stuttered uncontrollably.
That was one response we had to stop before it got out of hand. Memories
of Friday night played in my mind. He had smiled then too, but that
could’ve just been the pizza.
“I prefer genius, but I’ll take any compliment from you I can get.”
 He raised his hand and I gawked at it awkwardly for a moment before
realizing he was helping me down. My sneakers thudded softly as I hit the
ground, thankful to be back on solid ground again.
Time paused as I realized how close our bodies were. I felt my body
almost being pulled into his but my feet managed to steady themselves just
in time. I practically hopped one step backwards, the space more than
necessary.
“It isn’t connecting to the laptop.” My words were like a bucket of cold
water. “I did get it working, but the screen was backwards–all swapped
around, you know?” I explained as he paused, wide eyed for a flash, before
he pulled himself together; his shoulders tightening, his face changing. One
moment frozen, then next he reached up and started to inspect the projector.
He poked one single button and the screen flashed blue behind me. He
looked back at me.
“Go turn on the laptop,” he said with a slight bob of his head, his arm
still raised to the button.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s on already.”
“Just give the mouse a shake.”
I rolled my eyes at his insistence but followed his instructions; walked
over to the desk and moved the mouse an inch. The laptop burst into life,
and so did the projector.
If people could win smugness awards, Ben would’ve won right there and
then, his smile so wide and warm, like he was impressing even himself. It
took more effort than necessary to not care about that look on him, to ignore
how freaking cute he looked.
As quickly as it had arrived, the warmth in his expression faded away, his
gaze cast behind me, his face suddenly turning stony. I turned, immediately
seeing the problem that was now displayed in crisp 1080px, slashed across
the classroom wall. A stark reminder to both of us why we had agreed to
one night and one night only
My vice principal application.
We hadn’t spoken about the position once. I’d known he was going for it,
but it was the realization I’d seen settle on Ben’s face when the screen
confirmed his own suspicions about me. We were going for the same job.
And I knew, knew I couldn’t lose. I couldn’t handle things staying like
this, stagnant and hopeless and so exhausting. I needed this job. It was the
answer, but as much as he was a delicious distraction, he also stood directly
in front of me for the job.
“I was thinking we should join our groups together today to explain the
situation.” The words fell out of my mouth as I reached for the laptop,
pushing down the screen with my fingertips. The screen automatically
turned off, the glow disappearing and the classroom turning dim.
There was a considered silence, a moment where he took time to adjust,
to process, and find his footing in this altered state.
He cleared his throat. “It’s worth a shot. They might have better
fundraising ideas than us.”
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the niggling pull towards him.
Instead I forced an awkward smile.
“Room 4B, yeah?”
He nodded, hearing the words for what they were. Edging closer to the
door, he dipped his head, his lips still smiling, albeit with considerably less
sunshine at my dismissal.
“See you there,” he added a wave as he disappeared out of the classroom,
lingering for a moment before stepping outside, heading across the hall into
his own room.
The after school class had managed to get themselves all set up, each of
them picking something that had caught their attention in the beautiful
afternoon sunlight that was shining brightly. There were about seven
students in total, and I was still trying to convince some of the new students
to join the club. Last year had been a massive success with fifteen, and a
few who even turned out to be really talented. None had gone on to study
art but that’s besides the point. It was more that they had found something
they loved to do, an outlet where they could fill up with whatever they
needed that day. Not quite art therapy, but a way to clear their minds after a
busy day. I was forever grateful I had been able to give them that for some
time at least.
But soon the time came to a close, the door swung open to reveal Ben,
his eyes searching around the room until he finally spotted me. If I’d not
known any better, I might have sworn that he smothered a small smile
before beckoning me over with a wave of his hand. I sigh, before marching
over.
“Do you think we should tell them together?” he asked, brows furrowing
together. I was immediately thankful that he had suggested it. He was cold
but at least he wouldn’t cry as he told them what was happening. I, on the
other hand, could already feel the tears welling.
“Sure, do you want to bring your group in here?”
With a quick nod of his head, he stands aside and students begin to pile
into the room. I guess he had already decided this was the most likely
scenario.
“Everyone, can you gather over here? We have a quick announcement
before we finish up for the day,” I called, catching my students’ attention.
We gathered in a circle, and Ben began to speak, my heart deep in my
stomach the entire time.
“So guys, I’m really sorry but we’ve been informed by Mr. Wright the
funding for both these clubs has been cut.”
I watched the look on Ben’s face as he spoke, the slip from professional
teacher to regret. Looks of disappointment immediately washed over the
students faces, my group looking to me for confirmation. I nodded my head
sadly, the squeeze in my chest growing stronger.
“We have enough funding to keep us going until the holidays, but after
that I’m afraid if we can’t find another source of income, there’s no way we
can continue.”
I kept my hands in tight fists, and with each wave of sadness, pulled them
tighter and tighter until my fingers hurt and knuckles felt sprained. But the
slight pain was a distraction from falling apart in front of these kids. Even
when the students began to pitch ideas around, that dark cloud just felt
heavier. Their suggestions were mostly about potential competitions or
ways to raise enough money, things we had mostly already done over the
years with little to no success, or had already been shot down by Rob.
This had been coming for years. It was only the final nail in the coffin.
“That’s it for today anyway guys, good work everyone. If you have any
other ideas or questions, please feel free to take them to Ms. Davis or
myself–we’re open to all your suggestions,” Ben concluded, and the group
broke up to gather their things. A couple of the students, seniors Sophia and
Ashley approached me. They had been my star students since I’d been
teaching them, and we’d formed a little bond over the years.
“We know you’ll figure it out, Ms. Davis,” Sophia said, her voice
hopeful, “You always do,”
 “I’ll do my best, girls, I promise,” I said, forcing a smile to my lips,
trying to comfort them. As they walked back over to collect their things, I
noticed Ben staring at me again, a look I couldn’t recognize on his features.
As soon as I looked at him, he looked away his attention returning to a
group of the matheletes in front of him.
I quickly gathered my things together and left, walking past the janitor
waiting patiently at the door. Quietly, I thanked him for his work, a small
nod of his head in reply was enough before I left, heading straight for my
car.
I slid into the driver’s side, exhausted. Limbs heavy and head sore, that
sharp tingle at the back I get when I’ve spent too much time staring at a
screen. And not just tired, but exhausted. Exhausted from being so busy in a
school that would not let up, from a day that had been plagued with disaster
after disaster and how was it still only Monday?
What was I doing? How was I doing it? And why did it feel like I lost a
little bit more every time I came out? I used to be happy here, I was sure of
it. I took a moment to try and let myself feel it for a moment; to sink into
that heavy exhaustion, to give in for a second.
How was it I knew I needed to cut myself some slack at the same time I
was telling myself I wasn’t doing enough?
Why was this group so hard to let go of? Why was it important when it
made me feel like this? This burning resentment, this total lack of adequacy
to do this or any task ever in the history of the world. It would be so easy to
let it slip away–but what would I have left?
I was stuck in indecision, slamming between the rock and the hard place.
Mom would have known what to do. A better teacher would know, would
have the solution immediately to hand, or at least have the emotional
distance to accept when things were over.
I still didn’t have any answers when I pulled out of the parking lot, that
lingering storm cloud feeling a little bit grayer.

OceanofPDF.com
 Eleven
I'd Have To Think About It - Leith Ross

“S o here’s the catch–we only have one month to prepare,” Ashley

grimaced, finishing up her presentation.
She had approached me earlier in the week with a rough outline of her
plan: a competition she’d discovered aimed at promoting the combining of
arts and more traditional STEM classes like math and science together, with
the aim of bringing more attention to the importance of arts and reducing
the underfunding of the subject.
It was a lot of work, starting with a qualifying round for which we had to
send in a group project showing how arts and the STEM subjects could
work together to create something new. If it was a success, then we could
move onto the second round which was held a few hours away over a single
day. This part of the competition was a serious challenge, including trivia
rounds on all aspects of the STEM subjects and art, as well as problem
solving challenges and mini group projects. It sounded intense and
impossible with such a small time to get prepared. But the prize made it so
worth it: $10,000 to help develop and support the school’s combined
STEAM subjects. It would be more than enough to save us from the
looming ax.
The biggest problem, however? The conference was over three hours
away which would turn it into a full field trip–something we were going to
need a lot of help with.
I looked over at Ben, who was only hearing the plan for the first time. I
hadn’t had a chance to speak to him about it until now with classes keeping
us apart.
Things were... different since last Friday night. He’d smile from his
classroom when we’d catch each other looking across at each other or nod
his head to say hi when we passed each other in the hall. Little
acknowledgements that I existed, that we were friends now.
Or maybe not friends, but finally after years of war and battle, it seemed
like we’d truly found a place where we could work together. And while I
still had reservations about working to save this group, they weren’t about
him personally anymore.
I’d finally managed to pull together my application for the vice principal
job, and despite every line I’d written under accomplishments feeling a
little like a twisted truth, I felt like it painted a fairly impressive view of me.
Enough, hopefully, to help them ignore the fact I wasn’t in the ideal subject
for the role, despite having started some of the training for a higher role last
year, before Mom. And this competition, I hadn’t decided yet if it would
help or hinder. Certainly it would look good for me, but it would also help
Ben score extra points.
He stood beside me, looked across Ashley and Nathan, a student who
was part of his Mathletes, and began to fire necessary questions at them.
Nathan had done the presentation with Ashley. I had initially assumed she’d
reached out to him as a representative from the other side of the room, but
after watching them together, it felt like there was more going on. My little
teacher’s heart squeezed as I caught the way he looked at her when she was
speaking. We’d always have bets going on in the teacher’s lounge about
who seemed likely to get together. Sometimes, when I was feeling bitter
about love, it was a good reminder to see it starting out right in front of you.
And now finally, we had something exciting to work towards. The room
buzzed as students discussed some ideas among themselves. Almost
everyone in our groups had shown up.
“Do you know if there’s any entry fee to the competition? Any extra
costs that go along with the application?” Ben asked Ashley, picking up the
answer to the question.
“No, it’s all free. The entire thing has a list of tech and creative sponsors
behind it so it’s really well funded.”
“And how many students are allowed to take part in the final round?”
It was Nathan’s turn to answer this time. “It’s a full day of different types
of quizzes and competition so we are allowed to enter a maximum of four
teams of five. At the end, they will add up all our final scores and the top
two teams battle it out in one last competition. Our entry project is also
counted.”
“That’s going to mean taking a school bus.” Ben ran a hand through his
hair, obviously trying to judge the cost to the school on the entire thing.
I already knew we were going to have an upward battle with Rob on this.
He had been completely serious about the budget warning he had given at
the start of the year. Already some of the departments had reported issues
with trying to order some supplies for their classes. The money this
competition could offer us felt huge, but in the end, it would probably end
up being spent on things that were completely necessary, rather than
anything nice and shiny.
“It looks like they can help with funding for transportation.” I looked
down at the handout that had been passed around before the presentation.
The list of sponsors was on the reverse, and I gawked at some of the big
names that were involved. This was insane, and even just taking part in this
competition would be exciting on its own. There was a buzz around our
combined group at the possibility of a trip away from home, and the chance
to do something fun for a change.
Maybe I needed this more than anyone else. A break from doing
repetitive tasks, from feeling the same way. This could give me everything I
needed to prove I wasn’t a failure, that I could find a solution and see it
through.
Save the clubs, save myself.
“We’ll need to get help from parents, they won’t let us take twenty
students without more hands,” Ben said, finally looking over at me. His
head was dipped ever so slightly, his eyes turning soft on me.
My voice came out croaky, my throat suddenly turning incredibly dry
under his glance. “I think we could drum up some support. Plus with some
of these sponsors, a win would certainly look good on college applications.
And I’m sure some teachers would be willing to help too.”
He grunted a response, before turning back to Ashley and Nathan. “Do
you have any ideas for the first project? The entry?”
Finally, an exciting question. Technology and art, all rolled together.
Even if I had hated math, this was still a cool concept. The room buzzed as
students discussed some ideas among themselves. Almost everyone in our
groups had shown up to discuss the presentation–I had a sneaking suspicion
Ashley had already gone around and told them about the competition to
give them all time to drum up ideas.
I tried to remind myself this was proof that this was important to them.
This was teenagers sticking around to help out at school. When else had
that ever happened? The thought, however, still didn’t help to ease the
uncomfortable knot in my stomach.
“What about something with photography?” I suggested, not quite sure
where the thought had come from but finding myself suggesting it anyway.
Ben looked at me, his eyebrows pressed together in question as his body
stiffened ever so slightly. I carried on, trying not to be dismayed by his
awkwardness. “It combines technology with art, as well as chemicals with
the development process. We’d have to get our hands on some old film, but
I know we have some old cameras stored somewhere around the school. We
used to run photography classes–I remember from when I was in school–
and I found them a year ago when I was doing some cleaning. And the
chemicals I’m sure we would be able to ‘borrow’ from the chemistry
department, that would be fairly simple.”
Ben’s handsome face remained stony, not giving anything anyway, so I
pressed on, my brain already putting the images together, seeing the
potential project fall into place.
“We even had an old development room for the photos. It’s currently
being used as storage, but it still has all the old kit. I’m sure if we moved a
few dozen boxes we would be able to use it properly again. It could be a lot
of fun.”
He shifted on his feet, his lips pressing together as he thought it over. His
silence made me nervous, the idea turning sour as I myself considered it. It
was a good idea: we could touch on both elements while not using up any
extra costs we couldn’t afford. I could feel my old defenses coming back
up, that old wall he’d slowly dismantled brick by brick building itself up.
“I think we could do better than that,” he said, his tone brittle and a little
cold. He turned away from me, opening his mouth to talk to the group
again. I reacted before I had time to think about it, too used to having my
ideas shot down by him, too used to being told ‘no’ despite it being a good
idea.
“Like you have a better suggestion.” The snipped words fell out of my
mouth. My voice had been quiet, barely over my breath, but the room had
reached an uncomfortable lull just as I spoke. A silence fell over the
students, and my cheeks burned as I instantly realized how rude that
sounded.
I barely managed to look up at Ben, shame building and building as the
pit in my stomach grew heavier. His expression hadn’t changed from the
hard look he had when I was explaining the idea, but there was something
else to it, a look in his eyes that held a little hurt, a little bit taken back from
my uncalled outburst.
Swallowing, I tried to remove the lump that had appeared in my throat
before speaking, voice as small as I felt. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to be so
defensive.”
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes stuck on mine. I tried to read him,
tried to figure out if he’d taken it personally, or if he’d understood how
terrible I was feeling. Under his gaze, I wanted to disappear, to slip into
oblivion and escape this desperately hopeless feeling. He nodded at me,
silently accepting my apology without saying so much as a word.
That somehow made me feel worse.
 “I think using photography is a good idea, but maybe we can do a little
better with the science element of it,” Nathan said, breaking through the
awkwardness that had momentarily fallen over the room. “Maybe give us
the week to think of ideas, and we can decide next Wednesday.”
“Don’t forget about the deadline, we don’t want to run out of time,” Ben
warned, the sound of his teacher’s tone doing little to sooth the nausea that
was washing over me, churning my stomach full of nerves.
“But there’s no point in worrying about the deadline if we don’t have a
good enough idea to get in,” Ashley reminded, the group murmuring around
her in agreement.
I took a deep breath, trying to move past that sick feeling, before saying,
“I’m sure if we all pull together we can get any project finished in time, and
in the meantime, we can start revising and practicing for the competition
section.”
“We’ve got to get all this approved first,” Ben said, tilting his head
towards me. His gaze was hard, giving absolutely nothing away. I tried
reminding myself that I was the one who had been unreasonable to him,
allowing myself to take a beat and swallow my frustrations before replying.
“I’m sure we can convince them, especially with all the funding
available.” I forced a smile to my lips, trying to keep it light–but failing.
Even with the funding, Rob could say no. He might have absolutely no
interest in saving the group, especially if he’d made up his mind about
giving it the ax.
I hated that this was at his mercy. He was a reasonable guy, a friend
almost, but he was also a professional, and he would have to put the needs
of the school ahead of this group. I understood that fact, I really did. But
why couldn’t this group be important too?
 “We can arrange a meeting with the principal as soon as possible, and in
the meantime, we can assign revision to you all after our next classes,” Ben
said, addressing the group before looking to me for confirmation.
I nodded in response, mentally making a list of all the art history books I
had available at home. The school library would have a few, but most of the
references would be ancient.
“Meanwhile, if anybody has any question or ideas, please feel free to
come see myself or Mr. Bennett,” I smiled, the group murmuring in
agreement before grabbing their belongings and slowly shuffling out of the
classroom.
A few students approached me, expressing excitement over the idea of
the tournament. Some even had a few ideas for the project that I encouraged
them to keep mulling over. The idea had to be perfect to give us the best
chance, and we were entirely capable of coming up with something that
could blow the competition out of the water. Ben had been right about the
photography idea. We could do better, could come up with something more
unique that reflected the science element of the project more than just
developing our own photographs would show.
And as much as I hated admitting he was right, I hated the next part even
more. I needed to apologize again.
The way he’d looked at me was so closed off, giving me nothing, but a
quick glance around the room told me there was no sign of him in the
classroom. I quickly grabbed my own belongings from the front of the
room, before sticking my head out of the doorway and into the corridor. It
was there I saw him, already halfway down the long hall, walking
practically at breakneck speed.
 “Hey! Wait up!” I shouted, heading towards him, trying to break out into
a desperate run but struggling with the weight of my overfilled backpack
which had been stuffed full of homework still needing graded, as well as
some art history books I’d taken in for reference in today’s class.
He either didn’t hear me or flat out ignored me and continued to walk
down the corridor, the distance between us growing. I contemplated giving
up entirely, and leaving him alone. He clearly didn’t want to talk to me, and
maybe that was for the best. All those times he had pissed me off and all I’d
wanted was to be left alone, maybe he needed time to process, time to see
that I hadn’t meant to be so snippy before, time to see that I was sorry.
But to be honest, in the end, I was glad he had never left me alone. Sure,
he’d been annoying and arrogant and almost definitely self-serving. But
when he had a chance to explain himself, I’d started to understand, learning
a little bit more about him every time. Slowly, around him, things were
starting to feel... better
“Ben! Wait, we need to talk!” I shouted, my voice echoing around the
almost empty halls. It was after school time, so thankfully there were no
classes in session, but there were still some students from our groups
making their way to the nearest exit. I ignored their surprised looks as I
yelled his first name, trying to not make a big deal of it.
This time he stopped, pausing for a moment before turning around, that
eyebrow of his twitched upwards. I’d never been so grateful to see that
usual look on his face, the one that used to make me want to roll my eyes at
him and ready myself for a fight–but in that moment, I was just happy he
was looking at me at all.
I sped up, not sparing a second thought to my heart that was hammering
away; whether it was from the brief run or the worry, I wasn’t sure. Finally,
the space between us closed, and he stood there, minor annoyance creasing
his features. Had he always looked this attractive while annoyed?
“What is it, Olive? I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” he practically
sighed, his head leaning to the side while his tone was tired and
exasperated. He looked how I felt: tired, exhausted almost. So much so I
began to wonder how I’d missed the dark rings around his eyes, the slight
paleness to his skin. Was he okay?
“I wanted to apologize for back there. I didn’t mean to snipe at you, and
it was unprofessional, and I...” His eyes narrowed at me, causing me to lose
my train of thought for a moment. “I got defensive, and I shouldn’t have.
I’m sorry.”
At first he didn’t say anything, just tilted his head down to the floor,
reaching up and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, so I kept going.
“I also wanted to thank you for Friday.”
“Thank me?” he spluttered, his face twisting in confusion as he looked at
me, eyebrows pressed together.
“Not for the...” I motioned, my arms flailing around the air instead of
stating exactly what I meant. Flashes of two bodies pressed together filled
my head. The memory of how soft his skin had felt was first, then I
remembered how gentle his lips had been pressed against the sensitive skin
of my throat before they worked their way down my body, finding my
peaked nipple and biting, playfully at first, then hard enough to pull an
uncontrolled hiss from between my lips.
I swallowed, pushing the memory to the back of my mind again. We both
knew what I was trying to refer to, I didn’t need to say the words.
“For finding me, for helping me calm down after the...” I trailed off
again, my chest restricting slightly at the admission, at the acceptance for
what it had been. “After the panic attack.”
I’d been alone, outside, crying and losing my mind. But he’d found me,
distracted me, fed me and kept me safe. We both hadn’t expected to end up
where we did, twisted in his sheets–the memory of that night still playing
over and over in my head late at night–but the fact he’d come after me, I’d
realized I’d never actually thanked him.
“It’s okay, anyone could’ve helped you,” he said with a shrug, his
shoulder slumping slightly as concern was soft in those gorgeous eyes.
I fought the strange and unfamiliar urge to close the gap between us, to
wrap my arms around his broad chest and squeeze, to take in a deep breath
of that now familiar and strangely comforting smell of pine and fresh
cotton, to press my body against his and feel his warmth. Instead I kept my
feet planted where I stood, fighting that pull into his body.
“But you did.” My voice rang clearly around the now empty hall. “And I
never said it at the time, but thank you.”
The gaze that trailed over me was soft, the hazel of his eyes turning dark
like melted chocolate, the concern still there. His lips parted, opening
slightly before pressing closed again. As if questions were burning him to
be asked, to be answered. Thankfully, he pushed them away, instead taking
me by surprise when he spoke by changing the subject.
“I’m not mad about earlier... but I’m not sure we should work together.”
He kept that softness, despite the words, despite the confusion that flashed
through me as I processed them.
“But you were the one to suggest it in the first place.”
“I know... but you’ve made some good points. You know I’m not easy to
work with.” He shrugged, head hung slightly. “And you clearly still have
issues with me.”
 “I do not.” I crossed my arms tightly, frustration surging higher as he
sneakily raised an eyebrow, instantly making me unwrap my arms, forcing
them to my sides.
“You sound awfully defensive for somebody who doesn’t have issues.”
“I’m… I’m still learning to be friends with you.” I still felt pretty terrible
for my little outburst from before, there wasn’t any excuse. We’d been at
odds for years, being on alert around him was second nature. “But that
doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friendly.”
He sighed again, the exhausted breath heavy. “It feels like it’s a matter of
time before we find something else to fight about.”
“Well if you ask me, we’re on track for one right now,” I countered.
“Those kids are counting on us now. They all stuck back to listen and help
us save this group. They’ve come up with this amazing opportunity after we
asked them to and now you want to bail on them?”
“I think it would be better if one of us worked with the group. I could ask
one of the other teachers or –”
“No or. No other teacher.” I shook my head, determined to make this
work, to make him stay. “I don’t think I can do this without you. And I’m
the only art teacher who takes chances with these kids, but I have absolutely
no idea what to do on the science or math side. There’s no replacement for
you. You’re tough on those kids and they still come back every week?
Either they love being tortured with difficult equations or they genuinely
enjoy your time and effort in that group.” The compliment was easy
because it was true, his gaze unwavering as I continued, the air between us
thick. “Look, I’m really sorry for snapping at you earlier, especially if that’s
what caused this. But those kids need you. I...”
 I trailed off, my lips freezing in place as the confession rattled around
me, my logical brain kicking in, thinking over the words I had caught
myself from saying. My body went rigid, hands curling inwards so my nails
pressed into my palms, not painfully but enough to ground me. Enough to
keep myself from going too far into these feelings.
“I need you.” The words felt resolved, final. And I wasn’t sure if he knew
how I meant them. Not only in the way I needed him, his specific support to
give us the best chance of winning, but also to help me, like he had last
Friday.
I felt like broken China that had been carefully put back together and
arranged in the correct pattern, but was being held together with sticky tape
that was losing its stickiness with every day that passed. Together,
functional–but the cracks remained, just waiting for another tumble, another
fall, and I’d be nothing but pieces scattered on the floor.
On Friday, the pieces would’ve fallen apart if it wasn’t for him. He gave
me time, and distraction enough to forget about everything. Without him,
working on this project would easily break me.
His eyes locked on mine, the lighter brown flakes lit up like molten gold.
He opened his mouth to speak but I continued before he had a chance to say
anything. “Mostly because I’ll literally die if I have to teach math. Like, lie
down and die of boredom, Ben.”
His smile started off small, liquid sunshine erasing concern as it grew,
causing my own lips to quirk up, my heart still stammering in my chest, still
terrified he’d turn around and leave me to do this on my own.
He nodded. “Okay, I’ll stick around. But one promise: if I’m being an
asshole, you call me on it before we go too far. I don’t want to get into any
arguments with you, not anymore. We need to be friendly at least.”
 “No fights?” I repeated. “What if we get into an argument over
something stupid like paperclips or whether the flat earthers might have a
point?”
“None,” he pressed, the word final, before he added, looking a little
unsure, “and I sincerely hope you are joking about the flat earther thing.”
“You mean to say the earth is not a pancake spinning around in space?” I
smiled, the curve of my lips growing by the second. “It was the only stupid
science thing I could think of that I knew would annoy you.”
“So, you promise?”
“What happens if we argue?”
“Then someone has to leave the project. We might be the best people for
the group but we won’t be if we can’t stay friendly.”
“And can I call you on your bullshit?”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Ms. Davis,” he replied, and
still my smile grew if it were even possible.
“Deal,” I said, and a small smile broke out on his face too. “But I have
one more condition.”
“Go on”
“You have to volunteer for Homecoming next week.”
Confusion and disbelief twisted on his features and he cocked his head to
the side. “ Ms. Davis–are you asking me to be your date to Homecoming?”
“Volunteer at the dance,” I corrected. “It’s a good way to meet the parents
we will be asking favors from, not to mention we always need eyes to make
sure they don’t run off and try to hook up in unlocked classrooms.”
“You want me to chaperone?” One of his eyebrows flickered up in
question, a slight smirk curling onto his lips.
 I’d never dared to ask this of him before, and even if I did, I’m pretty
sure I could have told you his response word for word. I nodded, unsure if
this was pushing the already shaky friendship into rough waters so early on,
but then, he surprised me.
“What time do I need to be there?”

OceanofPDF.com
 Twelve
I'd Have To Think About It - Leith Ross

B en and I had been waiting in Rob’s office for a full five minutes
before he had even arrived at the school. We heard him come in,
saying a cheery hello to the receptionist, before he stopped dead in the
doorway. With one glance between us he easily determined that the two of
us sitting in his office together, completely unannounced, couldn’t equal
anything good for his day.
With a grumble about needing a coffee for this, followed by a quick
retreat to the teacher’s lounge, he finally returned, full mug in hand.
“What is so urgent you need a meeting first thing in the morning?” Rob
asked.
“$10,000–how much do you want it?” Ben asked, his eyes sparkling with
the large offer of money.
He reminded me of a salesman, trying to lure Rob in with the big sparkly
headline–but I knew that wouldn’t faze Rob. He was a realist. I had been
planning on opening with a softer approach, think of the children and all of
that, and it only now dawned on me that maybe we should have taken some
time to discuss exactly how we were going to approach Rob about the idea.
Rob looked between us, confused by the question.
“Is this where you tell me you’ve found a map to buried treasure
somewhere on campus?” he jokes, and while I cracked a small smile, Ben
remained serious.
“There’s a competition, it’s all about incorporating the arts with the
STEM subjects, to even out the field for funding. And the prize is $10,000
for the winning school,” I explained, trying to steer the ship in a slightly
gentler direction.
“We want to enter,” Ben said, again cutting right to the chase.
“Who is we?” Rob asked uneasily, lifting the mug to his mouth to take a
sip before jolting back like he’d been scolded by his coffee.
“The Mathletes,” Ben said, catching my attention before adding with a
joking smile, “and Olive’s art geeks.”
“We aren’t art geeks,” I argued back, my brows furrowing at him.
“How would you describe your group then?” He caught me off guard,
and I mumbled slightly, trying to pull together a suitable response.
“We just... do art.” I could’ve kicked myself. Why did I sound so stupid
around him? I made it sound like we scribbled about with crayons for all he
knew.
“In your spare time?” His eyebrow flicked upwards with the question, his
eyes bright, obviously ready to go in for the kill. And there was nothing I
could do to stop it.
“Obviously.”
“Sounds pretty geeky to me,” Ben shrugged, and I rolled my eyes at him.
“At least I’m not the one doing math puzzles all the time.”
 “Oh, because drawing doodles in my spare time is worth more than
solving complex math problems,” he retorted, a smirk crawling onto his
lips.
He was loving this, absolutely delighting in how much of an idiot I
sounded like. And to be honest, apart from my absolutely terrible responses,
I hadn’t hated it either. It reminded me of our conversations before we
decided to be friends, but somehow, this felt different. Somehow, fairer.
“It’s certainly more fun,” I mumbled, unable to control the smile
breaking out on my lips.
“Okay, just wait a moment. I thought I cut those groups,” Rob
interrupted, reminding me of his very presence in the room.
“You did,” Ben confirmed, recovering with more ease than I did after
Rob’s comment.
“So how can they compete?”
“We have enough funding for this semester, then it’s finished.”
“I’ve already told the board the clubs are gone, that will take some
explaining,” he said, mostly to himself.
“But imagine also being able to tell them how much the group brought in
because it was allowed to continue,” I added, trying to show the brighter
side of that awkward conversation.
“Yes; but only if you win,” Rob spoke solemnly, his mouth twisted into a
frown.
He was right, there was every chance we would fail, especially with such
little time to prepare. The other schools must be miles ahead of us by now,
and we still had to decide on an entry project. We were so late in the game,
odds stacked so high against us, it would be impossible to win. My hands
grew clammy as I pressed my fingernails into my palms, each nail leaving a
little half moon indent into the skin under the pressure. I focused on the
discomfort of the action, using that to keep me grounded, keep me in the
room and to save me from the squeezing band around my chest that pulled
and pulled and pulled, the air evaporating from the room, the temperature
increasing.
“Such little faith in your students, Rob,” Ben replied nonchalantly,
shaking his head at the principal. He continued, sounding almost irritated at
Rob as he spoke, “Do you know they brought this to us? This is their idea to
save the groups because it’s important to them. I have no doubt they are
going to put in the work to prepare for this competition, they are going to
give it their all. The least we could do is believe in them.”
He looked over at me then, his eyebrows pressing together for a moment
as he took me in, took in my obvious worry, the paleness of my skin–like he
could see the doubt written all over my face and couldn’t understand it.
Rob coughed awkwardly, ending the silence that had fallen over the
office before speaking again. “Tell me the details.”
I silently passed him the flier we had found online, as Ben launched into
a further explanation, going over the sponsors and the event that would be
held throughout the day.
Rob looked stressed just taking in the printout “I’ll need to talk to the
board. There’s absolutely no budget for any of this.”
“The competition offers separate funding for transport and resources. It’s
not much, but it should cover everything we would need. We just need to
apply. I’ve spoken to a friend who’s on the committee for the judging board
and they said the funding comes through quickly,” Ben rattled off quickly.
That caught my attention, knowing he’d enquired already. Our discussion
had only been yesterday which meant he had immediately reached out to
his contact. My heart eased at his commitment to this; his belief that this
was doable, achievable.
“And the first round is…?” Rob asked
“We have to come up with a project, show art and science working
together and send it in as an entry. From there, we’re invited along to
compete at the conference,” I answered, trying to make it seem as easy as
possible, but Rob saw right through me.
“That part will require volunteers,” Rob stated, his tone dipping further.
“And a bus.”
“I know, but the funding will cover the travel. As for volunteers, we’ll try
to drum up support with the parents who I’m sure would be happy to
support this as it will look good on any college application.” I tried
desperately to show this was covered, that this was as cheap as possible for
the school, but I knew it wasn’t enough to convince him. I was failing, and I
could feel it slipping through my fingers.
My gut wrenched as Rob spoke.
“I’m not so sure,” he sighed, looking at the mountains of paperwork
stacked up on his desk. “The budget is so tight this year, if this takes a
single cent, we won’t manage to do it.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. I knew this year was going to be hard,
every year of teaching had gotten increasingly difficult. But this felt
impossible, like we were being dragged through rapids, and fighting it felt
useless and impossible. Even though we had the solution, something that
could really change things around here for the better, it all felt like it could
be for nothing.
“But...” I tried to interject, but he continued.
 “I know you’re both passionate–I hear it a lot from student feedback and
even the parents like you both. Things right now... they’re just so tight.”
I knew he was trying to be nice, and at his core, he knew what an
opportunity this was for everyone, not just the group. But it was his job to
be the realist out of all of us, the unpassionate keeper of the budget and
crusher of hopeful teacher dreams. I could feel my last shred of hope fading
away when Ben piped up, seeming as desperate as I was for this idea to
work out.
“Let us apply for funding. It won’t cost anything to try, and then when
the funding comes through, we can revisit the entire thing.”
If I didn’t know him better, I would have thought he was begging,
grasping at straws trying to keep the hope going, despite how impossible it
was all feeling. Rob was silent for a moment, mulling over his thoughts. I
looked between them both, impatiently waiting for a response.
“When is the deadline again?” Rob asked, and my heart began to race
again, eyes wide with hope. Was this it? Had Ben convinced him?
“We have two weeks to submit the project, then we find out a week later
if we’re in. The competition is a few weeks after that,” Ben answered,
looking to me for confirmation; I nodded in response.
“That’s not much time,” Rob remarked, and this time it was my turn to
pounce.
“But that works in your favor. Less time will mean less opportunity for
any costs,” I argued, trying to appeal to his frugal side. “And just imagine
how much more you could do if we did win, how much less stressful this
year would be.”
He took a moment to think about it, and I looked over at Ben whose eyes
were glued to Rob. The expression on his face... it made me know for
certain he wanted this as much as I did, maybe even more. I’d never seen
anyone look more determined to make something happen.
“Okay. Apply for the funding, come see me as soon as you get
confirmation. Not a single cent can be spent before then.” My heart
exploded in my chest, relief washing over me but it did very little to release
that pressure around my chest. “But no promises, okay?”
“Thank you so much,” I said, looking over at Ben. His eyes were bright
and practically sparkling, but it was his smile that caught me in mid breath.
Did he always have to look this good when he was happy? I couldn’t find
the words to describe how much joy changed him. So bright and happy, and
it caused my insides to twist in a way that wasn’t completely unwelcome.
He looked back at me, mouthing a small yay at me, before turning back to
Rob.
“I must admit, I’m surprised you’re managing to work together on this.
Hanna mentioned you’d been getting along and it has been a while since
either of you have submitted a complaint about each other.”
“You complained about me?” I asked, my mouth falling open.
“You were too damn joyful, it was very irritating,” Ben shrugged.
I found it impossible to do anything but smile. I had to regain some
control over my reactions to him. This was getting out of hand.
“I said you were too moody,” I admitted.
“Among other words that weren’t so clean,” Rob added, and Ben’s smile
only grew.
Rob’s desk phone began to ring and he excused himself so he could
answer the call.
I leaned down to grab my bag, but found I was blocked by Ben, his body
barely inches away from mine. He lowered his head, hanging it near mine.
My heart beat furiously at the closeness. His words were soft and quiet
enough so only I could hear.
“Talking dirty about your co-worker? I never knew you felt that way
about me, Olive.”
His words sparked all kinds of heat around my body, and I barely had
time to recover before I spoke, somehow managing to pull together a
sensible string of words.
“In your dreams.” God, that really sounded dirty, and I fought the redness
that must be flush on my cheeks. I’d said this to him before, weeks ago
when I caught him staring at my ass. It felt a million years ago now. We
locked eyes and it felt like I was being dragged under by a strong current,
completely and utterly absorbed by him.
“How’d you know about my dreams?” His voice was low, almost rough
and I might have died inside. He held still for a moment, and I could feel
the heat coming off his body. I fought every urge in my body to move
closer, to lessen the distance between us. It was like he was the North Pole,
and I was a helpless little compass point caught up in his attraction.
Thankfully, my feet remained rooted where I stood, leaving all the
moving to him. He turned his head, and it was inches from mine. For a
moment, my gaze stuck on his lips before I watched them curl into a
knowing smirk. I blinked twice, realizing he had noticed, and I looked
straight into his golden eyes, finding them to be a beautiful mix of light
hues and flakes of darker brown.
“Ms. Davis, have I caught you staring?” he added, but I couldn’t say
anything. My brain might as well have packed up and gone on vacation at
the sound of his smooth voice.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Bennett, have I caught you flirting?”
 If the words had any effect, he didn’t let me know. The smirk remained,
the sparkle in his eyes growing brighter if anything. He opened his mouth to
speak, but suddenly jumped back, catching me off guard. Rob put the phone
down in the receiver, and I was finally torn away from Ben, and over to my
boss. My boss, who had been standing literally meters away, while Ben
had... had done what? Whispered into me? Flirted while I apparently melted
into a puddle?
What on earth was happening?
“Sorry guys, I’ve got a meeting in fifteen. Olive, is now a good time to
talk about the other thing?” Rob looked at me trying to be as vague as
possible, but it was no use. I could feel Ben’s eyes narrowing at me in
question, and I knew I’d never hear the end of it now. I tried desperately to
ignore him, knowing if I looked at him again, I would get caught up in his
current once more. I needed a straight head, not to be obsessing over Ben
Bennett.
“Yeah, please, if you’ve got time,” I said, knowing it was better to get
this conversation done and out of the way. Talking about it now gave me
less opportunity to chicken out and change my mind.
Ben shifted uncomfortably on his feet next to me, clearly not sure what to
do now. I turned to him, burying everything I felt, and this time it was my
turn to smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m not complaining about you.”
Relief washed over my words but they didn’t fully erase the curiosity
from his features.
“Like I give you anything to complain about,” he joked, sending, my
mind into overdrive with the innuendo. “Thanks for your time, Rob. I’ll
catch up with you later.” He looked over at me, but I looked away, trying to
ignore the racing of my heart. Slowly, he shuffled out of the room, the door
softly clicking shut as he left.
“So, should I get the complaint register out again?” Rob asked, his lips
pressing into a firm line.
I shook my head, the lump in my throat immovable as I tried to swallow
it away. I almost wanted to tell him it was nothing, pretend like it was an
issue that had resolved itself and leave as quickly as I could. But I’d made a
promise to Dad to talk about it. I owed him that, and that fact alone was the
sole thing keeping me in the room.
“My dad and I have talked about it, and we’d like to donate my mom’s
piano to the school’s music department.” Rob sat up in his chair, clearly not
expecting this. “The department does already have a piano, but this is a vast
improvement. And Dad’s willing to pay for the movers, so again, it won’t
cost the school anything.”
The piano.
Her piano. It had been her prized possession, bought for her as a wedding
gift from her parents, who were now long passed. She had taught countless
students with it, taught me with it. How many Sundays had I sat there, next
to her, listening to her play? Now the house was quiet, quieter than it had
ever been.
I had never thought this was a conversation I’d ever be having, but Dad
had asked so gently, his eyes sparkling slightly as he had explained how he
wanted to turn her old study into a room for himself, a space that was just
his. The house held so many memories, her mark in every patterned
wallpaper, every placement of an ornament–everything in the house
reminded us of her and he said he didn’t want to erase her. But he needed a
room where only he existed, and the study was perfect... apart from the
baby grand that stood proudly in the middle.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I didn’t know your mom, but from
what you’ve told me I know music was a big part of her life,” Rob said,
leaning forward on his chair.
“We’re both sure,” I said quietly. It wasn’t a lie: when Dad had suggested
this be the place it went, it felt right, far better than my initial fears of
seeing him sell the instrument. “She taught music, and I think she would
want the piano to be used to teach. I do have one condition though.”
“Of course.”
“Obviously, the school has budget issues... I want to make sure the
school won’t sell the piano without running it past Dad or myself first. I
know that might be a lot to ask, but the piano can do a lot of good here. And
I know we always need to keep the lights on, but this is important also,” I
continued, growing in confidence at my single request. I knew it was a risk
the school could still do it, but the reassurance would go a long way.
“That’s all completely fair, Olive. But... I can only make that promise
while I work here.”
“I understand,” I nodded. “And I wouldn’t expect the school to hold onto
it forever but knowing it will have a home here helps a lot.”
“Well, as long as that’s all fine and the music teachers in the department
don’t have any issues with it,” Rob said.
“They don’t, I already ran it past Sarah.”
He nodded his head, then paused. “And you and your dad are completely
sure?”
“Yes.” The word was closer to a croak than a confirmation, but he
accepted it anyway.
 “Then I’d be happy to accept your donation on behalf of the school.”
I let out a sigh of relief, happy the plan was coming together. But at the
same time, my heart dipped. I forced a smile to my lips before thanking
Rob for his help. I knew this was for the best, best for Dad, best for what
Mom would’ve wanted. But was it the best for me?
I pushed the thoughts down, knowing it was too late at this stage for
rethinking this. This was a good solution, even if it hurt. The piano
wouldn’t be lost to us, in fact it would be sitting under my control. I had to
remember that.
I forced a smile and said, “Thank you, Rob. I’ll arrange the movers. I’m
sure you don’t have a problem if I organize it all.”
“Of course not.”
“Great,” I replied. “Well then, I best let you get on with your day.” I rose
from my chair, collecting my bag from where it sat on the ground and left
the office.
“What was that all about?” someone asked, and I turned to the waiting
area where Ben was sitting, looking rather comfortable as he leaned back in
the chair.
“Jesus, you scared me!” I cried, placing a hand over my suddenly racing
heart. “Have you been out here the entire time?” I asked, already knowing
the answer. What else would I expect from Ben Bennett.
“I thought I’d wait for you.”
I tried to ignore how that made me feel, my insides turning all fuzzy. I
reminded myself I knew exactly why he had waited–and it wasn’t
friendship.
“You mean you’d wait for me to try and see what Rob and I had to talk
about,” I said, a little snippy but softening the tone with a playful smile. I
walked out of the waiting area and down the hall, and he followed me, hot
on my heels.
“Something like that,” he smirked. “So, what was it?”
I contemplated ignoring his question completely, finding another topic to
push to instead. But I knew better than to try and wiggle out of answering
his questions.
“Oh, just details about the dance,” I lied, purposely not looking at him
and looking dead ahead instead. I could feel his eyes narrowing at me.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, we’re all going in for a limo rental if you want to join,” I
added, finally looking over at him. His face was difficult to read, his eyes
looking ahead. Momentarily, my insides twisted at the lying. I didn’t
exactly have a reason to lie, he’d probably hear about the piano at some
point... but I’d barely held myself together in front of Rob, and I didn’t feel
like I had any more strength for the topic. Not right now, at least.
“Of course! Does that mean I need to buy you a corsage?”
“Do people still do those?” I questioned, unsure if I’d even received one
for my own Homecoming.
“Chivalry is not completely dead, Olive.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said, with a sly smile as I looked up at him. His
eyes connected with mine, the playful glint in them not surprising me in the
slightest.
“So, are you going to tell me what you had to discuss?” he pressed again.
I let out an exasperated sigh. Why did he have to be this way: unable to
drop a subject till he’d dragged the truth out of me, till he knew every detail
of my life and tortured me with the information.
“Do you understand the concept of a private conversation?”
 “I understand it; it doesn’t make me any less nosy.”
“I can see that,” I said under my breath with mild irritation.
I contemplated for a moment telling him, spilling my guts and giving him
all the gory details of the meeting, but then a storm of determination rose
up, clouding my mind, and keeping me rooted in my choice. I didn’t want
to talk about this anymore. Not with him, not with anyone. I’d heard the
same questions over and over again, and I... I felt so tired. It was hard
enough making the decision, defending it felt impossible.
“Honestly Ben, I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone was firm, but even
I could hear how drained I sounded, the smiles and laughter from earlier
long faded.
I didn’t know what else to say to him as he looked at me. I had to keep
reminding myself I owed him nothing. I didn’t have to share every detail of
my life, especially if it was already hard enough to talk about. But, his
expression made me sad, like he thought I wasn’t sharing because we
weren’t friends, or close enough for the talk, when in reality, I couldn’t do it
all over again.
“Okay, I’m sorry for pushing.”
My gaze snapped up to him in surprise, his response cooling my guilt,
replacing the pit in my stomach with relief. I smiled up at him, it was weak
but genuine.
“But I hope you’re doing okay,” he added.
Warmth flooded me, looking up at his perfectly angular face, a reassuring
soft smile returning mine.
A strange thought floated around my brain, and I fought an urge to wrap
my arms around him, like a string pulling me to him, and hold him in a soft
hug.
 “I’m fine–mostly. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Understood,” he said with a firm nod. And like that, it was dropped. I
paused for a moment, struggling to put into words how thankful I was to
him for his sudden acceptance of boundaries, before finally changing the
subject.
“I need to run, I’ve got a class to prepare for. But next Friday, before
Homecoming, are you able to help out beforehand with the setting up?”
He thought for a moment, changing mental gears. “I’ll be busy before,
but I’ll be around for the dance.”
“Good, because the seniors last year were successful with spiking the
punch and we all had to finish that ourselves and it was dangerous how
wrecked we got after,” I grinned, remembering the raucous faculty
afterparty.
“I’m surprised that’s allowed.”
“It’s probably not, but try telling Hanna.”
He smiled. “I’ll see you there then.”
I returned the goodbye, before turning and disappearing down the hall,
feeling lighter than I had in a while.

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirteen
The Lakes - Taylor Swift

T he rest of the week slowly eased by, my classes feeling torturously

slow as the classwork I needed to make began to pile up. I’d given up
on finding a focus point for this year, the special something to focus on
outside the regular curriculum to make the subject that bit more exciting
and relevant for students. I’d considered a bunch of different ideas, but none
had given me that feeling, that buzz of inspiration. But to be fair, I wasn’t
even sure I remembered what that feeling felt like anymore.
It didn’t help that I’d been barely able to pick up a brush to paint at
home, barely able to find a starting point–and in fact completely and utterly
unable to see anything in my head to put onto canvas. Sometimes during the
day I’d feel that familiar jolt, see a fuzzy outline of a painting, sometimes a
memory–mostly of Mom–and no matter how painful it would be to paint
her, I’d promise myself I’d do it when I’d get home. That tonight would be
the night I broke through this dry spell, my longest since I’d started
painting.
 But then the end of the day would roll around, something would
inevitably have gone wrong at work, and I’d have to use that last drop of
energy to solve it. I’d be left drained and overwhelmed and utterly
exhausted, and that jolt would be long forgotten.
“Hey, are you okay?” Hanna asked, her gaze focusing on my face as if
she was reading the dark rings under my eyes. My body slumped, realizing
I had been completely ignoring what she had been saying.
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t feel too good.” I looked down at my barely half
eaten lunch, stomach turning at the thought of taking another bite. Not to
mention the fact that my period was in full swing and was not going easy on
me this month.
The teacher’s lounge was filled with the usual lunch buzz, teachers
crowded around the tables and sofas set up, probably gossiping and sharing
their plans for their upcoming weekends. Another wave of nausea hit me as
I looked past Hanna and over to Carly who was at the counter behind her.
The smell of leftover curry hit me as the old microwave buzzed loudly, and
I swear I turned two shades paler.
“I was going to say, you look terrible.”
I looked up at her, eyebrow cocked up, the pain in my head buzzing that
little louder. “Gee thanks.”
“You know I say it with love,” she smiled, the worry not leaving her
eyes.
I knew the look well. I gave it to my dad every time he complained about
the odd acid reflux or headache. What Mom had... it wasn’t genetic or
something that could be caught, but that didn’t stop the niggle in the back of
my head that kept me vigilant, watching him and making sure he called a
doctor, even if it felt like I was being overbearing. I needed to hear it was
okay, that everything was okay.
I took a deep breath, trying to soothe the deep hurt that stirred under my
skin, before looking up at her, forcing a small but reassuring smile onto my
lips. “It’s probably one of those bugs going around school. I’ve had a few
students off this week.”
She nodded in response. “It’s always the same around here. First few
weeks back and we all get struck down by the new plague.”
I let out a small noise of agreement, before going back to staring at my
lunch, stomach lurching again. I knew I had to eat, even just a few
mouthfuls. I’d barely eaten anything over the past day, despite my dad’s
irritation at dinner last night, but when the thought alone was enough to turn
my stomach, I knew pushing it would be a terrible idea.
It was then Ben caught my eye as he stormed in, looking furious about
something. I recognised that look on his face, so used to it being directed at
me, but he didn’t even look my way. Instead, he marched over to one of the
math teachers and began arguing with him, both looking quite frustrated
with each other.
It was a true sign of illness that I couldn’t even bring myself to wonder
what exactly was irritating the stick up his cute butt today. Instead, I found
myself looking at him, my head resting on my arms as I watched the way he
moved, the way the dark navy shirt hugged his body, the way that stormy
expression of fury reminded me of our night, the one that played all too
easily through my mind.
“Jesus, you must be turning delirious if you’re looking at Ben like that,”
Hanna piped up, pulling my attention back, dirty thoughts instantly vacating
my brain as quickly as they had appeared.
 “Huh?” I took in her narrowed eyes, lifted eyebrow, and felt my gut
wrench as she answered my confusion.
“If I didn’t know you better Ol, I would’ve said you were checking him
out there.”
When she’d asked me how my weekend had gone, I may have left out the
little detail where I left the bar with him. At first, I’d wanted to, the secret
almost eating me up inside. I was dying to share this little snippet I’d seen
of Ben, to share the details of how his skin had felt on mine how deliciously
hard his grip had turned when I’d requested–how he’d fucked.
But then I saw her and... the desire to share folded in on itself. I knew
there’d be no judgment, maybe some light–okay, heavy–teasing. She’d be
supportive, enjoy this little development. When the opportunity arose to tell
her, when she’d finally asked when I’d gotten home after the night out, I’d
answered around midnight instead of the truth. Some things were better
kept to myself and forgotten as soon as possible, whenever that would be.
“Th-th-that’s ridiculous,” I stuttered, breaking her gaze. My eyes burned
to look back at Ben, but I knew better than that, knew that would confirm
what she’d suggested, so instead I took a forkful of my prepared salad and
stuffed the food into my mouth.
I practically gagged on the food, my stomach fighting against the
mayonnaise covered carrot and lettuce but I continued chewing, ignoring
the sinking feeling I’d made yet another terrible choice. I felt Hanna’s eyes
burning into me, probably analyzing whether I was about to choke to death
or not.
“So as I was saying,” she went on, still eyeing me suspiciously. “I think
we’re all ready for the Homecoming set up next week.” She dug back into
her own lunch, a pasta salad, as she thankfully changed the subject, all the
while still watching me push my salad around the container.
“That’s good, what’s the theme?”
“As cheap as possible, according to Rob. We’re hoping to use the money
raised from tickets for other things around the school because funding is so
tight this year.” She pressed her lips together, her shoulders slumping.
“Ah,” was all I managed in way of support. What could I say? We were
all feeling these cuts, all finding it harder and harder to figure this year out
and it had barely begun. I already had students coming to me for supplies
they couldn’t source themselves, and I wasn’t even sure what to do this time
around.
“It’s so hard because all I want to do is complain about this to Rob, but I
feel so bad–like I’m complaining about him when it’s just the situation.”
I nodded, really hearing her this time. She frowned and stopped eating
for a moment.
“I’m sorry, that sounds really hard.” I felt terrible not having a solution,
not being able to give the answers and be able to fix this for her, for
everyone. How could we keep going like this?
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she reminded. “It’s good to
vent.”
“I’m always here, even if it’s outside of hours, you can just call if you
need to talk.” I sent her a small smile, attempting to be reassuring. She
returned it, but it was like looking in a mirror when it disappeared, the
exhaustion quickly replacing the forced expression.
“Thanks, same for you.”
The moment should’ve been nice, a shared space between friends who
could rely on each other in a tough period. But this tough period was our
lives, it was our jobs, day in and day out with no possibility of relief.
How much longer would we cope? Or, perhaps the question wasn’t how
long we could cope, or how long we could survive the strain, the pressure;
but instead how long until we were finally crushed, left in nothing but
pieces shattered on the floor.
Maybe we already were.

I didn’t feel any better by the end of the day. The smell of fresh paint
from the last class of the day’s work still hung strongly in the air despite the
open window. I’d been trying to tidy up for the day, slowly rewashing the
equipment the students hadn’t put back and making sure everything was
laid out properly so it could dry over the weekend. Progress had been slow,
nausea keeping me from getting through the tasks quickly, and instead had
me taking a seat every few minutes so I could pull myself back together–but
it was finally all done.
I took one last look around the empty room, checking the chairs were
pushed into the desks correctly, each one of the tabletops clear of equipment
ready for lessons on Monday. My desk was organized, a stack of papers I
still needed to mark sitting to the right where there was a pile of textbooks I
had collected for information on art history.
Weakly, I shouldered my bag, hit the light switch and gently closed the
classroom door turning to head down the hall.
I was glad it was the weekend; I needed time to rest. The sooner I could
get this bug out of my system, the sooner I’d feel better. Maybe having the
two days off would give me a chance to heal. Although the thought of food
made my stomach twist like circus acrobatics, I could always try some
soup. There was something about a nice bowl of soup that could be so
healing. The weather had been rainy for days now, fall in full force, and it
was officially soup season. More than anything, I just wanted my bed,
wanted to snuggle up in those cozy sheets and let myself sleep for hours on
end. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep where I
hadn’t woken up restless in the middle of the night, unable to find sleep
again until the early hours of the morning.
No wonder I felt like crap.
I was just turning away when I heard voices coming from across the hall.
Wobbling slightly I peered into Ben’s classroom. Only now did I notice his
lights were still on, the door left slightly ajar. I had expected to be one of
the last staff members in the building. It was Friday, after all, and like the
cool kids, most of the faculty fled shortly after the last bell.
With a knock on the door, I called out, “Ben?”
Maybe I should have waited for a response but instead I gently pushed
the door, which creaking on its hinges as it opened, and I peered inside.
“Olive, you’re still here?” Ben’s gaze was assessing as he spoke, those
dark eyes narrowing on me.
But it wasn’t him that caught my attention for once. Instead, I looked to
the man who was on his right. They both stood at the back of the classroom,
side by side. Approximately the same tall height as Ben, maybe a little
shorter and dressed in a fitted black suit. He looked vaguely familiar, but
placing him was hard, especially as I swayed on my feet again, still feeling
quite weak from whatever plague was sure to send me to my death bed.
“I was just wrapping up for the day,” I explained, still assessing the man,
almost waiting for an explanation of who he was. It was strange to have
people in the classroom who weren’t members of staff or students–not
without a valid reason anyway.
 “Is this the Ms. Davis I’ve heard so much about?” the man asked, looking
away from me and over to Ben for an answer; he barely grunted a reply.
“Ben told me about all of your work with the after school clubs. I think it’s
great how much effort you’re putting in to save the clubs. They’re a credit
to the school.”
“Oh... thanks?” I sounded stupid but it was all I could manage in the
moment, my clammy hand still holding onto the door handle for support.
“It would be a shame to lose them, I know budget cuts have made things
hard but the district’s doing all it can to get through this tough financial
period.”
Where had I seen this guy before? Why did he look so familiar? I tried to
place him, but even in good health I struggled with faces, my memory
terrible without a name. I was about to officially introduce myself to the
man and get a name for him since Ben seemed to be doing nothing, when
Rob ran up behind me, his phone in hand.
“Oh, hi Olive. l I thought you’d be home by now.” His smile faltered as
he took me in, concern clear on his features. Good to know I looked as shit
as I felt.
“I was on my way out,” I explained as he slid by me, entering the
classroom and standing at the front of the room.
He motioned to where Ben and the man stood, looking back at me. “Glad
to see you’ve met Dane, our district head.”
It was one of those movie perfect moments when the camera zooms
suddenly in on its subject, a whooshing noise indicating that all the air had
suddenly evacuated the room as the pieces of the puzzle finally slide into
place. It was a surprise that the handle of the door didn’t break off under the
pressure of my grip as I realized who I’d discovered, in Ben’s classroom of
all places, who’d seen me looking so stricken and pale faced, a feverish
sweat gleaming on my forehead. This was one of the men who held my
little teacher dreams in their hands, dangled the school budget in front of
me like a cat playing with a mouse, and most importantly, one on the board
who would decide who took the role of vice principal at the school.
And somehow, he knew my name.
“Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you.” My voice was so shaky, so unsteady.
I knew I should go and shake his hand and try to give the best first
impression I could, but my stomach was doing backflips, the nausea
building so high I thought I’d lose my balance if I let go of the door. I had
to find a way out.
“I was telling her how impressed I was with her work on the clubs.”
Dane smiled, finally turning his attention to Rob. I kept my eyes on Ben,
however, who seemed to be shrinking away from the conversation, willing
himself to fade into the background as he leaned against a desk, stretching
up and rubbing the back of his neck. It didn’t escape me that it was still
weird Ben and the district head had been casually hanging out, the
questions burning at the back of my throat.
“Both Ben and Olive are currently trying to take part in a competition
that I think we’ve got a great shot at winning,” Rob said, pulling my
attention to him at the mention of my name.
“Really? Ben, you never said,” Dane looked to him; Ben’s gaze shot up
from the floor.
“It didn’t come up.” His voice was low and moody, his shoulder slumped
as he continued to avoid looking at me. What was going on with him?
“Well, I’d love to know more,” Dane replied, looking undeterred by
Ben’s weird mood. He turned to me. “Olive, maybe you could tell me more
during our interview?”
My furrowed brows and tilted head probably gave away that I had no
idea what he was talking about. Not losing any of his sunshine smile, his
hands waving in mid-air as he spoke, Dane explained. “I’ve probably
spoken too soon. My assistant will be setting up the interviews for the vice
principal role next week. It’ll be great to sit down and discuss all your work
with the school–it was quite extensive.”
“Oh,” was my educated response, before I managed to string some
intelligent words together, a soft smile forming on my lips. “I’ll look
forward to sitting down with you and going through the program.” I barely
had time to consider what this all meant before he was launching into his
next point, his words sending me reeling.
“I can’t tell you how excited I was when I found out Marie Davis’s
daughter was going for this role–not to mention already working in one of
my schools. I’ve never met a more passionate teacher than your mother.”
The room tilted on its axis as the world came to a grinding halt, that acid
taste returning to my mouth as my smile slipped, fading slowly like the
dying embers of a fire.
“She was great.” The words tasted disgusting, an understatement if there
ever was one, but I was sure I was about thirty seconds from passing out.
“I was sad to hear about her passing. I did make it to the funeral b–” The
rest of his words sounded more like the high pitched static buzzing of an
old fashioned television.
Numb. I had to be numb. It would be better to feel none of this, be a
duck, let it wash off. How did we go from talking about an interview to my
mom? Ben looked at me then, that stony stare melting away into realization.
But I could barely see him, my focus everywhere and nowhere at the same
time–though I knew he was looking at me, putting that puzzle together,
finally figuring out what all the sad looks and tired mornings and panic
attacks had been about. What our night had been a distraction from.
“Please pass on my thoughts to your father. Joseph and I go way back to
when Marie first started teaching.”
“I’ll do that.” The words felt heavy and impossible as I had one clear
thought, one clear urgent action: run.
The men fell into light conversation, but I didn’t hear a word. I couldn’t
even properly dismiss myself as I knew what I had to do next. I turned
away, practically stumbling out of the classroom as I clutched my stomach
and mouth.
Had to go.
Had to go.
Had to go.
The next thing I remembered was crashing into an empty bathroom stall
and emptying my guts down the toilet, my fingers gripping the cold
porcelain. I don’t know how long I was there before somebody found me,
holding my hair back as I dry heaved into the toilet, sweat rolling down my
forehead as my eyes watered.
It was Hanna, and I rose my head weakly to look at her. She passed me
something to wipe my face with, concern written over her own face as she
did, but I didn’t deserve it. I almost told her so, but another wave of nausea
crashed into me, forcing me forward again.
“She didn’t look so good earlier.”
“Maybe we should drive her home.” And I knew that was Rob.
Their voices faded out as I threw up again. Eventually, I slumped back,
certain my body was empty and done. Hanna passed me a plastic cup, and I
took a sip of the cool water, thankful to have a friend like her.
“Do you think you can get up? Rob’s getting the car, I’ll drive you
home.”
Reluctantly, I pushed myself up the wall to my feet. I was unsteady, and
weak but the desire to get home and crawl into my bed as soon as possible
was strong.
She helped me down the hall, making a passing remark about how hot I
felt as she clutched onto my arm, taking a moment to raise her hand against
my forehead. I felt entirely thankful for her friendship again when I found
that Rob had driven the car to the school entrance so I wouldn’t have to
walk all the way to the parking lot.
Wordlessly, I slid into the passenger side and let Hanna drive me home. I
rested my head against the window, almost wincing at the coldness of the
glass. My empty stomach twisted, and I was sure that if I had anything left,
I would’ve vomited all over the car. I pulled closer, shivering uncontrollably
despite the warm air blasting through the car vents.
“When does your dad get home?”
I looked at the clock.
“Not till later tonight.” My throat still felt like hell, my voice coming out
all strained. I shut my eyes as another wave of nausea washed over me
again, but this time it was followed by a painful realization.
The last time I’d been sick, Mom was here. She’d made a pot of her
chicken noodle soup, despite Dad being the elected chef in the household. It
tasted too strongly of ginger for my liking, and I could’ve sworn the
noodles weren’t supposed to be that mushy, but eating the entire bowl was
not optional. She’d claimed it was her mother’s recipe, a grandmother I’d
never met, but I always joked she must’ve strayed far from the original
instructions. I could always count on her to bring me the soup, whether I
was living in my dorm hours away at college, or across town bundled up on
my old sofa with a cold. She’d come round, put the soup in front of me, and
get to work disinfecting all the surfaces of my apartment. Then she’d have a
go at me for not taking the strange multivitamin she’d bought me months
ago after finding it unopened stuffed away in some random drawer,
claiming it almost certainly would’ve stopped me from catching this cold.
Then she’d snuggle up next to me, despite the possible virus, and watch
whatever trashy tv show I was watching with me, the warmth of her almost
sending me to sleep.
I fought back tears as Hanna drove through the dark streets, keeping my
head turned away from her so she wouldn’t notice. The renewed grief
washed over me in thick waves as I stopped myself from whispering the
words that clung so closely, so painfully to my heart.
I miss my mom.
I want my mom
I need my mom.
And as she drove up to the house, the home I’d been raised in, the home
that still smelt like her, I realized how desperately I’d do anything for
another bowl of the soup I used to detest so much, mushy noodles and all.

OceanofPDF.com
 Fourteen
Falling Water - Maggie Rogers

H anna stayed with me the rest of the night. She held my hair back
when I’d woken up to somehow vomit some more, kept me
hydrated, and overall just mothered me until my dad got home. The
memory was hazy with the strong fog of exhaustion and fever, but I could
recall him sitting at the end of my bed, like I was still just a school kid.
“I’d remind you of your language, but in your sorry state, I’ll let it slide.”
He’d chuckled lightly when I swore in response to him asking how I was
feeling. He pulled a blanket I recognised from my parents’ bedroom around
me, and the floral scent of her perfume was unmistakable. At first, I wasn’t
sure how to react, but as I slowly sank back into sleep, the scent of jasmine
and rose surrounded me like a warm hug.
It was the closest I’d get to her, and I’d take whatever tiny piece I could
get.
After spending the next day wrapped up in a blanket, unable to keep
anything of real substance down that Dad tried to force feed me, he’d
almost called into work so he could stay home and ‘watch me’. I’d kicked
him out in the end, insisting I was far too close to thirty to have my dad
missing work to look after me. I understood where the concern came from,
the need to watch me like a hawk after Mom. But it did neither of us any
good to have us both stuck at home feeling completely miserable.
I was about halfway through the fourth episode of the second season of
Passion Paradise when there was a knock at the door. Groggily, I slowly
raised my head up from where I’d been lying on the couch and stared at the
door, as if to make sure I shouldn’t add hallucinations to my list of
symptoms.
But then the doorbell rang, confirming the first noise.
It took me a few moments to pull myself together, gathering enough
strength to my miserably weak muscles to push myself up from the couch. I
battled against the urge to yell that the door was unlocked, but ultimately
decided against possible ax murderers. I gave myself a moment to let the
world stop spinning before rising to my feet. Pulling my blanket off the
couch, I wrapped it around myself like a cape of illness, still unable to stop
myself from shivering.
Stumbling over to the door, I reached out and pulled it open without even
bothering to check who was on the other side.
Welcome to my home, ax murderer!
I tilted backwards as it swung open, nearly falling on my ass as I looked
up at the towering male who was standing there, looking almost sheepish on
the badly lit porch.
Even in the dim light, Ben Bennett looked wildly attractive. Was there
even a light bad enough to make him look terrible? I was beginning to
doubt it. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and extremely handsome. Those
eyes, endless depths of chocolate hazel, rivers of gold running so vivid I
could have swum in them. His hair, that always had me fighting the urge to
playfully tussle, if only to annoy him slightly and elicit a gorgeous smirk; it
all sent my heart into a backflipping frenzy. The facial structure of this man
should be studied by plastic surgeons and DNA scientists and used as the
template to create the world’s most gorgeous man, who might in fact, look a
lot like Ben.
Okay, so maybe hallucination should’ve been added to my list of
symptoms.
“Hey, I thought I should check on you after yesterday,” he said, those
eyes scanning me. I was suddenly aware of how close to roadkill I must
look. I’d barely slept, barely ate, barely looked in the mirror let alone in the
direction of a hairbrush today, instead opting to lazily bunch the thick hair
into a knotty bun. “You know, just to make sure you’re going to survive this
long enough to keep helping with the clubs.”
The groan that escaped me sounded like something an injured animal
might make moments before passing. “I’m alive, but barely. I swear, those
kids are trying to murder me with this virus.”
“Well, I brought soup, if you’re feeling up to it.” He raised his arm up,
bringing my attention to the grocery bag he was carrying. I blinked for a
moment, making sure my virus affected brain was computing this right.
Ben Bennett, previous sworn enemy and apparently one night stand, had
brought me soup. Because I was sick. And when exactly had I stepped into
the twilight zone?
But whatever smell was wafting from the bag, it smelt good, familiar,
and warm, and had my stomach grumbling hungrily at the idea of it.
“I have to warn you, I’ve not kept much down today. So, there’s every
chance this doesn’t help.”
 “Worth a shot,” he shrugged, a small, confident smile on his lips. “It’s an
old family recipe. And besides, you’ll get my wonderful company in the
meantime.”
I grimaced. “Sure you aren’t worried about getting sick?”
“Nah,” he said, with a wave of his free hand. “I’m around the kids as
much as you are. And if I’ve not caught it yet, it’s probably because my
immune system is so much stronger than yours.”
I shrugged at his answer, caving in so easily. “Enter at your own risk
then, Bennett,”
I stepped aside, and watched him as he slowly took a step over the
threshold, taking a moment to double check the choice to expose himself to
a Petri dish of germs. I watched him as he looked around the room, his eyes
dancing across each and every surface as if he had never seen a living room
before; like he was an alien life form, finally seeing how humans actually
lived their lives.
Once he was solidly in the room, I closed the door, taking a moment to
turn my back to him and collect myself. I peered over at the small mirror
that hung beside the door, flattening the hair that had escaped the bun and
securing with a second hair tie from my wrist. There was nothing that could
be done about the sickly pale skin, barring a full face of makeup but that
felt too extra considering he’d already had more than enough time to
commit this ‘close to death’ appearance to memory.
The living room was a little messy but in a cozy sort of way. Bookcases
lined one wall, bursting full of novels and textbooks, sheet music, and
various knickknacks and mementos collected up over the decades: a small
porcelain sombrero painted yellow and red we’d bought on vacation when I
was eight, a small model of the van my parents had rented and driven us
around the country in during the summer I’d turned fifteen and endlessly
moody, a framed pressed flower Mom had told me she’d saved from her
wedding bouquet. Old family photos were hanging from every wall, smiling
faces and old vacation pictures and photos that memorialized the goofy
teenager I’d once been filling up any empty spaces.
I loved every inch of it, loved every memory, and I could only watch as
he peered at every single item, analyzing it like it was a crime scene he had
to find the answer to. I felt exposed, like a bare nerve, as though a gust of
wind would be strong enough to knock me over.
“Is this you?” he asked, turning around with a delighted Cheshire cat grin
plastered on his face as he pointed at a photo of an eight year old girl with
her two front teeth missing.
I fought back a cringe. “I ran into a lamp post and knocked them out.”
I didn’t think his smile could widen, but it did as he turned around, taking
a final look at the photo, before moving across the hall and taking in more
of the photos.
“And this one?”
I was standing on the porch in that one: sixteen, beautiful pink puffy
dress that would’ve made the tooth fairy jealous, hair curled to perfection.
He looked over at me, the look of curiosity sending me reeling. His eyes
were bright, and there was a genuine smile on his lips. For the first time in a
while, I wanted to paint, capture exactly how he looked in this moment–
how he looked at me. He was beautiful.
“Homecoming,” I answered simply, and he nodded. A puff of dark hair
suddenly appeared at his feet as Meatball jumped up, tiny paws pressing
into his jeans, and I went to yell at her to get down, but Ben started happily
stroking her black fur, delight shining through as he looked away from the
dog for a moment.
“I didn’t know you had a dog.” He was so gleeful, so excited, I had to
fight the swell growing in my heart.
“She’s my parents’ dog; name’s Meatball.”
Immediately he started cooing over her. The dog, obviously loving the
attention, started jumping up onto Ben. I smiled slightly, then retreated into
the kitchen, needing a moment to myself.
I leaned against the cold counter, counting my breaths and fighting the
feeling of overwhelm that threatened to crash into me. Why was he here?
Why had I even let him in? Why was Ben Bennett of all people standing in
my parent’s house, playing with my dead mom’s dog?
The thought had my lungs tightening, a deep breath feeling more and
more impossible–and then I remembered his face from the other day. Those
eyes on me when he found out about my mom.
“Hey, want me to get this set up?”
I jumped, pressing away from the counter as I found him leaning against
the doorway, the bag lifted in his hand.
“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t dare look at him, instead turning around and
looking randomly around the small kitchen. “Do you need help with any of
it?”
He placed the bag on the counter. “No, if you sit down then you can tell
me where everything is and I can get it heated up.”
I nodded, feeling too weak to argue otherwise and partially thankful for
the opportunity to sit back down. I rewrapped my blanket around my body,
remembering suddenly I was still dressed in my comfy pizza print pajamas,
no bra included, and pulled out a seat from the small dining table.
 He must’ve opened every single cupboard door, peering inside despite
me trying to direct him otherwise, but apparently “no, not that one, the left
one” and “on your right, no your other right” weren’t clear enough
guidance. It felt frustratingly like forever, but finally he was diligently
stirring the soup on the stove, refusing to leave the pot for a moment at the
fear of it boiling over.
“Do you cook often?” I asked, trying to ignore how ridiculously cute he
would look with a little apron wrapped around him. With his back turned, I
had a rather good view of his ass. And let’s just say the man must’ve never
skipped a squat.
“Does calling for take-out count?” He spared me a look, eyebrow lifted
upwards.
“No, obviously not.”
“Then no, not often.”
The smile that broke out on my lips was completely involuntary.
He turned again. “What about you?”
“I didn’t before, but Dad’s been forcing me to help him make dinner
recently. He says he wants to spend time with me, but he always gets so
annoyed at the way I chop things.”
“How difficult can chopping be that you could get it wrong?”
“That’s what I said,” I exploded, the memory of my dad’s angry face still
clear in my memory. It had been kind of hilarious, watching him lose it over
the simple chopping of an onion. From the first slice of the knife, it had
gone from bad to worse. “Apparently, there’s one way to chop an onion and
the way I do it is unacceptable.”
He laughed, the sound pure joy before a comfortable silence fell over us.
“So, what kind of soup is it?” I asked, looking away from him.
 He didn’t look at me, instead focusing on stirring the pot that simmered
in front of him.
“Chicken noodle.” His answer was casual, so throwaway that he missed
the way my spine stiffened against the back of the chair. I stared at his back
as he went on, his sole focus being not boiling the soup, not realizing for a
moment what–what that meant to me. The familiar smell now clicked into
place.
“Chicken noodle?” I repeated in disbelief, and he nodded slowly, looking
at me all strange.
“Yeah, it’s an old family recipe. You aren’t allergic or anything?” He
added, and I was aware enough to shake my head. “My grandma used to
make this for me, but I don’t think I’ve followed the recipe quite right.”
Silence fell where I was supposed to respond, too dazed to think up the
right words to say–too lost in the warm, soothing feeling that had overcome
me. I didn’t know how, maybe I didn’t want to know how, but he had
shown up, literally on my doorstep, with the one thing I had wanted. The
one thing I had been craving all day.
I watched him as he scooped the broth and noodles into two separate
bowls, with what looked like freshly baked bread on the side. My heart
squeezed softly in anticipation. I stood up, swaying gently.
“We can eat in the living room, it’s more comfortable there.”
He shrugged in response and followed me through. We sat down
together, side by side, hot bowls on our laps.
I inhaled the hot steam, the smell of the fragrant peppery chicken broth
instantly filling me up. I let the memories wash over me as I took a
mouthful, the flavors of the soup maybe a little off balance, not quite heavy
enough on the ginger for my tastes, but I wouldn’t have asked for it any
other way. Because that’s the way she had done it: not quite right. Mostly
because she couldn’t cook to save her life, but she made it with love
nonetheless.
And for once, it wasn’t overwhelming. It didn’t make my heart swell
until the pain felt unbearable, until the missing her twisted like a sharp
knife.
I missed her, but it was manageable.
I missed her, but I had a piece of her, and it was enough to soothe the
constant yearning in my heart and soul and mind.
“How is it?” he asked,, and I smiled at him, knowing he’d never
understand any of this, what this had meant.
“It’s great.” The words were choked, but if he noticed he never gave it
away. Instead, he smiled back, and shifted on the couch, directing his
attention to the TV
“So, what are we watching?”
“I hope you’re a fan of reality TV.”
“Not even in the slightest,” he smiled. “But I’ll give it a go.”
I pressed play, beginning to explain the ongoing drama between the
contestants spliced with mouthfuls of the delicious bread he’d brought. He
listened, nodding along as I tried to explain the complex background and
layers to the argument.
“But that just doesn’t make sense.”
“I know, but –” I started, but he cut me off, clearly enthralled with the
trashy drama. It was addictive like that; you’d think you’d never be
interested, never fall for the bad story lines and silly drama, but I always
ended up getting caught up in it all.
 “But what? They were on a break, and they were never official. He’s
allowed to go make out with Tasha.” His brows were furrowed, confusion
twisted on his face, and I almost chuckled at the expression, enjoying this a
little too much.
“But Tasha and Gemma were friends.”
“Oh.” The realization dawned on his face. “She broke the girl code.”
Simply put, but not any less true.
I nodded. “And then when Tasha moved on with Andrew.”
“She didn’t!”
“Oh, but she did!”
“No way.” His mouth was agape, his attention back to the two now
wrestling women as producers tried to pull them back from each other.
Suddenly, Gemma was thrown dramatically in the way of the camera
operator, who stumbled backwards, crashing into the pool lit by romantic
fairy lights overhead.
“This show is what has been missing from my life,” Ben said.
I smiled, rather pleased with myself.
“It’s a great source of comfort for me,” I said, watching him as he
watched the unfolding drama. “Knowing my life isn’t nearly this dramatic.”
That had been true once, but now? Now I was sitting, sick as a dog, on
my family’s couch with the man I’d sworn was a one night stand, but was
now bringing me soup and had me doing things like noticing how delicious
his ass looked in his jeans and smiling too widely at his jokes.
“So, you live with your dad?” he asked, voice uncertain, like he wasn’t
sure if he was allowed to ask personal questions. But since he’d brought me
something I was apparently able to actually keep down, I decided to indulge
him.
 “It’s only temporary, but it’s nice being close to him again. I moved over
the summer. My dad needed somebody closer, and I’m an only child.”
He nodded understandingly, but I knew the words were going unspoken
between us, the tension rising and the space between us gaping open further
and further.
With a deep breath, I knew it was time to talk about it.
“She died in May.” I played with my ring on my right hand, the familiar
feel of the jewel helping to keep me grounded.
I hated telling people. The words always felt like a lie, like I was making
it up. I wasn’t sure it would ever feel true, but at the same time, maybe I
never wanted it to feel true. It hurt, this gray cloud casting its shadow over
me. It hurt in a way that some days felt too heavy to breathe properly.
But it was a reminder of her. That I loved her. That she was here.
If I stopped feeling that pain, did it mean I had forgotten her? Would it
mean I loved her less?
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” By the way he was looking at me, he really
was. His gaze was filled with sympathy, flicking over me, trying to read me.
I closed my eyes, unable to look at him anymore, and took a deep breath
to escape the intensity of the moment for a second. His hand fell over mine
and squeezed reassuringly, the feel of his skin on my hands a welcome
distraction.
“It’s...” I cut myself off before I could finish that automatic reaction. It
was not okay. “It was sudden and hard and that’s why I moved back here, to
look after Dad. And I guess to be closer to him and... her too.”
“That must’ve been difficult.” His voice was soft, caring and comforting–
like the heavy blanket wrapped around me, like the soup he’d brought, like
the touch of his hand on mine. But none of that made the twist in my gut
any less painful, made me feel any less nauseous. Would this always hold
this grip over me? Would it be worse if it didn’t?
“Does anybody else at school know?”
“Hanna and Rob, but I don’t really talk about it with people.”
“I wish you could’ve told me sooner,” he said gently, like it was an
escaped thought he didn’t mean to say out loud. I shrugged, ready to answer
him but he went on. “I know why you didn’t, or couldn’t, but I’ve been
worried.”
“Why?”
“You’ve been different since we got back after summer. I couldn’t
explain it–you were quieter, even the way you were with students was
different.”
I knew what he was talking about. I’d seen it, the shift in myself. It was
like I couldn’t connect with this anymore, with my work, with my art, and
my students. I was blocked emotionally and creatively and with no way to
vent this feeling, this sadness, I was empty, a vast pit of nothing and
everything at the same time.
“I didn’t know anyone had noticed.” My voice came out so small I barely
heard myself saying them.
“I noticed.”
I finally looked at him again, and the way he was looking at me wasn’t
the way you look at your enemy, wasn’t the way you looked at the co-
worker you worked closely with. It wasn’t even the way you looked at a
one night stand. It was something else entirely.
“You’ve been different too.” The words stumbled out of my mouth,
taking him by surprise as he moved suddenly, his eyes narrowing.
“Really?”
 I laughed at his expression. “Don’t get me wrong, you can still be a
dick.”
He smirked. “Hmm, I’m not sure that’s completely fair.”
“And you might be the worst driver I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Also not fair.”
“The amount of time you’ve cut me off–and when you dropped me off? I
was fearing for my life, Ben.” He huffed in response. “But you’ve also had
moments where you were definitely easier to work with.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Keep that up, and I might invite you round for more food.”
“And until then, I can keep showing up and annoying you.”
A bright smile crept to my lips. “Well, it certainly is effective.”
My words buzzed in the air for a moment, before melting away as the
shift in the air became more palpable, something new but familiar hanging
between us as all the ways we were tied together tangled up and pulled us
closer.
One look and I knew he felt it too; those eyes showed every single
emotion he felt so clearly.
A second glance at his lips was definitely more dangerous, so obvious,
and there was no way he missed it.
There was a pause in time, the earth’s rotation grinding to a halt when his
eyes flickered to mine as well.
It felt so sure, so certain he was about to lean in, despite all the reasons
why he shouldn’t. So sure I’d close the gap, and press my lips to his again
and find myself lost in the feeling, the softness, and him.
And then Meatball jumped up between us, crashing into discarded bowls,
sending scraps of uneaten bread and soup all over the place, and the world
started up again, the moment passing us as it did.

OceanofPDF.com
 Fifteen
I'll Call You Mine - Girl In Red

“D o you remember your school dances?” Hanna asked, pausing mid

blow of a balloon, the activity she’d immediately volunteered for
upon arrival. I’d not understood it at first, but now there was a dull ache in
my lower back from hauling chairs about the hall. I silently cursed her
logical thinking.
“Yes, although sometimes it would be easier not to,” I admitted, thinking
back to the photo of me, smiling in the pastel pink puff I had worn. “I didn’t
go to many, and the ones I did go to were complete disasters.”
“Awkward teenage years?”
“That would be an understatement.” I hauled more chairs around the
round tables, trying to get the room ready for the dance that was due to start
in less than an hour. “I almost left high school when I was sixteen to go do
music, but I changed my mind.”
“And yet here you are, stuck in one for eternity,” Hanna pointed out, and
I thought for a moment on the accuracy of her statement. It hadn’t been till
college that I came into my own, finding my own crowd of people. But I’d
come back.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I paused, then shook away the thoughts.
“What about you?”
“I was prom queen two years in a row,” she bragged, sounding breathless
as she finished up another balloon. She threw it up in the air and gave it a
small tap, sending it flying softly in the air away from her.
“I thought that wasn’t allowed?”
With a simple shrug and a sly smile she said, “They made an exception
for me.”
“Somehow, I should’ve predicted that,” I said, moving two more chairs,
pulling them out so they sat round the table. One down, nineteen more to
go. Thankfully, there was a small army of volunteers helping out this year.
“I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.”
It hadn’t really been either, more of an indisputable fact. There was no
argument she was gorgeous: it wasn’t often you saw black hair paired with
ocean blue eyes, and she had always been incredibly outgoing and instantly
likable. She was prom queen material through and through. I never
would’ve thought we’d turn out to be such good friends, but she took me
under her wing and showed me around the school when I first started. It
took me a month to tell her I had attended here myself. But the friendship
had grown quickly, and I was grateful to have her. She had been a rock for
me during the summer. I don’t think a single day passed during the first
month that she didn’t text me to check in or arrange to meet me for a walk
or a coffee. I’d forever be in her debt.
“Take it however you want to,” I smiled, toying with her slightly. She
narrowed her eyes at me.
 “I choose compliment,” Hanna stated, taking a deep inhale and blowing
into yet another balloon.
“Probably for the best,” I smiled back at her, and she struggled to hold
back a laugh, accidentally letting some air out of the balloon.
Looking a little defeated at the empty balloon, she rolled her eyes. “I’m
going to go check on the punch, make sure no one’s gotten to it yet.”
“Don’t go disappearing on me, I’ve had dates do that to me before and
I’m scarred for life,” I joked, turning away from her to go lay out some
more chairs.
“I thought I was your date,” a voice piped up, and I turned around to find
Ben standing there, a look of false hurt on his features.
Stupidly hot. He looked stupidly hot. I didn’t know if I hated the navy
shirt that was clinging to his chest or if I just wanted to cut to the chase and
be the shirt.
“I never said you were,” I retorted, my voice crackling into life. I could
barely keep my eyes off him, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn he was
doing the same to me. “My date that is.”
“But you asked and everything,” he pouted, his eyes flickered brightly,
and I was utterly captivated.
God save every person over 21 in this hall tonight. It was going to be
impossible to do this with him, I almost regretted asking him to come along.
Almost.
“I thought you couldn’t come till later?” I asked, trying to change the
subject.
I noticed Hanna had left the room, and a small relief washed over me; it
was better she hadn’t seen my reaction. I bet she would be sitting there with
popcorn, enjoying me completely and utterly embarrassing myself. I looked
back at him, my heart squeezing tightly as I did. Was that going to happen
every time I looked at him? I had to get over this. He was attractive–but
tonight he blew the lid off attractive. His shirt was a crisp white, no tie,
undone at the collar, his hair was a mess of brown curls I was dying to run
my fingers through. My palms were sweating just from looking at him. This
was getting out of control.
“My plans changed,” he answered with a shrug. “So I thought I’d come
surprise you, but I’ve been left heartbroken.”
“I’m sure you’ll get over it,” I replied curtly, and I fought the urge to
smile at him. That would give it all away.
“I’m not so sure.”
My heart stuttered at his words, his tone. Did he know he had me
wrapped around his finger? That right now, if he said jump, I’d jump. I
shook my head at the heated thoughts spilling over in my mind, the images
pushing them to the surface. His grip on my bare skin, my legs wrapped
around his head, pressing him closer, the wetness of his tongue against my...
I stopped myself from finishing the thought, trying to cast the indecent
images from my brain and toss them to the back.
“Well, you can work on getting over your heartbreak while you help set
up. I need a hand putting these chairs out,” I said, leading him to where the
chairs were all folded, and dragging two over to an empty table. He copied
me, pulling the chairs over to the same table, unfolding them and setting
them up. I tried desperately not to stare as he moved but his shirt strained
around his biceps while he worked, the material barely able to contain him
and I was a puddle on the floor.
“What did I miss?” Hanna asked, suddenly appearing by my side. I
jumped out of my skin, my gaze finally torn away from him. “Were you...
watching –”
“No.” I cut her off, answering too fast for my own good. My cheeks
burned. She had caught me red handed, and she knew it. A grin grew on her
lips, and I had the sudden urge to head up to the roof of the school and fling
myself off it.
“You were!” she said, her grin turning evil. “You were totally checking
him out.” She kept her voice low so no one else heard.
“Nope. Definitely wasn’t. I was just...” I struggled for an excuse, any
excuse, it didn’t even have to be good or believable. But my brain failed
me, my thoughts all scrambled as panic took over.
“I can’t even blame you. Look at him.”
And I did. God, he had to know!
“Look at that ass!” Hanna’s whisper was almost too loud, as both of our
eyes went wide as he bent down.
Okay, this was a serious problem.
“I-I-I can’t, Hanna,” I said, finally looking over at her instead of the man
across the hall.
“Sure, you can, it’s right there.”
“We work with him. This is inappropriate!”
She tsked. Little did she know what had really happened between us.
Little did she know that I knew exactly how utterly perfect that ass looked
uncovered.
“Besides, you’re married.”
“But you aren’t,” she added, taking in my raised eyebrow. “Inappropriate
is how he looks at you, Ol.”
“What do you mean?”
 She looked at me strangely, her eyes narrowed. “You know. You’ve seen
it. How could you not?”
I shook my head, really confused about what she meant. The confusion
eased from her features, a small smile replacing it.
“He’s constantly looking at you. That man can’t keep his eyes off you.”
Instantly, I looked across the room at him, as if to confirm that’s who she
was talking about. “Ben? Ben looks at me?”
“Yes,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I have
no idea how you can hold a conversation when he looks at you like he does.
Frankly if that was me and Rob, I’d have that man off to the supply closet.”
I stood still, frozen as I racked my brain trying to equate what she was
telling me with what I had seen.
“Every time you’re in the teacher’s lounge, I bet he will look over at you
at least a dozen times.”
Sure, I had caught him staring very occasionally. Usually after we
argued, but that always seemed so annoying, and it had just irritated me
more than anything else. What else had Hanna seen all this time that I had
missed?
“Hey! I didn’t sign up to do all this work myself!” Ben yelled as he
finished hauling the last two chairs around a now full table. Hanna looked
at me with a knowing grin, her eyebrows wiggling playfully.
“Guess you better go get to work, girl.”
A few hours later, the dance was in full swing. The DJ played loud pop
music from the stage and the lights lowered, turning the gym hall from a
cold, large space into something that actually looked pretty cool. Dances
here were always well attended, so there were plenty of students crammed
onto the dance floor.
Hanna and I had kept mostly to ourselves, keeping one eye on the crowd
of students.
“So, are you really not interested in him?” she asked, leaning into me,
keeping her voice low so others couldn’t hear. Immediately, my eyes found
Ben across the room. He was mid conversation with a group of students,
some I recognized from his after school club.
My panic immediately began to increase, knowing that little shiny nugget
of information that she didn’t. But it didn’t matter. Sure, we had slept
together. Sure, it was great. But it had served its purpose. It put the tension
between us–that fiery, unbearable tension–and made our relationship
workable.
Did I picture him naked sometimes? Sure.
Did I wonder where he’d learned that little trick, the one he did with his
tongue that had utterly obliterated my mind? Absolutely.
But we were on very clear terms it was a one-night thing. And I had
every intention of respecting that. I could handle myself around him, I
could be friends for the sake of the after school club. I could eventually not
remember the way he had filled me so completely, the way my eyes had
rolled to the back of my skull.
One day. In the far future–but one day.
“We work together, it’s complicated.”
“Rob and I work together, it’s not that complicated.”
 “We aren’t talking marriage here, Han.”
“Oh, so are we talking about a one night stand?”
An alarm blared in my skull as she accidentally stumbled upon the truth I
had withheld.
“Like that’s not as complicated.”
“But you would?”
Alarm blared louder and louder. Should I tell her? Would she be mad that
I hadn’t told her? Almost definitely. But she didn’t need to know. It was
done, dusted–over.
“I mean look at him, no would be a difficult answer,” I said.
Not a lie, but definitely easing us into the gray area. I was a terrible
friend.
“Maybe we need to set you up. I can’t remember the last time you were
dating somebody.”
“Wow, thanks for the reminder.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she looked at me slightly apologetically.
“You’ve had a lot going on, and I couldn’t blame you for hiding away a
little. But I promise, the minute you’re ready to date I’ve got a list of people
available.”
I laughed, the moment loosening. “A list?”
“I’ve been saving up all our single friends for you. I used to set them all
up with Rosa before she moved and got engaged, so now you get them all.”
I rolled my eyes at her, remembering Rosa’s complaints at the dates
Hanna used to set her up with. It wasn’t that they were bad, they were just
endless.
“I’m fine. I don’t need to be set up.”
“It wouldn’t hurt, Ol. Remember how fun dating is?”
 “We have different definitions of fun,” I said, with a dry laugh. “Plus
you’ve been in a relationship for years now. You don’t remember how
dating is, you’ve got those glasses on again.”
“Glasses?”
“Rose tinted.”
“I’ll point out it’s also been a while since you dated. It could be easier
than you remember,” Hanna noted.
I wasn’t sure how to reply. I had a million excuses why I didn’t want to
date. Busy with work, living with my dad, barely able to keep myself
together on a normal day. But I knew Hanna had an argument for all of
them.
“But anyway, it looks like you’ve got competition.”
“For what?”
“Ben,” Hanna said, with a little nod in his direction.
My gaze landed past her, focusing across the room where Ben had been
standing alone. He was now joined by Kara, one of the music teachers. This
would’ve all been fine, of course, if it wasn’t for her long brown hair
twirling in her fingers, her body leaning to one side. I couldn’t see her face
as her back was turned to me, but I could see his–and he was grinning, the
smile wide and friendly.
This was fine. Fine. Fine. Totally fine. He wasn’t mine. I wasn’t even
supposed to be interested. We were friends. This was fine. I was happy for
him, in fact. From what he had discussed with me over the last few weeks,
he’d been single for a while. And Kara was beautiful, smart, and available,
and obviously interested judging by the way she had thrown her head back
with obnoxious laughter.
 What was I supposed to say? Or do? There was nothing. No words to
describe how fine I was with this situation. The way he was looking at her
was so different from the way he looked at me. And now–now he was
reaching over and touching her arm, her bare skin, and weirdly my skin
sizzled where he touched her, like I was remembering the buzz of electricity
I felt when those fingertips had grazed my skin; how it felt when he teased
me with his fingers, keeping me on the edge until I was sure I was about to
lose my mind.
Fine.
100% fine.
100,000,000% fine.
Nothing was on fire and nobody felt ill watching their one night stand
from across the room.
“Ms. Davis?” A voice said, pulling me from my trance, and I turned to
find Sophia and Ashley, two students from the after school club, standing
beside me. I blinked twice, trying to clear the emotions that had been
clouding me. Trying, but failing, the scene behind me burning at the back of
my skull as I fought the urge to look back.
“Hey, hi–sorry,” I babbled, still trying to pull the pieces of myself back
together, like a puzzle with several missing pieces. “What’s up girls? Are
you having a good time?”
“It’s alright,” Sophia answered, as Ashley smirked,
“It would be better with a DJ that isn’t one hundred years old,” Ashley
said, and I laughed at the truth of the statement.
“To be fair, I think they still use the DJ from when I came here.”
“This was your high school?” Sophia asked, eyebrows raised.
 “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not that old,” I responded with a fake
offense, and immediately she began to shake her head, her eyes wide.
“That is not what I meant!”
I chuckled, enjoying her discomfort a little. The weight on my chest
loosened a little, thankful I had something to distract me.
“Anyway, what’s up?” I asked. It wasn’t often we actually got spoken to
at these events, students preferring the company of their own peers than
their teachers who tormented them with homework.
Sophia answered, her tone serious. “We actually had an idea about the
project.”
“For the competition,” Ashley added, earning a side eye glance from
Sophia.
“Obviously.”
“Well that’s good, do you want to talk about it on Monday?” I proposed,
thinking they must want to get back to their dance.
“Well, we were hoping to get your thoughts on it now,” Ashley said
cautiously, not wanting to earn another glare from her friend. “We thought
about using an AI app to identify people who look like people in classical
paintings or statues.”
“And then, we could recreate them with a technological edge,” Ashley
added.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, imagine the Mona Lisa with Holly from our class, but she’s got a
microscope in her hands,” Ashley pitched.
I thought about it for a moment, bringing Holly to mind. She did have a
look about her that would suit that recreation.
 “Or Calvin in the Mathletes, dressed as The Scream but in the corner of
his eye there’s like an equation or math homework or something,” Sophia
chipped in as I smiled at the image. “What do you think?”
I thought to myself for a moment, trying to think about how we could do
it. It would involve photography, and a lot of photoshop, but it would
definitely work.
“I think I love it,” I admitted, pride for my students filling me up. This
idea was so unique. My heart swelled as I smiled brightly at them. “We’ll
have to run the idea past Mr. Bennett, but I feel good about it.”
The girls smiled brightly at me, obviously quite proud of their idea, and
they had every right to be. We agreed to discuss it more on Monday, and
they would run it past the others in the group, see if we could get some
people on board with the idea.
Finally, I dared to glance across the room, wondering if now was a good
time to talk to Ben about the idea. I was sure he’d take some convincing but
when did he not?
My stomach lurched as I saw Kara was now a step closer to him, and my
eyes fixed on them as her arm ran down his, the contact between them
sending me spiraling.
I had to leave.

OceanofPDF.com
 Sixteen
False God - Taylor Swift

W ith a deep breath, I excused myself from the room, refusing to just
stand there and watch the situation unfold. I walked down the
corridor until it was free of people. I really needed to pull myself together
over this Ben situation.
Where had this all come from anyway? I’d been fine since we’d slept
together. I’d managed to put it in its own box and ignore the occasional
dirty thought that dared to slip out. The situation had been well under
control until... until yesterday, in Rob’s office. He’d flirted with me, and I
knew he’d flirted with me before, but it hadn’t left me feeling this sort of
way, left me under this spell. I’d always been flustered, that was for sure,
but also annoyed. He’d annoyed me for years without end. But what had
changed? Why was I ready to melt into a puddle at the sight of him, ready
to wage war on co-workers for flirting with him?
One thing was for sure: that uncomplicated sex I thought had been
nothing but a massive success? Turns out it had made things pretty
complicated after all. Who knew?
 Maybe Hanna was right. I needed to date. Maybe not for the relationship,
but just as a distraction. But even that felt exhausting–long conversations
with strangers, getting to know them, having to leave the comfort of the
house in the evening. The thought sent shivers down my spine.
These few months had been the longest I’d gone without even looking
for a date. Maybe I was a little starved for affection, and now I’d had a taste
of him. I was very aware of how delicious a snack Ben was. A distraction
from my distraction couldn’t be the answer.
I wandered down the hall, aimlessly at first, before deciding to collect my
bag from the teacher’s lounge and touch up the makeup I’d stupidly decided
to wear tonight.
The room was dim, but still somewhat lit from the window. Instead of
bothering to figure out which of the million light switches was the correct
one, I left the room dark, and instead stumbled about trying to locate my
belongings. I’d left my bag on the other side of the room, a decision I was
beginning to regret as I dodged other teachers’ things they’d abandoned on
the floor.
“Fancy finding you here.”
I turned around, heart racing in my chest, to find Ben looming into the
doorway, the light of the hallway lighting his stupidly hot face up perfectly.
“You scared me.” I clutched my chest, my heart was still pounding from
the scare.
“Sorry, I saw you leave. Wanted to check everything was okay.” The
confidence in his voice slipped a little. I felt the irritation at him from
earlier ease, but only slightly.
“I’m fine. I’m just getting my stuff,” I explained, moving closer to where
my bag was.
 “Good news, by the way: some of the teachers have agreed to help out
with the competition.”
I could hear the smile in his voice, but it only made me roll my eyes as I
muttered my next words under my breath, thinking he wouldn’t hear me.
“Oh like Kara?”
He frowned. “And a few others... but why would you mention her
specifically?”
Crap, too obvious. I froze where I stood, trying to think up a suitable
reason for my snide remark that didn’t completely show my hand.
“Olive?” His tone changed, getting lower, serious.
“Just noticed you were getting friendly with her, that’s all,” I said, trying
to explain it away but not daring for a moment, for a second to turn around
and look at him. I heard the door close as he stepped inside the room, heard
his footsteps slowly but surely growing closer.
“She’s a friendly person,” he said, and I could have sworn I heard the
smirk growing on his lips. I finally pulled my bag from the pile of forgotten
bags.
“Oh, I bet.”
This time, I spared a glance over my shoulder, flinching a little when I
realized he was closer than I thought he was, now perched on the closest
table to where I was crouched. I shot to my feet in shock, before
remembering to keep it together, to keep those cards close and private. I’d
already said too much, felt too much.
“Somehow, I feel like this isn’t about her.”
His voice sent shivers down my spine. Of course he’d seen right through
me, he always had. Even when I’d barely been able to handle standing in
the same room with him, when having the simplest conversation with him
would have us at each other’s necks, he’d catch me in every lie, call me out
on every twisted truth. And now was no different
“It’s not about anyone.” I tried to shrug him off. Tried, but failed.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Ben, what do you want?”
This had to end. If he kept digging, God knows what he’d see. I turned
around to look at him properly and took in every inch of that cocky swagger
as he stared at me, eyebrow raised in question, an obvious grin still curled
on his lips. It was so easy to hate him, so easy to be infuriated by his
unbearable confidence. But for the first time, or the first time I’d realized, I
was turned on by it. By that magnetic smile, the playful glint in his eyes.
“I want you to admit it.” The look he gave me was one a lion gives its
food before eating it, playing with its prey just to make it suffer. But I
wouldn’t go quietly.
“Admit what?” Playing dumb maybe wasn’t the best tactic, but I was
working with what I had. His hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles
turning white as he threw his head back in exasperation.
“Do you have to be so goddamn infuriating?” the words escaped him on
a growl.
I could do little to stop the smile curling on my lips, the pleasure at
getting underneath his skin undeniable. I was going to answer him, play a
little more, when he cut to the chase, catching me off guard.
“I want you to admit, Olive, that you are jealous.” His eyes shone darkly
in the dim light.
“I’m not jealous,” I quipped back, panic surging through me at his words
as the curve of his lips turned into a full blown smirk. What had he seen?
He couldn’t know... could he?
 “Bullshit,” he smirked. The word sounded more like an accusation as I
tried to collect myself again. No wonder he saw right through me when
every reaction I had to him was so pathetically obvious.
“So, why did I catch you staring when she was feeling me up?”
“Not a clue what you’re talking about.”
He pushed himself off the desk, and on instinct, I took a step back, my
eyes stuck on his as he towered over me.
“But you should know the school really looks down on unwanted
touching.” I said bravely, though the words came out shaky, my voice quiet.
He stepped closer, and this time I kept myself under control, staying
stationary as he grew closer. My heart was racing again, and this time I
knew it was from the proximity, the closeness of our bodies. I could feel the
warmth radiating off his body as I realized that somehow all the space
between us had been slowly eaten up, and now he was barely inches away
from me–and closing in fast.
“Just admit it, Olive. You were jealous. You didn’t like that someone else
was touching me.”
I tried to rebuild the wall, scrambled for the strength to push back, to say
something–anything.
“Has it been all you can think about, Olive? Because I still think about it.
Think about how you taste.”
My gaze connected with his, and I saw it. The heat I’d seen that Friday
night, I saw it in his eyes as his head lowered closer to mine. It was
undeniable and hot as fuck.
“They’re going to start to wonder where we got to.” My voice was barely
louder than a whisper, the sound all crackly.
 He was thinking about the same thing I was, and it all felt inescapable,
unavoidable. There were no breaks on this runaway train, no coming back
from this; this right here was inevitable. And why bother fighting the
inevitable?
He leaned in closer, slowly, giving me plenty of time to lean back, to dip
out of what was about to happen. I didn’t dare move an inch.
“I’m sure we can let them wonder a little longer,” he said, and I couldn’t
bear it anymore, couldn’t hold back as I closed the space between us, our
lips colliding.
I could’ve gotten lost in the gentleness of this kiss, the softness of his
lips, how it felt as we moved against each other. But the gentleness didn’t
last very long, giving way to a frenzy of need. We melted against each other
as his hands glided around my body, his arms slowly wrapping themselves
around my waist, before he pulled me in tight and my body was pressed
firmly against his. I couldn’t help but let out a gasp, basking in the feeling
of his hard body against mine. Dirty dreams were made of kisses like these.
His lips curled into a smile, but he didn’t dare stop. I didn’t even think we
could stop, now that we had started–at least I couldn’t. Who needed air
when you had this?
My hands traveled up his neck, my palms pressing into the warm bare
skin there, before making their way up to his hair, my fingers grabbing
softly and wrapping into fists, pulling gently.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this again,” he groaned
softly against me, and it was my turn to smile uncontrollably.
He’d been thinking about it all this time too. That nugget of knowledge
was not lost on me.
 With a couple of steps, we found ourselves on the ancient couch. He sat
down first, his hands pulling at my thighs so I was on top of him, straddling
him. His hands made their way up to my back, the touch of his fingertips on
my skin electric. I groaned, moving against him, slowly grinding myself
against him, pleasure simmering throughout my body at the motion.
I couldn’t stop, I wouldn’t stop, the heat between our bodies was so hot I
felt like we must be glowing white. His smell, his taste, his touch, how he
felt on my skin, how his lips felt pressed against me–it was like finally
coming up for air, finally taking a deep, delicious breath. And now I could
never go back, never hold my breath again. I got lost in him, lost my mind,
my body. Thoughts fell away as he moved against me, as I felt him against
me, hard between my legs.
“Jesus, Olive, can you feel what you do to me? How hard you make
me?” His eyes were wide, staring right at me. I bit my lip, trying to stifle a
smirk. Instantly his eyes zeroed in on the motion, watching me as I released
my bottom lip.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen again.” The reminder seemed like a
moot point, but I said it anyway.
“Are you complaining?”
I shook my head, and dipped to meet his lips again. I fucking loved being
here on his lap, the lost control driving me half insane, left me needing him
inside me, filling me up and fucking me. He’d felt so impossibly good last
time, I needed it again, needed to know if it would feel just as good a
second time around. And then a third, and fourth.
But first I needed to see him again, needed to see that gorgeous length of
him, wanted to know how he tasted. I gained enough control of myself to
stop grinding, and to back myself up, my hands moving down to his lap.
 “What are you doing?”
I could hear the grin in his voice as he watched me undo his belt buckle,
followed by the button of his trousers and the zip. I backed off him further,
finding my feet, before pulling the material down, just a little.
I lowered myself to my knees in between his legs, my hands easily
finding his cock.
“I thought I’d return the favor,” I replied, recalling the skill he’d shown
when he went down on me before, how quickly he’d brought me to the
edge, working me with his tongue and fingers. His eyes were wild as he
watched me, a mix of shock and excitement clear across his features as I
used my hand to play with him, pulling softly up his hard length.
Fucking hell, he looked delicious. I’d never wanted anyone more. My
brain buzzed with the thought of having him fuck me again. I was so
fucking hungry for him, complete starved for the pleasure I craved from
him. Him, and only him.
I was so fucking screwed.
I lowered my head to his cock, taking a moment to run my tongue over
the sensitive skin. He groaned deeply, his head immediately rolling
backwards, his body inched forward as he gave over all control at my touch.
I grinned against him, before taking his head in my mouth and working his
cock with my mouth.
He swore endlessly, his cursing furthering me on my mission to make
him fucking cum. His fingers tangled in my hair, offering some support to
my head and helping me keep the perfect rhythm, kept working his length
up and down. I kept my hand working the lower part of his length, pushing
him into my mouth as my head bobbed up and down.
 “Fuck... Olive. You feel... You feel so fuck... ing good, how are y– oh
God!”
He could barely get out words as I sucked, licked, and worked every inch
of his length, giving him my full attention. Every single moment was
dedicated to him, devoted to giving him back the pleasure he had given me.
My hands began to tremble and cramp as he finally uttered a warning, a
plea that he was close. But when I didn’t stop, didn’t move away, he lost his
fucking mind.

OceanofPDF.com
 Seventeen
Glitch - Taylor Swift

T he second time I woke up in Ben Bennett’s bed was the complete

opposite from the first. This time, I wasn’t alone, as indicated by the
strong arms wrapped around my waist.
And I found myself smiling through the morning grog. Actually grinning,
that post multiple orgasm fuzz hitting me hard. The things that man had
done to me. With his hands, cock... God, his tongue. Had sex ever felt this
good? Probably, but I couldn’t recall a specific time.
I’d lost count, actually lost count of the number of times he’d made me
come. And despite the exhaustion I could already feel in my heavy limbs,
I’d easily go another few rounds.
“I know you’re awake,” his gruff voice murmured from behind me, the
arm tightening around my waist, pulling my body into his.
“Just five more minutes,” I groaned, turning around to face him. The
sight of him caught me off guard. Nobody, and I mean nobody, should look
so good first thing in the morning. His hair was messy, but God, perfectly
so, the wisps of curls at the front just a little more wild than usual. And the
way the morning light caught his gold eyes wasn’t at all fair; there was not
a single sign of sleep. Meanwhile I’d put good money on the fact that I
looked horrific. Eyes puffy, hair unmentionable.
“I take it you aren’t much of a morning person,” he said, the slight
chuckle in his voice making me weak in the legs.
I shook my head vehemently. Mornings had never been my thing. Not
ever. Even in college, I had to be dragged out of my bed for early morning
classes, forever stumbling into every class in the nick of time. Coffee in
hand, of course.
“Should I take that to mean you are?” My voice still held that morning
rasp.
“5am, every morning,” he stated plainly.
I groaned. “You’re the worst.” A yawn caught me out as the last
reminders of tiredness tried to drag me back to my slumber. How early was
it anyway?
“And you’re lazy,” he smiled, a full grin playing on those perfect lips.
God, since when did he have such nice lips, such kissable, pink lips?
“I just love to sleep.” I glanced around the bedroom in search of a clock
or any indication of the time really. Despite my protests, I had woken up
feeling pretty well rested for once. And maybe it was the extracurricular
activities, or the warm tangle of limbs I’d woken up in, but the soft ache or
weariness I’d been waking up with for the past few months felt... lifted,
slightly. Enough for me to not wake up feeling so heavy and already
exhausted.
“And snoring.” I whipped my head around to him to find his eyes on me,
a playful glint clear.
 “I don’t,” I grimaced, but the embarrassment was too much as I turned
my head into my pillow, praying I could smother myself to death.
“Oh but you do,” he continued. “Like a trucker.” I wanted to die. “But
it’s cute.”
“It’s really not,” I said, peeking out from where I had buried my head. I
had been known to be a loud sleeper before. I hadn’t believed anyone at
first, outright denying the fact. But then when your college roommate is
continually waking you up at four am, then again at six, you eventually
must face facts.
“What time is it?” I grumbled into the pillow.
“Eight.”
I sighed loudly. “God, why are we even awake?”
“This is sleeping in for me, you’re a bad influence.” His voice was like
velvet, smooth with a rough edge. I didn’t move until he wrapped his arms
around my hips, pulling my head up from the pillow and pulling me into his
body, an undeniable hardness between his legs. “We could always do more
than just sleeping.”
His arms kept me hard against him, not that I was complaining. I moved
around, enjoying the feeling of him pressed up against me far too much, my
mind going to much dirtier places as his arms loosened around my waist,
one beginning to snake under the shirt of his I had stolen, before taking my
boob and playfully running a finger around my nipple in the way he’d learnt
I was entirely too weak for.
I closed my eyes, a small moan at the back of my throat at the movement
as I kept grinding myself against him, utterly addicted to feeling him
against me. His head dipped, touching the sensitive skin where my neck
met my collarbone, and kissed softly, his lips barely grazing the skin but
instantly sending shivers down my spine.
“Why can’t I resist you, Ms. Davis?” he asked, his voice barely louder
than a whisper as his lips ran up my neck, finding my ear. I was lost,
absolutely lost, to his touch. Like I needed it more than air, craved it more
than food. “All I do is fight the urge to touch you.”
“Just wait till I start to get annoying,” I said, the words barely escaping
me as my mind was a complete mess, words forgotten, sentences
impossible to structure correctly. Especially as his other hand began to
creep down to the lace of my underwear, lingering at the top and running
smooth circles around the skin there, teasing me endlessly.
How was it possible to both hate and love this feeling? This burning need
to be touched, to feel him against me, the wait between now and when he’d
be inside me feeling so incredibly long. I knew he’d take his time, savor
every moment of torture he could illicit against me. And I had no will
power to stop him.
He wanted me to beg, wanted to have me plead for him to dip his hand
even lower, to push between my legs and finally relieve the need that was
building and building, pulling me under until I finally got the release I was
desperate for.
But I refused. Refused to give him that pleasure. The rivalry between us
might be on hold but I still refused to give in to him, give him that
weakness he wanted from me. He was still holding out on me, no matter
how hard I tried.
I moved my hand around, feeling the outline of his dick against the thin
material of his underwear. God, how could something feel so good? As my
hand wrapped around it, I wondered if he’d give in to me if I touched him
bare.
He groaned behind me, his breath ragged against my neck. I smirked at
the win, the noises I was getting from him now. I wondered what he’d do if
I turned around and lowered down his body again, swapping my hand for
my mouth. I wondered what dirty things he’d say to me now, if he’d
describe how badly he wanted to fuck me, and how. I wondered if he’d be
slow, keeping the control I so badly wanted to strip him of and keep me
from losing my mind.
But no matter how I touched him, no matter the groans he was making,
his fingers remained above the material of my panties–lowered yes, now
circling against the wet patch that clung to my center, but still out right
refusing to dip any further.
“Fuck, Ben.” The words escaped me through gritted teeth, his touch on
my nipple turning hard, forcing the words from me. His lips pressed against
my neck again, feeling red hot as he sucked the skin softly, before biting
ever so slightly, running his teeth over the skin and pulling another
undeniable groan from me. I tried to bite my lip to stop, stop myself
begging his name as that thin thread of control truly began to fray. The
word he wanted was on my lips, but went no further. Not yet.
“Say the word, Olive.” His lips were turned up in a grin as the nails of
my spare hand dug into my palm, my brain buzzed on the feeling of him,
buzzed on the tiny circles he was pressing against my clit. So soft and so
gentle I could barely feel them.
I wanted to disappear into the bed, disappear into this deep ocean of
pleasure but the feel of his teeth grazing my neck grounded me, the pull of
his fingertips on my nipple making sure I didn’t fade away completely.
 “You know what you need to say. What I want to hear. Just say it and I’ll
give it to you. Just beg and I’ll give you everything that filthy mind of yours
wants.”
Fuck. Fuck. His dick. His fingers. His tongue. I wanted it all. Needed it
all. Craved it fucking all. I could feel myself caving, that last bit of strength
to stay strong leaving me completely. I hated myself as my lips parted,
losing the control I’d been desperate to hold onto and hold against him
forever.
“Please.” The word was a whimper, barely even a sound, as it traitorously
left my lips. His teeth grazed against my neck, running back up to my ear.
His breath was hot against my bare skin.
Mad. He was driving me mad.
“Good girl.” I nearly came. “Now tell me what you want.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Eighteen
Secrets from a Girl (Who's Seen It All)
– Lorde

“C innamon buns,” I resolved, spotting the giant pile of delicious

looking baked goods on the coffee shop counter. It had taken all
my remaining strength to peel myself out of his bed, but with the promise of
excellent coffee and breakfast, I had willed my aching-from-incredible-sex
body from bed and into a shower. A cold one.
“Plural? Cinnamon buns plural?” Ben looked at me, eyebrow raised, and
I had to say I didn’t enjoy that look one bit.
“Is that judgment I sense?” I quipped, my brows furrowing at the
unexpected tone he’d taken. Immediately, he raised his hands in defense.
“Not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m impressed. The buns here are
massive.”
It was true, my eyes might be bigger than my stomach when it came to
this place and their monster cinnamon buns but I knew I’d want the second,
especially after all the exercise I’d had this morning.
“I’m hungry.”
 “Fair enough, I’ll go order. You find somewhere to sit,” he suggested,
before adding “Cappuccino, two sugars right?”
I smiled, happy he had remembered how I took my coffee. I nodded, and
spun on my heels, searching the busy café for a spare space.
It was my favorite coffee shop we’d ended up going to, finding it around
the corner from Ben’s place, surprisingly. They had a special way of
making the espresso here that really enhanced the flavor of the beans to
make them taste irresistible, not to mention monster-size baked goods. But
it was hardly a best kept secret, and on a Saturday morning it felt like the
rest of the town was here too.
I searched for a few minutes, before spotting a family who were readying
themselves to leave. I awkwardly hung about while they collected their stuff
up and placed a child in a stroller, smiling when they looked my way to
ensure they knew I wasn’t trying to rush them. As soon as they departed, I
swooped in, staking my claim on the prized window-facing booth before
anyone could beat me to it.
From the comfort of my seat, I watched as Ben made his way down the
line, ordering our coffees and food before fighting the crowds to get to me,
tray loaded up with delicious pastries.
“Noticed you scared away a family to get a table.”
“I did not,” I said, rolling my eyes. “They were leaving.”
“Sure.” He unloaded the food from the tray, placing two perfectly baked
buns in front of me. He’d chosen two different flavors: the first I’d had
before and was my favorite, with chunky peanut butter spread between the
swirls of pastry, the golden color contrasting with the chocolate icing that
topped the bake. The second was new to me, with regular royal icing, but
pieces of dried apricot and pineapple between the folds. My stomach
grumbled greedily at the sight.
“I almost got you three, but I thought for sure you’d puke,” Ben said
nonchalantly.
“You doubt me far too much.” I eyed the two delicious pastries, not sure
where to begin. The boy had good taste at least. “Thanks for getting the
food.”
“No problem. Besides, it didn’t seem much like a choice. I’ve seen you
get hangry at work and I figured the best way to stay on your good side was
to feed you as soon as possible.”
I grinned up at him, and he returned it, the sight warming my insides. I
felt so comfortable sitting here with him, so friendly–and I realized I had
begun to like him. And I mean, really like him, in the way that if you’d told
me at the start of the school semester that this was where we’d be, I never
would have believed you. And yet, there he was, sitting there with half a
strawberry Danish–a good choice of breakfast pastry if there ever was one–
hanging out of his mouth, looking rather adorable.
And maybe all of these feelings were just from the sex, from the intimacy
we had shared and the good night’s sleep, but for a moment, I swore it felt
like it could be more than just sex. Like maybe there could be more
Saturdays here in this coffee shop, more than friends, more than whatever
we were now, sharing baked goods and longing gazes.
“Ben,” I asked, my tone rather serious. He looked up at me, concern in
his eyes. I hadn’t meant to sound so urgent, but it was too late now.
“What...” The word fell out and I immediately lost my nerve to ask the
question. Should I even? What if he freaked out? What if I was thinking too
much into this, what if asking the question was entirely the wrong thing to
do this early and by even asking I was ruining this before it even had a
chance?
“Stop overthinking.” He tilted his head slightly as if to comfort me, his
eyes looking straight into mine, those golden flecks bright.
“I’m not overthinking.”
“You are, you get a look,” he said, a soft smile on his perfect lips. “Your
face goes all squishy like you can’t handle all the thoughts in your head.” I
furrowed my brows at that, trying to think back but he cut off my train of
thought. “Just... ask.”
I took a deep breath, trying to settle those building nerves. But before I
could even ask the question, I was cut off by a new voice.
“What’s going on here?” The words were muffled at first, almost
drowned out by loud, insistent, banging on the glass window that pulled me
from his gaze.
I turned around, heart beating wildly with shock to find the wild gaze of
Hanna, who had two fists pressed against the glass, mouth wide open in
shock. She shouted, maybe even screamed, as she jumped up and down on
the sidewalk.
I was frozen to the spot as I watched her react so excitedly before the
pure panic began to rip through me. We’d been caught. I should’ve known
to be more careful. She’d only been asking about us last night, her
suspicions clearly already high. And I’d been stupid enough to fool around
in the teacher’s lounge, a blowjob for Christ sakes, when anyone in the
world could’ve walked in and caught us. To think that breakfast had seemed
like a good idea. But here we were–caught.
In what felt like a blink of an eye, she appeared at the table, her eyes
practically glowing with joy
 “And what are you two doing here so early on a Saturday?”
“Getting coffee,” I shrug, trying and failing to keep nonchalant.
“Pretty early to be meeting a co-worker, isn’t it?” She asked, eyes
glittering.
She was loving this. Absolutely loving this. Meanwhile, Ben was
suspiciously quiet. Probably because this was my friend and letting me
handle Hanna was the absolute best thing to do. But what if it was the fear
we’d been caught? Fear this was out, and other people knew. I’d not even
been able to ask the question, let alone get an answer, and now I’d kill to
know what he was going to say, if only to put myself out of my own misery.
“You’re here,” I point out, but she’s faster than a whip with her answer.
“We’re friends.”
“Are we?” The question was too easy, but she saw right through me and
cut to what she’d been dying to say.
“Shut up and tell me the truth.”
“If I shut up then how can I tell you the truth?” I had the logic of a
teenager. There was truly no coming back from that.
“So there is a truth,” Hanna said conspiratorially.
I remained silent, mouth shut in a firm line. A few seconds passed, and
her patience ran out. She twisted, turning to face Ben and my racing heart
dropped like stone into my stomach.
“You, tell me,” she demanded.
“I have a name,” he quipped back, and I fought to keep a smirk off my
face.
“And is that name Olive’s boyfriend?”
If I had been eating anything, I swear I would have choked to death. And
to be honest, I would have been thankful for the swift reason to exit this
conversation.
“Hanna!” I hissed at her, her eyebrow tweaking upwards as her blue eyes
returned to me.
“I thought you were keeping quiet?” she pointed out, the grin growing
long and evil.
I was suddenly reminded why I hadn’t told her about sleeping with Ben,
reminded why I had wanted to avoid her extra attention on us. If I had told
her, would she have just plagued me with endless questions, tortured me for
weeks on weeks for sleeping with a man I had vehemently despised?
“Can you calm down for a moment?” I pleaded, looking straight at her.
Her gaze softened, and she paused. Ben took the moment to stand up.
“I’ll go to the bathroom, give you two some space.” He shuffled out of
the booth, indicating his seat for Hanna.
He looked at me for a moment, and I tried desperately to read his
expression, tried to see if he was okay or if he was like me and was halfway
to freaking out. But he was as calm and collected as he always was. And
maybe that was a good sign. But I was too busy doubting everything to
know.
He was barely away from the table, when Hanna practically collapsed
into the booth, pressing both palms down on the table.
“Olive, you have to tell me everything, right now. This second. Tell me.
Please,” she begged, and I couldn’t handle it. My heart still hadn’t calmed
down, the panic still claiming me, making me itch and causing the booth to
feel far too small, far too stuffy.
“Can you let me breathe for one second, please?” I barely got the words
out, but she listened, sitting back and her expression was worried, like she
finally saw how much I was freaking out. “It’s... new,” I finally got out, my
eyes closed, focusing on my breathing, focusing on the moment. When I
opened them again, she looked at me in question, as if to ask if I was okay. I
nodded, and the little self-control she had been exercising to give me time
finally snapped.
“Well, I hope so because otherwise you’ve been holding out on me. Now
tell me, how long?”
“It’s been... Could you ask a less complicated question?”
“How complicated could that be? When did you first hook up?”
“Who said we hooked up?”
“Maybe the fact you are literally sitting there glowing? And also the
early morning coffee shop visit. I know not to even bother texting you
before noon on a weekend.”
“Remember the staff night out?”
“That was weeks ago!”
“Sorry,” I grimaced, knowing she’d be mad I lied. “Like I said, it’s been
complicated.”
“And it’s less complicated now?” That was a good question, but I really
wasn’t sure of the answer.
“Maybe,” I shrugged, the uncertainty growing again. “I’m not sure. We
haven’t had that conversation. That’s what we were going to do before you
flew off the handle.”
“Sorry about that. I got excited.”
“I noticed,” I said, finally managing to give her a small reassuring smile.
“I know I should’ve told you but... it was nothing. It was ‘lets get this weird
tension out of the way so we can work together sex and... it worked. We
moved on, we started working together.”
“And then?”
 “I mean, you saw it last night–I was jealous.” I didn’t think I could deny
it again. Even Ben had seen and called me out on it.
“I knew it,” she grinned, her blue eyes practically sparkling with joy.
“You knew nothing,” I said, sending her some side eye.
“Yeah, pretty much. But I’m still pissed at you for keeping it a secret.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a secret, just a one-time thing we never told
anyone ever about.”
“Until…?”
“Until it happened again,” I admitted, looking sheepish as I thought it all
through. That first hook up with Ben, sexy and steamy and an isolated
incident. And then there was every other time I’d been in a room with him,
filled with hungry glances and filthy thoughts inappropriate for a public
place, let alone a school. There was him bringing me soup when I was sick,
and opening up about Mom, and last night when I was jealous and hungry
for him and only him, down on my knees.
And this morning, waking up to soft touches of his fingertips on my
naked back. There was something there, something more permanent than a
one-night stand, and that... I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
“It’s... casual. With Mom, and everything else going on...”
She nodded, understanding me instantly. “I get you, it can be a lot at
once.”
I nodded, a storm still brewing as I tried to see him, see us together, what
that could look like. But I didn’t even know what I wanted to do now, let
alone in a year.
And then there was the promotion. We’d never spoken about it, never
dared to. But he’d seen my application, and I knew he’d at least spoken to
Rob about it; there was no way he hadn’t applied. Was that something I
could navigate? Ben getting the job and me... me still here, in the same job
with the same routine, still drowning in this endless expanse?
“I forgot to ask yesterday, did you talk to your doctor?” Hanna flipped
the conversation suddenly, her head tilted slightly, that seriousness
replacing the understanding.
“Yeah.” I dug my fingers into my palm as I tried to ignore the uneasiness
that twisted through my gut. “I told them that I wasn’t feeling any better
and they wanted me to come in for an appointment, but I said I didn’t have
time so they just did it over the phone.”
“Did they give you a different prescription?” Her eyes were analyzing
me, trying to read me, but this was exactly why I hadn’t told her a few days
ago. The medication was supposed to be working now, but I’d felt worse
than before. Tired and sluggish and while I was busy during the day and
distracted, my mind had too much space to wander in the evenings.
“They doubled my dose.”
“Doubled?” she repeated back to me, eyebrows pushing closer together.
I nodded. “Its fine; if they think that’s the best course of action.”
“Did they say anything about your exhaustion?”
“I mentioned it, but they said if I started to feel better then I’ll be less
tired. And advised me to try and get a good night’s sleep.”
She made a humming noise, a small sly smile creeping onto her lips as
her gaze slid over to the door of the men’s bathroom across the shop.
“Doesn’t look like you’ll be getting one of those for a while.”
She grinned uncontrollably, and my eyes went wide as I nearly choked on
the pastry I’d started picking at.
“Hanna!”
“It’s not a lie!”
 “This is why I didn’t tell you, I knew you’d be annoying about him!”
“Well you guessed right, what can I say?” she grinned devilishly.
I finally smiled back at her, feeling a little grateful for the respite from
talking about the appointment.
“Anywhere, where’s Rob? Did you abandon him?”
“Oh shit!” She straightened so quickly, I could have sworn she was hit by
lightning. “I left him in the car. I was supposed to get coffee and leave but I
got distracted by this bombshell.” She began to slide out from the seat but
paused midway. “Just one thing.”
“Sure.”
One of her perfect eyebrows was raised, her lips twisted slightly like a
fox.
“Out of ten, how good is the sex?”

OceanofPDF.com
 Nineteen
It's Not Living (If It's Not With You) -
The 1975

“I s this more what you had in mind?”

I looked across the hall, and the students gathered around where
we’d set up a rudimental green screen. Sophia was sitting in the middle,
dressed up in a golden blanket, a blue and white head wrap keeping her hair
out of her face, and a small but noticeable pearl earring in her lobe.
“Yes, that costume is great! We’ll need to alter the lighting slightly to be
darker but you’ve really captured how it’s supposed to look.” I smiled,
really seeing the vision come to life. “What’s the STEM element of this one
supposed to be again?” I asked, turning to Thomas, He checked his
clipboard before answering.
Ever since the students had pitched Ben the idea that following Monday,
we’d been working nearly non-stop. Me of course giving feedback on the
art side of things, while Ben managed the STEM elements. It was, in a
word, exhausting. Between this and my regular teaching schedule and the
increased medication, I was barely functional at the end of the day. I’d
resorted to mainlining a can of Red Bull in my car on the way home so I
had enough energy to cook with Dad, something that had become part of
our routine of living together. He wouldn’t question why I was so chatty or
jittery, instead enjoying the hyperactive version of his daughter that had
been lost since Mom.
But then I’d crawl into bed, pulling the covers over my head and waiting,
waiting, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come until the small hours of the
morning, and I would be so restless I might as well have not gone to bed at
all.
“The background’s going to be a chalkboard with an equation, and she’s
writing the answer,” Thomas recounted, looking around as the familiar
squeaky wheeling of a blackboard sounded from the hall..
“Sounds great, I’ll let you guys set it all up.” I smiled, pride welling ever
so slightly.
I had never imagined the groups could ever merge this well, and the last
few weeks had really blown my expectations out of the water. Today was
the first day we were shooting, with more photos being taken tomorrow. We
would be submitting the project on Friday, with the competition next week.
It was nothing short of tight, but the students were really motivated.
The door to the hall swung open, and I saw him come in, my heart
skipping a beat as I took him in. I tried desperately to keep my gaze glued
to the group of students, who were now trying to draw the equation on the
blackboard.
I hadn’t been avoiding him as such, life had done that for me. We worked
together extensively during the day– he’d pop across the hall in between
classes to pitch ideas for the group project, to discuss revision details, or to
even just complain a little about his last class. And I liked it, it was nice to
have another friend and have somebody to share the load of this project
with. Sometimes it felt like he took on more than his fair share of the work,
which made me feel terrible sometimes but mostly grateful.
But after school, we were both feeling the pressure, and apart from
texting, I hadn’t seen him to properly talk outside of school since that
morning in the coffee shop. It didn’t mean the heat between us had
dissipated whatsoever. The connection was still so clear whenever he
walked in the damn room and I had to use every ounce of my control not to
look his way and allow myself to tumble down that usual daydream that
started with his lips on mine.
“Sorry I’m late.” Ben walked over to me, but kept his sights set on the
students. I tried my best not to look at him, tried my best not to think about
how good he had looked earlier when I’d caught a glimpse of him between
classes. Even after an entire day of teaching, he barely looked undone, even
though he had loosened his tie, undone the top button, and rolled up the
sleeves of his shirt. “I had to keep some students back. Is it just me or was
today the worst?”
I chuckled at him. “I think they gave them ice cream at lunch.”
“That explains it.” His smile landed on me, and I was weak and caved,
basking in the sunshine he sent my way. “How have they been getting on?”
“Fine, I’ve been trying to let them get on with it themselves. We
managed to get the Mona Lisa one wrapped up pretty fast, and this one
shouldn’t take long– although they might need your help with the equation
in the background.”
He nodded, his gaze returning to the group trying to tackle the equation.
My traitorous eyes flickered down, landing on his lips. The memory of
the night of Homecoming had firmly burned itself into my hippocampus.
How it had felt when our lips met, when he pulled me on top of him and my
body had wrapped itself around his. How it felt to give in to him. Or when
he gave in to me. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, trying to distract
myself from the memories for not the first time today.
Ah, the curse of great sex.
“Mr. Bennett, can you help them with the equation? Connor and Adam
are arguing about the rounding on the answer,” Thomas asked, calling over
from the group. Immediately Ben nodded, his teacher’s tone turning on as
he asked them what the problem was.
He so easily slid into friendly conversation with them all, his shoulders
slack and relaxed as if this was the most natural thing in the world, like
today hadn’t already been completely draining. They crowded around the
blackboard, Ben finding the teaching moment in this rather than just writing
out answers to the equation.
“Ms. Davis, can we get a few photocopies of this please? It would be
great to hand these out.” Thomas handed me the check sheet plan of each
photo we had planned, pulling me out of my reverie.
I smiled at him, nodding happily. “How many do you need?”
“Ten, if that’s okay?”
“Sure,” I replied, sparing a final glance over at the group.
All eyes were still on Ben as he toyed around with them, making jokes
with some of the students, and not just the Mathletes I was becoming more
familiar with, but with some of the students from my art group too. He
always included everyone, never being dismissive if they didn’t know the
answer or didn’t have the courage to try. Instead he tried to find a way to
explain the problem, speak their language. It was still math of course, but
he had a way of breaking it down that was so easy I was sure that if I let
him, he could get me to understand algebra and differentials in a way my
own high school teachers had failed. And math wasn’t even his subject.
I finally tore myself away, heading out of the large room and towards the
copier.
Switching on the light to illuminate the tiny room I could’ve sworn used
to be a supply closet, I groaned internally at the sight of the aging monster
of a machine. I wasn’t good with technology at the best of times, let alone
when they were close to a decade old and generally known by others to be
uncooperative. And this machine was no different.
“Are you going to work for me today... or are you going to eat this piece
of paper and make me want to murder you with a hammer?” I muttered as I
stepped closer to the machine, saying a silent prayer it would work, just this
once, for me. I loaded the paper in, selected the correct options, and held
my breath as I waited for the controls to catch up. I knew the machine
needed time to process, knew I needed to count to five to give the computer
time to process the oh so simple command I had requested
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
1000 copies the display read, and I huffed frustratedly as I stamped on
the back button, the number obviously wrong. When the display didn’t
change, I pressed the button again, and gave it a second to catch up. I
counted in my head, knowing myself well enough to expect impatience,
before debating whether I should press the button again. What if the button
was broken and therefore the command hadn’t been registered? I decided to
push very firmly onto the backwards button, and the display went blank. I
let go, cursing under my breath as I peered at the blank screen.
What was it doing now? Why wouldn’t the piece of junk work? I kicked
the machine in frustration, my foot connecting with the indented plastic
from multiple kicks before. No wonder this machine barely worked
anymore.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, pulling my attention from the bastard
copier. I pulled it out, checking to make sure there were no students hanging
around. They always annoyingly made a big deal of it when they caught us
on our phones, so it was easier to do it when they weren’t there.
It was Rosa, and my brows furrowed in wonder. I had been texting with
her a little since Hanna brought her up, but we hadn’t been able to arrange
anything to properly catch up. Unsure if it could be some sort of emergency,
I pressed the green button without another thought.
“Hey! How are you? How’s Laura?” I asked, placing the phone in the
crook of my neck so I could return my attention to the evil copier.
“Hi, we’re both good thanks! It’s been a bit crazy since the engagement,
but she’s been wonderful. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken,” she said,
her friendly tone lessening the guilt slightly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’ve been... busy,” I apologized, but I knew I’d been a
terrible friend. She had been sending updates to when she could talk, but
my schedule between Ben and this project and life had been nothing short
of chaotic. But still I should have been better. I should have been there.
“Don’t worry, Hanna filled me in.”
“What exactly did she tell you?” Her words filled me with a slight dread.
I’d of course spoken to Hanna, and she knew not to blabber mouth about
me and Ben. But she still could have slipped up.
 “Just that you’re doing this STEAM event too. Why? Is there something
else she should be updating me on?” I could practically hear her wiggling
her eyebrows at me down the line. I grinned at the image, missing my
friend.
“Nope, just that,” I said quickly. “Are you in the competition too?”
“Yeah, I guess we’ll be competing against each other. But surprisingly, I
didn’t call to ask about the competition or to hound you about your lack of
texting.” I looked up from the copier, giving her my undivided attention.
“How are things? At work, I mean.”
I sighed. Rosa had been the person I complained to about work things,
especially budget cuts. I’d felt a bit awkward going to Hanna about those
things, considering her husband was the one making the decisions, and I
didn’t want to put her in a weird space between the two of us. So instead,
I’d vented to Rosa when she worked there, and best of all, with her being a
department head, she had understood exactly what I was talking about.
“Same old really. If you didn’t think things could get any worse than while
you were here, then you’d be wrong.”
“I heard they were cutting your group. I remember how much you loved
it,” she said sadly, causing my own heart to sink a little bit more.
Hanna must have filled her in on that too. It was hard to fight the
reminder that this could all be over, that all this effort and time could be for
nothing if we didn’t win. I hadn’t thought about that possibility in a while,
being distracted by Ben’s ability to stay laser focused on the end goal.
I’d asked him one night if he really thought we had a chance. It was after
a particularly long day, and we didn’t leave the school until it was dusk, the
streetlights all starting to flicker on. He pondered on it for a moment,
pressing his lips together as he took his time to evaluate everything, how it
was all coming together and how his students were performing.
I’d started to get impatient, rolling my eyes at him and pressing him for
an answer. His words still played on my mind. I still held them close when
it was four in the morning, and I’d been overthinking every single aspect of
the project.
“I trust our kids, Olive,” he’d said eventually. “They’re smart and
dependable, and they care about this way more than we see, maybe even
more than we do. I think we win either way because we’ve given them the
best chance we could, and because the greatest reward could be having
students that care back.”
I’d stood frozen, not sure how to respond, not sure how I could keep
looking at him when this seemed to be so easy for him, so effortless. Sure
he was tired from a heavy day, but he wasn’t exhausted. He didn’t feel like
this place, this job, this environment was scooping him out piece by piece
until he was hollow, and nothing but an empty vessel of what he used to be.
He never did ask me if I was confident, and I was grateful for that. It
wasn’t that I had no confident or optimism about our chances. I was just
afraid to be.
“Trying to, but we’re looking for funding. That’s why we’re doing the
competition,” I explained, trying to move on from the memory.
“Well... there’s an opening here for an Art department head,” Rosa said,
catching me completely off guard.
And I don’t know why, couldn’t begin to explain, but my first thought
was Ben. His face instantly formed in my head, his slight smile that was so
familiar to me now, his golden hazel eyes all lit up. My heart squeezed at
the thought, before fear washed it away.
 “And of course,” Rosa went on. “I told them I knew the most perfect Art
teacher who would make a fabulous addition to our staff, and basically
ranted about your amazingness to the principal. Right up to the point where
I was asked to reach out and see if you wanted to interview.”
I didn’t answer immediately, just tried to process it. A new school, was
that the solution? My stomach tightened at the thought. I knew I’d been
struggling here, even before the summer, before Mom and the final cuts to
the budget. Things had been closing in on me for a while. But I’d always
found a way to keep my head above the water, keep my legs kicking. This
year, I felt like I’d been drowning with tiny gasps of air.
And the vice principal job... I wasn’t sure how likely that was. There
were no reassurances there, and worse yet, what if I got it and it was the
same shit, the same problems but bigger. More pressure and no relief valve
and no way out.
Being with Ben, being around his optimism for the project, not to
mention the distraction of him too, had me feeling like I’d finally come up
for some air. But could I rely on that? Could I rely on him to keep me
floating when nothing was set?
And then there was the reminder this shouldn’t be this hard. That right at
the start, it had felt fun and good. But year after year it got worse and
worse, and I knew without this competition, there would be no light at the
end of the tunnel.
“When would the interview be?” I finally asked. “And would it be in
person?” The questions were automatic. Information first, freak out later.
“Next week if possible? And over Zoom would be fine, with the
distance.”
 The distance. I forgot about that. This job would mean a move, the
commute far too long. Dad... would be fine. I’d worry endlessly but I knew
he’d be okay. I could visit at the weekends and call all the time, but
ultimately the plan to stay with him was never supposed to be long term.
Staying at your parent’s house in your late twenties wasn’t cute. The real
question would be if I was okay? Okay with leaving him and the protective
cocoon I had found myself in.
“Okay,” I said, really trying to summon a sliver of courage. “Sign me up.
I’ll do it.”
“Yes! I knew you’d be interested!” Rosa exclaimed down the line. “And
just think about it, we could be working together again!”
I knew she was grinning, and I could hear the joy in her voice. And I
wanted to feel the same way, wanted to agree and feel excited at the
possibility of something new.
“I’ll email you over some details, and I’ll arrange the time,” she pressed
on. “Can we catch up in a few days and run a mock interview?”
“Sounds good! I’ll call this time, I promise.”
“You better! I’ll let you go now, but this is a great opportunity, Olive. I
know you’ll smash this.”
“Thanks, Rosa,” I said, really meaning it. It felt good she’d thought of me
and had reached out despite my general terribleness. “I promise I won’t let
you down.”
With a goodbye, she hung up, still squealing as she did.
I stood frozen for a moment, still processing what I had agreed to. This
was fine. This was a good idea. It wasn’t running away. It was something
new, and deserved, and something that would make this all feel do-able
again. I’d get there, get excited. I just needed time.
 “Tut tut tut, should you be on your phone, Ms. Davis?” I turned, and
found Ben leaning against the doorway, a playful smirk lighting up his face.
“You gave me a heart attack!”
“Who was calling?”
“Oh...” I trailed off, my attention flashing down to the phone in my hand.
Panic, pure panic overrode my senses and before I knew it, the lie was
slipping out. “Just Dad about dinner.”
I couldn’t tell him about the job. If he knew I was leaving, even
considering the idea... would he understand? The chance he wouldn’t was
enough to convince me the little white lie was a better plan. I decided then
to keep this to myself. I would tell him when there was something to tell.
This was nothing, barely even a chance. And even if I got the offer, I wasn’t
sure I’d take it.
“Are you done using that?” he said, motioning to the useless piece of
junk in front of me, pulling me from my train of thought.
“I think it hates me.”
He chuckled and came into the room, his body filling up the small space,
closing me in and bringing him deliciously close to me. “Can I take a
look?”
“Be my guest. I can never get this thing to work anyway.” I stepped
aside, trying to make room in the cramped space but he was too big, his
body pressing to the side of mine.
Dirty, dirty thoughts flew through my mind at the soft touch, erasing all
other sentient reasoning.
“Or apparently any technology,” he said, quietly, his voice sending
goosebumps down my skin. Sweet merciful Jesus, it should be against the
rules for us to be alone anywhere in this building.
 “It’s not me, it’s too old.”
“You need to be patient,” he instructed, and God, it was hard to follow
that advice. Impossible, in fact. Entirely an unreasonable suggestion on his
part. I could feel the heat of his body against mine, could feel his eyes on
me–wanted more than just his eyes on me.
“I was!”
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t believe you for a second.”
“Well, I tried to be.”
He chuckled again, the serious air between us dissipating. I leaned on the
machine as he pressed the same buttons as I did, watching him to see if
there was anything he did differently. For one, he didn’t kick the machine
out of annoyance. Maybe it did hate me?
All of a sudden, the machine jumped to life, eating up the piece of paper
and spitting it out on the other side before it began to hum even louder and
to print the copies I needed.
I looked up at him, and could hardly comprehend the entirely far too
smug look on his face. Words failed me, my brain basically goo at the sight
of him. So instead, after a quick glance over his shoulder, I reached up,
right onto the tips of my toes, and wrapped my hand around his neck, softly
pulling him down, closing the gap.
The kiss was soft, intentionally slow, our lips gentle against each other.
Just an innocent kiss, bodies pressed close together. It took all my strength
to pull away, smiling slyly up at him, my free hand grabbing the copies that
had finished printing.
His eyes were wide with surprise as he looked at me, but I slid past him
before he had time to react, his body following me.
 “Thank you for your help, Mr. Bennett,” I said sweetly, and then I left,
disappearing out of the room before he even had a chance to think about
following me, knowing his eyes were on me, knowing I’d left him wanting
more.
But it wasn’t until I was halfway down the corridor that I realized how
much he made me forget about everything. About this place, my anxieties
about the future–and Mom. When I was around him, he swept me up, gave
me shelter and space to breathe and escape. I missed it, longed for it.
I kept walking, forcing myself to go down the hall and not return to that
old copier room and find somewhere else darker and more secluded. I tried
to figure out truly how deep I had fallen, and how much it was going to hurt
when I finally hit the ground.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty
Candles – Daughter

“S top what you’re doing, Olive, and take a step back from the stove.”
He was stopped dead in the doorway, hands up as if I was
holding him hostage. Still dressed in the blue and white checked pajamas
I’d bought him last Father’s Day, with his short hair sticking up, he looked
like he’d sensed something was wrong and immediately jumped out of bed.
That, or just smelled the wafting smoke coming from the kitchen.
I don’t know what I’d been thinking this morning when I’d crept down
the stairs, bleary-eyed after a few hours of restless sleep. It was still the
early hours of the morning, but the competition was tomorrow and sleep
had been impossible. But even without that stress, the last two weeks had
been horrible. Somehow, I’d ended up doing both interviews last week: one
for the vice principal job, and the other the head of the art department at
Rosa’s school. I had no idea how they’d gone. I felt like as soon as they
started, I blacked out from stress. Rosa had called me after the second to
ask about it, and was only mildly annoyed with me when I told her I had no
idea.
 After lying awake in bed, going through every possible way tomorrow
could go wrong, I’d decided to recreate one of my favorite breakfasts. A
recipe for cinnamon brioche French toast had come up on my socials, and
I’d been left salivating over the memories of when Dad used to make it for
me, remembering how the smell of cinnamon and caramelized sugar had
filled the entire house after he’d made it. I hadn’t remembered how he’d
made it, but armed with a video, I’d told myself it couldn’t be too difficult.
Apparently I’d decided to run before I could walk.
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I tried to reassure him, looking down at the more
black than brown toast sizzling in the pan, that was also wildly spitting hot
butter all over the place. “I’ve got it under control!”
“The last time you were unattended near a stove, it caught fire,” Dad
argued back, stepping closer and peering over my shoulder. His face
scrunched up in disgust as he got hit in the face with a cloud of smoke.
“That was a freak accident, not me.” It was hard not to get defensive
when that was brought up. Sure, the house smelled terrible for an entire
week after, but there had only been a few flames and it had been a total
accident. Nobody leaves a dish towel on a hot stove on purpose.
“Either way, let me help,” he said, a bit softer this time. “Throw that out,
and we can start again.”
I grumbled, not loving the idea of going right back to the start, but
knowing it was probably for the best. “Okay, but please let me help.”
“I’ll guide you, you get the fire extinguisher out,” he said mischievously.
I shot him a dead look, my lips pressed into a thin line, but his playful
smile melted away my frustrations.
“You know I lived on my own successfully for many years,” I retorted,
picking up the pan that held the failed French toast, and depositing the
contents straight into the trash.
“Yes, and I have no doubt that you lived on a diet of ready meals and
oven baked pizza,” he grumbled unhappily as he started to examine the
ingredients I’d left out on the counter, picking some up to read the label.
“And what’s wrong with that?” I asked, plopping a fresh slice of brioche
into the egg mixture I’d already made up.
“Not very healthy, all processed and high in salt,” he said. “Which recipe
were you trying to follow?”
“Says the chef who cooks everything in butter,” I mumbled under my
breath, passing him my phone. He took his time reading before letting out a
small tsk.
“No wonder you ran into trouble, this is too complicated. Can I show you
my way?”
With Dad’s help, starting again took far less time than it had taken me.
Instead of frying, he opted to oven bake the French toast after a light fry–to
seal the bread and give it a crisp, he’d explained.
We both sat at the kitchen table, steaming hot cups of coffee in hand, and
waited for the food to bake.
“You’re getting better at this,” he smiled, lifting his mug to his mouth,
the foam of the coffee leaving its mark on his mustache.
“Did you see the state of the pan?” My eyebrows pressed together as I
spoke, not sure how he could think there had been a marked improvement.
“That recipe was over-complicated, and it’s an old pan,” he said,
dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I was surprised to find
you trying to cook something tricky on your own.”
I shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. The recipe had come up and it got me
reminiscing.”
 “You were always a sucker for cinnamon and sugar.”
“Still am,” I smiled. “I want to learn more recipes that we used to have,
like the toast and oh, Mom’s favorite pie you used to make.”
“The truffle chicken dish?” he asked, and I nodded. The memories of the
creamy chicken sauce, covered by layers of delicious, buttery flaky pastry,
and a special grating of truffles were hard to forget, the home cooked food
was some of the best I’d ever had.
“And those little crispy potatoes.”
He smiled brightly. “She did always love those potatoes.”
“Remember that time you served it differently,” I recalled, lifting my
mug and taking a slip.
His smile exploded. “She did not like that. Think it was the closest she
ever came to leaving me,” he said and we both laughed at the memory. She
could be so grumpy, so specific on what she wanted, but when it was
perfect she let you know, made you feel like we were the center of her
universe. “Well, I’d be happy to teach you the recipes if you want. Maybe
I’ll earn myself a couple nights off from cooking.”
“Like you’d leave me alone with your knives.”
He laughed, agreeing as he went to open up the oven, the smell of
caramelized brown sugar filling the room. He served up the toast, placing
two slices each into a bowl while I refreshed our coffees. We settled back
down in front of each other, ready to dig into the long awaited food.
The memory of the toast was nothing compared to the real thing, and the
sweet cinnamon sugar left an unmistakable warmth in my belly. For a
moment, it didn’t matter that I’d barely slept, or that it was still way too
early in the morning and I still had to face work for the day. For a moment,
I felt okay, satisfied with this piece of my childhood, and enjoying my dad’s
company.
For a moment, I was okay, was lost in the happy memory and the world
around me felt warm again. Just a moment, until Dad straightened his back,
his expression solemn, and suddenly the delicious food turned to lead in my
stomach.
Our lives were tangled together permanently now, tied together that
invisible string that had always kept us coming back to each other.
“I wanted to know if you’d come with me, to go visit her.”
Sweat began to prick on my forehead, my fingers holding on so tightly to
the silverware I was surprised it didn’t bend under the pressure.
“I-I...”
“I know you haven’t been yet,” he went on. “And I don’t want to rush
you.” His eyes were soft on me, soft and caring and full of concern. But that
did nothing to halt the anger surging through me, burning up any shred of
self-control.
“But you are anyway.”
His face crumpled, creasing at the wrinkles as he took the accusation. He
thought on it for a moment and then collected himself, not allowing himself
to react to my anger. Maybe he thought that if he was better, I’d be better.
He was wrong.
“She would’ve been heartbroken if you didn’t go,” he said gently. “She
loved that she always saw you on her birthday–you always came over even
if it was after work and she loved it. She loved you, Olive.” His words,
despite his soft delivery, cut me open. The knife was hot and slick against a
still healing wound.
 “This isn’t fair, you can’t bring that up. If I’m not ready–” If I was ever
ready, the thought rattled me to the core. If this feeling ever lifts, stops
crushing me for a single moment. “–then you can’t guilt trip me into
going.”
I stood up, pushing myself up from the table and grabbed our plates
piling the dishes on the counter. His eyes followed every motion, and he
kept his calm tone that was supposed to be soothing but was anything but.
“I’m not trying to–” he started to say, his back stiffening at the
accusation. The calm was slowly slipping, but I didn’t give him time to
finish.
“Yes, you are.” I shot him a look from where I stood at the sink, finding
enough control to not throw the dishes in and watch them smash against the
basin. He held my gaze, my fury threatening to melt with the guilt I felt for
being so mad at him for just trying to help. But I held it, refusing to give in,
the flames finally free.
“It helped me going to visit her,” he said, swinging his legs out from
under the table so he could face me properly, but he remained seated and
kept that unwavering gaze on me.
“That doesn’t mean it will help me.” I shook my head over and over
again, leaning forward against the counter, my hands gripping the side as if
holding on for dear life.
I tried to imagine it, going back there. I’d stood there as they lowered her
into the ground, stood there as they gathered around to cover her up–and
left her there. Dad had shown me the plans for the gravestone, asked me if I
was happy with the wording. But I’d barely looked, barely managed to help.
That’s what would be left of her? A stone marking telling us she’d once
been here? That was it?
 “I lost her too, you know. I’m going through this as well,” Dad said
softly.
“No, you lost your wife,” I snapped, looking back at him. “My mom
died, and I wasn’t even there.”
He bristled this time, visibly pushed back at my words.
“Olive.” My name was supposed to be a grounding, a comfort, but
instead all it made me want to do was grab the plates and throw them at the
floor, desperate to escape, desperate for this to end.
“Just let me deal with this the way I want to deal with it.” My words were
a desperate plea, a hope he could let this go.
“It’s destroying you, Olive,” he said, voice breaking. “You’ve changed so
much. I hear you at night moving about when you can’t sleep. I see you
come in the door and you look exhausted, like you can barely stand up
straight. And then when you cook with me you can’t stay still, you’re
rattled. You barely talk about work anymore, and it’s all you used to talk
about.” He stood up, hand waving around as he listed off all the things I’d
thought I’d hidden from him. His voice grew louder, that softness long
gone, and now filled with a parental fury I’d avoided from him in my youth.
“And painting, Ol, it meant so much to you, no matter what you painted. I
know you haven’t done anything since she died.”
“I’m getting through it.” Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I lied,
holding his gaze as he shook his head.
“No, you aren’t. You’re struggling and you need help.”
I was an animal backed into a corner, walls high all around me, and there
was no escape. Not without a fight.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to muster my strength.
“Just please, let me help you,” Dad pleaded.
 “I’m fine.”
“Olive…”
“Please.” My final beg was strangled.
He stood in front of me, looking at me as if he was trying to find the right
words that would put his daughter back to how she had been; put her back
together like she’d never been broken at all. But he didn’t see that I’d been
trying to do that myself for the last few months, didn’t see me trying to glue
all my pieces back together, only to fall apart under the slightest pressure.
I was broken, irreplicable.
He blinked, a sheen in his eyes. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”
I didn’t have any more words, so I just nodded, taking the escape he
finally offered. I walked past him, pausing for a moment to wonder if I
could wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight if I could pretend
for long enough that I was okay, and in turn make him okay again too. But I
kept moving, walking past Meatball who’d been watching from her bed the
entire time, her little head following me as I left the kitchen and stormed up
the stairs. I climbed back underneath my covers, wondering how on earth I
was supposed to carry on like this.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-One
John Hughes Move (Acoustic) - Maisie
Peters

B en was smiling.
He stood in the middle of the large room, students, volunteer
parents and teachers fixated on him as he thanked them endlessly for their
help and dedication to the school before launching into the full run down
for tomorrow. It was like there was an invisible spotlight shining down on
him, my attention tied as he was every bit as magnetic as he’d always been,
annoying or not.
It didn’t help that he looked close to devastating in black trousers and a
dove gray shirt that fit him so perfectly, I was sure it had been tailored.
It had been a long day since the argument with Dad that morning, with
students running wild, flicking paint all over the room, and having a
constant battle for attention with their phones. The pile of papers needing
grading was wildly out of control, and I’d made no progress during my
single free period today, instead staring down at the same essay for the
entire period. Life outside school was no better with the anxiety of returning
home to Dad, and running well overdue picking up another renewed
prescription after I’d used up the last of my pills last week.
I was exhausted. I’d entirely forgotten about this meeting, only
remembering when Rob caught me leaving at the end of the school day. I’d
nearly sworn with frustration, realizing I couldn’t blow this off.
“Anyway, if anyone has any questions, please feel free to direct them to
myself or Ms. Davis. We both thank you again for your time and effort, and
please wish our students good luck!” Ben wrapped up, indicating over to
me.
I forced a smile, raising my hand and giving a small wave to those who
bothered to look my way. The room filled with clapping, every single
parent so impressed by the man that was teaching their kids.
Me, on the other hand…...
“I don’t understand what Jessica has to do to get a better grade in your
class,” Jenna, the mother of aforementioned Jessica, continued. She’d
zeroed in on me right after Ben finished talking, launching straight into an
endless tirade about Jessica’s recent grades.
I gritted my teeth, trying to hold onto the last of my control. “I’ve already
discussed this with Jessica. She hasn’t handed in any completed work for
our assignments, so her grade is incomplete, like her work. If she can finish
the assignments by next week, I’ll reconsider it.”
Jenna’s jaw fell open, like I’d suggested her kid retake the entire year
instead of completing the work. This was typical, an overbearing parent
overly involved with their kids, when I’d already discussed it with Jessica
earlier in the week.
“By next week is unacceptable. Are you aware this is only art?” she said,
so casually I barely felt the temperature change of my blood: simmering to
boiling over in the time it took to speak twelve words.
“Only art?”
She stood defiant.
“Ma’am, if it’s only art then what excuse has Jessica got for not handing
in completed work?” I argued. She opened her mouth to answer, but I cut
her off. “Does she hand in completed work for her other classes?”
She blinked a couple of times, trying to collect herself and stammered,
“Y-y-yes.”
“So she is capable of it. Does she need more time, is she over extended?”
“Well, no but –”
“I can give her two weeks,” I said. “I want Jessica to realize her full
potential and hand in a full project. But I guess with a parent like you,
dismissive of some ‘lesser’ subjects, it’s understandable Jessica doesn’t see
it as a priority. There will always be classes or tasks that aren’t a priority,
but they still need to be completed and the sooner Jessica learns that, the
better.” My chest was heaving, heart pounding as I continued to whale on
the woman who was now scowling so viciously at me, her lips pressed
tightly together and eyes narrowed. “Maybe she will find a passion for art
in this work, probably she won’t. But I’m giving her the chance instead of
telling her this isn’t worth her time and effort.”
I could barely breathe, my palms so sweaty as I tried to stare the women
down, despite the extra height she had on me.
“If you thin–” she began, but was cut off immediately.
“Mrs. Hollis, it’s good to see you.” Ben smiled brightly, interrupting the
woman before she could get anything out, his gaze stuck on her, one of his
hands reaching out, touching her softly on the arm.
 Her gaze immediately snapped to him, the icy demeanor melting at the
sight of his handsome face. She blinked in rapid succession, like she was
trying to figure out if she wanted to continue being angry at me or focus on
Ben. My heart was in my throat, eyes glued to them both.
“Actually,” she said, relaxing a little into her posture, a hand tucking her
hair behind her ear. “It’s Miss now. Miss Kennedy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied, his head lowered in sympathy.
She smiled so brightly, I was half convinced our argument was long
forgotten. “Well, apparently my ex-husband couldn’t keep it in his pants, so
it’s his loss.”
Ben laughed slightly awkwardly at the overshare, and glanced over at
me.
“I know you two were discussing something but is it okay if I steal Ms.
Davis for a moment? I need her advice for the teams.”
Jessica’s mom nodded, totally mesmerized by the man in front of her. It
took all my strength not to roll my eyes at her. Sure, he was cute, but this
was verging on something else entirely.
He turned then, a friendly smile on his lips before he nodded his head,
indicating for us to move away. I looked back at the parent, a scowl
returning to her face. I should take the exit Ben had created for me before
this parent could scream at me some more, but instead, I paused for a
moment, lingering as I thought over everything she’d said.
Truly, I owed this woman nothing. She’d been rude and abrupt since the
moment she had started this discussion, but even though I was exhausted, I
tried to re-examine everything she had said.
“Tell Jessica to come past my classroom next week,” I said. “I can talk to
her and figure out a timeline for the assignments that need to be completed
so it doesn’t overwhelm her.”
I tried to reframe her in my head, not just an angry parent who didn’t
value the effort I was using to teach her kid, but a concerned adult, who was
trying to tell me her kid was going through a hard time, and she needed
some allowances.
While she had been rude, I had been the one not listening and instead
taking everything so personally like it was an attack.
The woman nodded, her back stiffening as a hand went to the shoulder
strap of her handbag.
“Thank you,” she replied.
I only nodded in response, and turned away. Ben followed me, a hand
pressed to the small of my back as if to guide me, keep me walking forward
and not turn back.
“It looked like you needed a way out of that conversation,” he said, his
voice a whisper on my neck.
“I was handling it just fine,” I murmured back, sparing him a look over
my shoulder. Ben’s eyebrow was raised, his eyes firm on me as his gaze
dragged across my face.
“I’m not so sure about that, Sunshine.”
I spun on my heels, facing him now. “Sunshine?”
“Well since you’ve spent all of today looking like you’ve had a storm
cloud hanging over you, I thought you could do with some cheering up.” He
smiled at me, the grin wide and perfect, except for the way his eyes didn’t
crinkle the way I was all too familiar with.
I shook my head dismissively. “And calling me sunshine is supposed to
do that?”
“You tell me, Sunshine.”
 I decided to ignore the pounding of my heart, the way he had so easily
unarmed me and even the situation before. He’d done it without me even
knowing.
Shaking my head, I changed the subject. “Thanks for walking everyone
through tomorrow.”
“It’s fine, piece of cake.” He waved his hand to dismiss me. To say he’d
been carrying the load for the last few weeks of the preparation would be an
understatement. He’d organized most of the groups, caught up with the
students about their revision, and had done a stellar job preparing his
Mathletes. Meanwhile, I’d just barely scraped through somehow. I knew I’d
helped for sure, I’d provided materials and books to my art students and
some Mathletes who wanted to help out, but the effort from Ben was
unmatched, and he hadn’t once made me feel bad about it, hadn’t brought it
up at all in fact.
“Now all we have to do is show up,” he added, looking away from me.
“And hope for the best.” My eyes were still on him, watching as his back
stiffened and his smile slowly faded, his, lips pressed together in a thin line.
His voice was a mumble. “That too, Sunshine.”
I finally tore my gaze away from him, trying to work out what had caught
his attention, just as a friendly face joined us, the crowd of chatting parents
parting to let the district head through.
“Ms. Davis, Ben, it’s a good turnout for the competition,” Dane said,
looking between us with a friendly smile on his face. He was rather casual
for somebody so important to the district, his body always relaxed, his shirt
buttoned up but tie slightly loose.
“All down to Ben’s work, he’s been relentless at reminding students to
ask their parents to help out,” I said, looking away from the older man and
over at Ben. I almost jumped back at the sight: his skin had gone at least
two shades paler, something like a warning filling his gaze as he looked at
the district head.
I’d only seen Dane a week ago, finally meeting him in a better capacity
than when I’d been moments away from vomiting due to illness. Instead,
I’d only been moments from vomiting due to nerves, the stress of sitting
down opposite him, Rob, and two other school board officials that had been
introduced to me but I had almost immediately forgotten. For about half an
hour they’d covered everything I’d thought possible in an interview, going
over everything from what I thought of the way the school was currently
run, to improvements I’d be wanting to make, and how. They’d touched on
the importance of budget cuts, and I’d managed to talk about my work as
head of the department, using the stress of the last few years to my
advantage. They’d looked pleased in the end, but who knows what had been
said after I’d left the room.
“Well, it was clearly effective,” Dane smiled. “I’m sure you’re both very
busy with preparations, but I was wondering if I could get a moment of
your time?”
He looked back at me, smiling and indicating it was in fact me he wanted
to talk to. The lurch in my stomach was violent. Had he seen me almost
losing my shit at Jessica’s mom? Had she made a complaint, and I was
about to be given a warning, by the district head no less?
I nodded, not sure what else to say. “Sure.”
Ben shifted from foot to foot, a hand on the back of his neck. He looked
so uncomfortable, but I couldn’t place why. I knew he was nosy and put it
down to that. He knew about the job, even if we’d never spoken about it
before. He’d seen my application, and it was this unspoken thing that stood
between us. What this job would mean for us, if there even was an us.
“Can you find me after?” Ben asked, his eyes burning into me. For a
moment, I wanted to reach out to him, touch his arm and tell him I was
okay. He looked so nervous and uncertain–had I ever seen him like this?
I nodded, watching him slowly turn away and make his way over to the
crowd of remaining parents who were helping tidy up the hall after the
meeting.
With a cough to clear his throat, Dane spoke. “I know you must be very
busy, but I wanted to connect with you after the interview last week,” he
started, the neutral look on his face giving no hints. “We were all very
impressed with your history, especially with the school, and how you’ve
managed with the budget cuts and how you’ve run your department
following that. Not to mention the feedback from Rob was outstanding, and
made it clear you are an asset to the teaching staff.”
“Thank you.” My words were so small I could barely hear them, a
buzzing noise growing louder and louder in my ear as the nerves built.
“It was great to have the opportunity to sit down with you. I’ve always
understood art to be an important part of the curriculum. I myself do some
amateur acting on the side,” he said proudly. “I think it’s great to see you’ve
grown such an involved group to be able to do a competition like this.” He
paused for a moment, and the expression on his face cracked from its
neutral professionalism, replaced with a look of pity and sympathy.
And I knew what the ‘but’ was before he had even said it.
“However, I felt like I should let you know we’ve decided to go in a
different direction. Some of the panel members would prefer somebody
with a STEM background to reflect the importance of these subjects to the
school.”
Rob had warned me, he’d told me that was their preference. No matter
the experience or expertise I could bring to the role, this would be the thing
the job would hinge on. And I’d ignored him, told myself there was a
chance, let myself believe I could play on a level playing field.
I’d been a fool.
“I understand.” My voice was strange to my own ears, the tone controlled
and showing no indication of the disappointment growing inside. “I knew it
was a long shot.”
“I’m only sorry I couldn’t convince the other members. I remember how
much of an asset your mother had been when she worked in our schools,
and I have every bit of faith you are as excellent as her given your record,”
he said, trying to comfort me but he didn’t know me, didn’t know her,
didn’t know I was barely an inch on her shadow.
I took his hand, giving it an appreciative and professional shake before
thanking him again for the opportunity, telling him I understood. Then I
excused myself, with one need, one thought.
Find Ben.
Somehow, he’d know what to do, what to say, would ground me and keep
me from falling to pieces.
I looked around the room, like I’d promised I’d do, eyes glancing over
the thinning crowd, the chairs now put away for the evening, before I
finally found him. He stood in a corner, head lowered and smiling brightly.
He was mid-laugh, the sound almost infectious if it wasn’t for who stood
opposite him. Jenna, Jessica’s mom from before, her eyes also on him, a
hand on her hip and an unmistakably flirty smile on her lips. I watched as
he said something back, and she raised a hand, placing it on his arm and
pushing him playfully.
And he smiled back. And maybe it was just friendly, but it did nothing to
stop my already shattered confidence from cracking further. I felt close to
combusting. And not at the flirting, not at her leaning in and touching him
again, this time over his gray shirt. Because he had never been mine, that
hadn’t been the agreement. But that smile, it had felt like mine. I’d fooled
myself into thinking it was mine. I’d let myself believe it was just for me.
He’d said it himself, I was a rain cloud–sad and depressing. His smile
was carefree and light and everything I wasn’t. He deserved somebody who
really was sunshine, who could return those smiles and feel that warmth.
And knowing that wasn’t me was the thing that really pushed me over the
edge and caused me to snap like a twig bent a degree too far.
With my fists balled up, fingernails pressing into my palms, I turned on
my heels, swiftly leaving Ben and Jenna alone.
It was too much, all of it was entirely too much. The job, the competition,
Mom, Ben. When did everything end up getting so complicated and
tangled? It felt like I was being pulled apart, taking more of my energy than
I was able to give, more than I had. And now I was exhausted and broken
and falling apart.
I pressed against the cold brick of the hallway, sinking down to the floor.
I needed to rest, needed to sleep for about a month and think about nothing
at all. How long had it been since I’d had a proper sleep?
Flashes of Ben’s bare skin came to memory, his fresh navy sheets, the
room cool but under the covers was the perfect temperature. Had that really
been it?
 “What are you doing out here?” Ben stood in the doorway to the room
I’d just exited, but I hadn’t even heard the door open. That little crinkle in
his brow appeared as he narrowed his eyes at me. “You said you’d find me
after.”
At the sight of him, I swear my heart snagged a beat. The urge to go to
him, to have him wrap his arms around me and squeeze tight and just
breathe him in was almost more overwhelming than the track of doubt and
disappointment my head couldn’t press mute on.
I tried to stuff the feelings back down, tried to ignore the shaking in my
hands. “You were busy.”
His head tilted in question, the dim light of the hallway still highlighting
a facial structure only angels could have carved. If he was going to ask a
question, he seemed to let it go, and instead said, “We are almost done here,
then we’ll be officially off the clock.”
I forced a pitiful smile. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
As much as I craved the comfort he could offer me, I knew it would only
leave me more confused and lost and lonely when it disappeared again.
Knew it would only leave me trapped and hungry for more of him than I
could possibly cope with. I needed to be alone.
He nodded, but didn’t move, his gaze softening on me. I thought back to
the last time he’d found me like this, sitting on the ground. That was the
night everything had changed.
Somehow, he’d known I was in trouble then, and had found me.
Somehow, he’d been exactly what I needed.
Somehow, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him ever since.
“Is there something wrong?” He stepped out of the doorway, the door
closing behind him as he leaned against the wall, his gaze not moving from
me.
Ignoring the obvious answer, I lied, nodding my head. “I’m fine, I just
needed air.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything, an uneasy silence falling
between us. I watched as he lifted his hand to the back of his neck and
began to rub uneasily. His throat bobbed as he did, and it dawned on me I’d
never seen him looking so nervous, so unsure.
“Did... did Dane say something?” The way his voice wobbled, the stutter
and the unfamiliar name took me a moment to process. “I mean... what did
he want to talk to you about?”
I let out a sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Maybe I can help?” he offered, stepping away from the wall so he was
no longer leaning against it.
“This isn’t something you can fix, Ben.”
“Try me.”
And from the way he said it, I truly believed he wanted to help. That he
thought he could solve this for me, and put it right. Somehow, that hurt
more, because there wasn’t anything he could do. There wasn’t any
convincing anyone I was well suited to the job, it didn’t matter.
I didn’t teach STEM. They’d simply decided I wasn’t enough.
Maybe I wasn’t.
“I don’t know what there is to say,” I snipped, irritation itching under my
skin. “I didn’t get the job. I never had a shot and now it’s clear for you to
swoop in and get in.”
“The vice principal’s job?” he asked, his voice calm, his features
remaining the same.
Somehow, that irritated me more.
 “Is there another job I should be aware of?”
“Olive, I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s your gain if I’m out of the running.” I pushed myself up, legs
shaking slightly under my weight. I needed space from him, some distance
to keep my head straight. I knew I shouldn’t be snipping at him; none of
this was his fault, even if he was my competition and the role was his for
the taking.
“I can still be sorry. You would’ve been excellent for the school in that
role.” He stayed where he was, the sad smile that was supposed to be
reassuring still on his lips.
“Oh really? No joke about how now there’s no one to stop you
completely cutting the funding to the art department now?” I kept digging
and digging, waiting for him to snap, trying to get him to react in a way that
didn’t make me feel like the worst.
“I was only ever joking about that,” he said earnestly. “I promise, I won’t
do that. And besides, just because you don’t have the job, doesn’t mean I
do. There are other applicants.”
I shook my head at him, pressing my hands against my face.
“Olive, please look at me.”
He stepped closer, but I kept pacing, feeling more and more like a
trapped animal.
This wasn’t his fault. I knew that. But it was so easy to blame him, to let
this rage out his way because he was everything I wasn’t. He deserved this
and I did not and that made me so angry I wanted to scream.
“Don’t shut down, talk to me.” His voice was a plea, an echo that cut
through the noise that was filling my mind.
 I finally looked at him then, and I didn’t even have a chance to think
before the words tumbled out of my mouth.
“Just go back to trying to fuck the moms, Ben. At least they want you
around.”
And fuck, if I didn’t regret the words immediately. The look on his face
was enough to take that hairline crack in my heart and turn it into a full
open fissure. But the words were out, and I had no intention of taking them
back. They’d finally done what I needed them to do.
The empty, silent space between us had never felt so wide. He said
nothing, a painful silence I was supposed to break with an apology lingering
around us, but when it became clear I wasn’t going to say another word,
wasn’t going to immediately take it back, his spine stiffened, and the empty
look on his face turned stony.
He turned away from me, his echoing footsteps the only noise in the hall
before he opened the door. Ben paused, not even looking over his shoulder
at me as he spoke, his voice brittle.
“You can go. I’ll finish up here.”
And then he disappeared into the hall, door closing behind him as he
finally left me alone.
Alone, with only my breaking, ruined heart.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Two
Treacherous (Taylor's Version) -
Taylor Swift

“C ome over if you want to talk.”

I read the text for the millionth time as I stood outside his all
too familiar apartment door. I’d made out with him once against this door,
and it was too easy to recall his trailing hands and the pressure of his lips
against my skin as he worked down my body.
I’d left the school shortly after our argument, driven home in a daze, tears
at the ready as soon as I stepped inside my parent’s empty house, my dad at
work. I’d just crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I’d
immediately regretted pushing him away, his absence entirely crushing.
I’d stayed there for a few hours, wishing for a sleep that would never
come as I let the same old track play over and over in my head, the
overwhelm of the last few weeks finally breaking me like a wave against a
rock.
When my phone buzzed on the dresser, I’d almost ignored it. But
Meatball had whined, letting me know she needed out in the yard and that
had been enough to get me out of bed. I’d paused when I’d read who it was
from, my heart squeezing painfully at even the sight of his name, followed
by those seven words.
“Come over if you want to talk.”
And now I found myself outside his door, not sure why I’d agreed when
talking sounded like my own personal hell, when all I wanted to do was
apologize for being horrible and jealous and tell him I didn’t deserve him,
not for a second. What I didn’t want to say was how badly I wanted to pour
myself out to him, didn’t want to admit to him how I felt wrecked beyond
words and now I couldn’t keep feeling all of this because it was driving me
insane. All I wanted was him and his touch and his kisses, but even that
made me feel overwhelmed and exhausted and so scared I wasn’t sure I’d
ever feel safe without him again. I wanted silence and peace and the touch
of his skin, but he deserved so much more than that.
I knocked on the door, and almost leapt back in surprise when it opened
almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for me, pacing up and down like
I had, wondering if asking me over was a giant mistake.
“Hi.” My voice was so quiet, so small I wasn’t even fully sure I said the
word.
“Hi.” He stood in the doorway wearing a t-shirt that fit across his
shoulders perfectly, the cuff of the sleeve doing things that should be illegal
to his arms. His lips were pressed into a straight line and I couldn’t tell you
how badly I wished for one of his bright smiles that always felt like
sunshine.
“I brought pizza.” The words felt redundant as I lifted the pizza box I
held in my hands. “It’s not my usual, but it’s still good.”
 I hadn’t dared to go past Dad’s work for food. I couldn’t handle seeing
him after this morning, our argument still too fresh to face him.
Ben stepped to the side, letting me past as he held the door open for me.
Whenever I’d imagined his apartment a few times over the years, I had
expected flames, demons scurrying about, complex math problems painted
in the walls in blood like a ritual sacrifice. But it was as clean and minimal
as ever.
I’d never spent a huge amount outside of his bedroom, and seeing it now
in the low light of the evening, the nicely appointed living room still caught
me a little off guard. Even in your late twenties, it felt like you’d found a
keeper if he owned a couch and not two mismatched patio chairs positioned
directly in front of the latest PlayStation. But Ben’s apartment with its
comfy looking couch, a soft blanket thrown over the back; a couple of tall
bookcases overflowing with books, both fiction and non-fiction; and no
PlayStation in sight–it hadn’t been at all what I would’ve expected.
However, I still suspected if I searched his trash I’d find a dart board and a
photo of myself pinned to it.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked as I placed the pizza box on
his coffee table, my attention snagging on the pile of stray books that were
piled beside his couch. “I’ve got some wine, if you’d like?”
Instantly, my shoulders slumped, and maybe it was rude to appear at his
house after being a total asshole and drink his wine, but I desperately
needed something to take the edge off. The tension between us was so
uncomfortable I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it much longer.
“Yes, please.”
I stole a second glance at the books as he disappeared into the kitchen,
leaning down to shift through them. The first few were stamped with the
school’s name, clearly just textbooks for the students, but it was the last
book that caught my attention.
Introduction to Art: Design, Context, and Meaning
My fingers lingered over the book gently at first, scared to touch it in
case it disappeared, like it was some sort of illusion or a trick to get me to
read a book on algebra. But no, it was real. And better yet, there was no
stamp identifying it as school property.
Ben Bennett, art hater, Master of Science and number God, owned a book
on art.
The reason was not lost on me. I traced my finger down the spine,
finding it cracked and showing some serious sign of use. Noting to myself
to not ever lend him any of my own books, I opened it, glancing over the
table of contents, then flicking through the chapters the book laid out before
going into explanations of the different styles, the brief introductions to the
famous artists of those times.
“Now that I can explain,” he said from the kitchen doorway. I looked past
the book, over to where he stood, two glasses of white wine in his hands,
one filled slightly less, like he’d already taken a gulp.
“Taken an interest in art history, have you?” I raised an eyebrow at him,
the unease in my stomach loosening slightly.
“It’s a friend’s,” he shrugged, walking over. “They left it here,
annoyingly, and I was completely bored one night and thought I’d give it a
go.” He sat down on the couch, placing the glasses next to the pizza box.
“Because you have absolutely no interest in art?” I gave him a small
smile, the strongest I could muster.
“Absolutely none. Big waste of time, if you ask me.” He lifted the glass
to his smiling lips, taking a small sip. I reached out and picked up my glass,
feeling the coolness against my fingers.
“Guess I better leave then, I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” I replied
with a shrug, taking a sip. Trust him to serve the nice wine.
“Well, I mean, I could be persuaded to waste some time.”
“Discussing art?”
He squinted. “I’m not sure about that. But I’d listen to you for as long as
you want.”
When it felt so easy to talk to him, and like everything I’d said or done
was completely forgotten, these were the moments that made my heart
squeeze so painfully I wasn’t sure I’d endure the loss of it. “Don’t expect
me to return the favor. I have no interest in numbers and algebra and… that
other one?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, those eyes sparkling. “Trigonometry?”
“Gesundheit.”
His smile was so wide, all I wanted to do was close the inches between
us and press mine to his and see if his happiness was truly infectious.
“What about string theory?” he mused. “Momentum? Maybe...
magnets?”
“Magnets?” I squinted back at him, every bit enthralled by how he
looked at me, those soft brown eyes, the little flick of his hair at the front
that had me dying to reach out and fix it.
“You know... because you’re magnetic,” he grinned brightly and I
groaned, rolling my eyes.
“That was terrible, is it supposed to be a pick-up line?”
“Is it working?” His left eyebrow twitched up as he took another sip.
I shook my head. How did I tell him he didn’t need pick-up lines? That if
he said beg, I’d beg. If he said crawl, I’d get on my hands and knees and
crawl. It was like his finger was a helter skelter and I had an all day pass.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it was.” He smiled again and leaned back into the
couch cushions.
I looked around again, really taking in the décor now I’d managed to
calm down a bit, scanning over the dark blue of the walls, the comfort of
the couch, and the matched gray blankets I’d strategically placed myself
next to.
“Your place is nicer than I thought,” I remarked.
He scoffed, squinting at me. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“I didn’t expect it to be so...”
“Clean?”
“Free of demon spawn.”
Ben laughed, “I guess I deserved that.”
He looked away from me then, shaking his head as his laughter melted
around us. And maybe I’d never realized it, or maybe I’d always taken it for
granted up until then, but I finally realized how easy it was to be around
him. How he took my bad nights and turned them around until I was sitting
on his couch, flirting and sharing a bottle of wine with him. He knew I
needed space from everything, even when I couldn’t see it.
He sat up, leaning forward to lift his glass again and he drains the
contents. “Can we talk about it now?”
I knew it wasn’t that peace couldn’t last between us, but he deserved an
apology from me. He’d done nothing to deserve being on the other side of
my toxic jealousy and sadness fueled chaos.
“Ben I...” I shut my eyes for a moment, seeing his face again as he’d
turned around, leaving me alone in the hallway. I’d hurt him so badly. “I
can’t apologize enough. I was out of line, and jealous and I really needed to
be alone.”
“I understand,” he said, shuffling closer to me so our knees were pressed
together. “Though…I’ve been worried about you for a while. I feel like I
see you sometimes at work, and you... you just look so sad. And you’re
always tired and overwhelmed. Is there something I can help you with?”
I gulped, hating how easily he could see me, see through every fake smile
and layered sarcasm. He could see the cracks and how the duct tape I was
using to keep myself together was peeling off. I crossed my arms, not sure
what else to do with them, my fingernails leaving half moon indents where
they dug into my elbows.
“No, it’s not… not like that.”
“Can we talk about that? I just... there’s some things we could talk about.
I have a great recommendation for a therapist. She’s busy, but affordable
and entirely worth every cent.”
“You have a therapist?”
“Well, I did. Dr Janet. I stopped seeing her a few months ago.”
“What did you need a therapist for?” The thought was verbalized before I
had time to consider the boundaries, to really think through whether it was
appropriate to ask. If it was a problem, he didn’t show it.
“My wife left me,” he said, so casually I almost didn’t catch it. But boy,
it was like the earth ground to a halt. My sole focus was his face, looking
for any sign he was joking.
“Your wife?” I repeated, the sound almost a gasp. I felt unhinged,
completely and utterly lost as I tried to think back over every single detail I
knew about Ben, everything I’d learned, every nugget of information he’d
given me these past months and came up blank. “You’ve never once told
me you were married.”
“I’ve not been married since I’ve known you. The divorce was final the
summer before I joined the school,” he explained, a slight shrug of his
shoulders like this was normal.
I’d told him so much, shown so much of myself that I had tried to keep
hidden away and he hadn’t bothered to tell me he was once married?
“And you’ve never thought to mention it before now?”
“It’s not something I need to talk about Olive.” His voice was firm, still
holding onto the edge of calm that I felt a million miles away from.
“You were married.”
I couldn’t understand it, and wished he’d told me before. It changed
nothing between us, I knew that. But somehow, it felt like a secret he’d
been keeping from me. All the while he’d been trying to get under my skin,
trying to wriggle his way into my life, finding out every single detail but
he’d held this back? What else had he not told me? Were there kids? What
had happened? When? Who?!
“And now I’m not, I went to therapy and talked about it for a really long
time and I’m sure it would’ve come up eventually. But I’m also sure there’s
things you’ve haven’t told me, and I won’t get mad and defensive when
they come up.” His demeanor cracked for a second. I could see it then, the
vulnerability in between the cracks, and how I was doing everything I hated
people doing to me. He was right.
“It’s okay, I get it. I do,” he said, collecting himself. “But I do think you
could talk to Janet. She’s great and can really advise with medication if you
choose to go down that route.”
 “I already got some from the doctor a while back. They’re not helping.” I
shook my head, deciding not to tell him I’d also missed the last few days
and still needed to pick up a refill of the prescription. What did it matter
anyway? It was only making me worse.
“Oh, I assumed because you were drinking you weren’t on any
medication,” he said.
I turned my head sharply to him and narrowed my eyes, lips pressing
together. “Why would that matter?”
“Well,” he said, exhaling. “Eventually I got better, but I couldn’t drink
for the longest time. It just made everything worse.” He leaned his head to
the side, his gaze soft on me, but I couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Well, it doesn’t matter because they don’t work,” I snipped, those
defenses going back right up. He stiffened, his body going rigid again and I
realized what I’d done. “I’m sorry, you’re just trying to help. But I promise
Ben, I’m trying to get better. I need to do it on my own.”
“But you don’t,” he said, exasperated. “This isn’t just on you.” His voice
was soft and caring but I hung my head, my fingers digging into my elbows
a little harder. Why couldn’t he let this go?
“I don’t want to be a burden, and it’s private and mine and I’ll deal with
it my way.”
I felt like begging for him to stop, to let it go, let me go and see this was
for his own good more than anything. He paused for a moment, his mouth
opening and closing again as he visibly stopped himself from speaking, and
I saw my opportunity.
“Say it.” I was suddenly seething, somehow knowing whatever he’d
managed to stop himself from saying would be it, the sharp exit turn.
 “Olive,” he said my name like a purr, and I shook my head, no longer
willing to melt at the sound of his voice.
“Say what you were going to say.”
Ben stiffened, and I took a deep breath.
“You aren’t getting better on your own,” he said quietly. “I’ve been
letting you keep me at arms length for weeks, letting yourself slowly fade
away. But I see you, every day, and sometimes... sometimes it’s like you’ve
given up,.”
“Given up?” I repeated. The words were vicious and unforgiving.
He shook his head. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do, Ben. How the fuck have I given up? I show up every
day–”
“You show up, but that’s it,” he exploded. “Can you really say you’re
putting in the same effort as last year?”
“That’s not fair,” I said quietly, rolling my shoulders, my grip on my self-
control almost completely gone. Was he really throwing that in my face?
Like I needed the reminder.
“I don’t mean you should be,” he explained. “I know you’re going
through a lot.”
I laughed at the understatement.
“But you pretend like you’re not struggling, and I just want to help.”
“I don’t need help. How many times do I have to say it?” I pushed myself
up from the couch and began to pace the room. I wanted to leave, I needed
to run. “For fuck’s sake I’ve got you and Dad and you both can’t see this is
the best I can fucking do right now. I’m trying, Ben. Every day I’m trying.
Why isn’t it enough? Just... just–”
 He got up from the couch, and I tried to move away as he closed the
distance, but at the first feel of his touch I went from a raging boil to still
waters, allowing his arms to wrap smoothly around me. I didn’t fight him
either as he pulled me into his body, pressing me close and surrounding me.
He leaned his head on mine, and I realized I was shaking and I couldn’t
stop.
“I’m trying, Ben. I’m trying and I’m so empty.” My voice sounded miles
away. I could’ve been crying but I was too far gone to know. All I knew
was the sinking feeling that was swallowing me whole and the single Ben-
sized life raft I was clinging onto for dear life.
He stroked my hair, the pressure grounding me to him.
“I know.” His voice cracked and he lifted his head to press a soft kiss to
my forehead. “But we can help. We can make it easier for you.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to pull away. “I don’t want help.”
Help meant moving on. Forgetting her. Forgetting this pain that burned
like I’d pressed my palm to a hot stove and kept it there until I was
screaming. But it served as a reminder that she had been here. And no
matter how painful that reminder, I needed it, needed to hold onto it with
both hands and never ever forget.
“Then... let me be here for you,” he resolved after a moment.
All the air in my lungs pushed out in relief as I finally relaxed into his
embrace, trying to enjoy the tightness of his arms around me, drawing
support from his body against mine. The shaking slowly began to subside,
and I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long he held me like that, with his
hand stroking down my back in comfort, his head resting on the top of
mine, before he moved his head to rest on my shoulder.
 “I wish I could read your mind sometimes,” he confessed, his breath hot
against my neck. His hand pressed softly on the other side of my throat, my
head tilting into the grip.
“Maybe you could read mine too.” He said the words against my skin, his
lips threatening to press against me.
“It might make things easier.” My voice was breathless, heart hammering
against my chest as his lips started to press a trail of tiny kisses down my
neck. All tangible thoughts were long forgotten.
“It’s like you disappeared from my life these few weeks,” he murmured,
lifting his mouth from my skin. “You’ve been... there, right across the hall
but out of my reach. And I just wanted to be there for you.” His hand
moved from my neck, his fingers pressing under my jaw, tilting my head up
until I was looking straight up at him. “Everything started to remind me of
you, Olive. I felt sick without being able to touch you like this.”
I dug my fingers into his back trying to hold him against me, terrified of
an inch of space between us.
“Tell me what you need,” he said. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it
to you.”
His touch was electric. Being pressed up against him was a drug they
hadn’t found a name for yet, and it was almost entirely involuntary when I
pushed up onto my toes to meet his lips. Softly, I kissed him, waiting for
him to respond, for him to read what I was telling him I needed. He reacted
immediately, his lips moving against mine and the urgency increased, my
need for him exploding.
I was lost in him as we kissed, and in his taste as his hand wrapped
around my neck, the other arm settling on the small of my back keeping me
pressed into him. My hands were on his face, his back, his neck, scrambling
to touch him, like he’d disappear if I didn’t keep him close.
“You don’t know how much I need you, Olive,” he breathed, his fingers
pressed into my skin, and I stifled a moan at the intense pleasure it created.
“You don’t see how fucking sick I am for you,” he said between kisses,
and then he broke entirely.
He lowered me to the couch, hovering over me as he kissed me, starting
at the sensitive skin at the side of my neck and trailing down to the neckline
of the wrap dress I’d thrown back on, dipping down into the center of my
breasts, every kiss hungry for more. He kneeled down in front of me, his
gaze catching mine, looking for permission, as he pulled at where my dress
was tied together. I nodded, knowing I could say no, could stop this before I
led him further down this dead end track.
But he made it impossible not to want him entirely.
His fingers pulled at the tie, the material so easily undone, and opened
the dress up. Mismatched panties and bra, but I knew he didn’t give a shit.
“How do you not see what you do to me?” he asked, his gaze fixated on
me, taking in every single inch of bare skin as I sat exposed to him. He slid
his hands behind my knees and slowly pulled me towards the end of the
couch, my back landing against the seat as he pulled my legs over his
knees. I shivered at the touch, his fingers trailing lightly over my skin.
He looked at me once more, his gaze entirely consumed with hunger,
eyes practically animal and black. Then he leaned in, fingers moving the
thin material to the side, his tongue instantly on my clit.
It took everything for me not to lose my fucking mind, my spine arching
up as I leaned back, giving him better access to me as he kept working his
tongue hungrily.
 I was lost to the world, lost to pleasure, to my bucking hips against his
filthy mouth. His fingers moved, slowly pressing to my entrance before
sliding inside, stretching me to fit them. He took his time, allowing me to
adjust to the pressure before beginning to move, his fingers picking up pace
as his mouth continued to suck and lick. Breathy moans escaped me as my
spine arched away from the cushions, my hands clutching onto his hair,
pulling him closer. I wrapped my legs around his neck, greedily using him
for my own pleasure.
He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes black with need and a satisfied
grin spread wide on his lips. His head dipped as he pressed a third finger
into me, his eyes watching as his fingers worked me, as my hips bucked
against his hand, urging him to speed the fuck up.
Ben grinned. “That’s my girl. Ride my hand, show me how you want it.”
I fucking lost it, completely unraveled as I came on his fingers. His
mouth returned, changing his movement so he could work around how
sensitive I’d turned as wave after wave crashed into me. I don’t know how I
gathered enough strength to pull away from him finally, to stop him, and
create enough space to allow my legs to relax against his shoulders.
“Have you got a condom?” I asked in between deep breaths, my back
still against the couch. I opened an eye to see him grinning over me. Ben
nodded, and pushed himself up to lean over me, pressing a kiss to my lips.
“Stay here,” he whispered. I watched him go, my eyes watching his
perfect ass as he left. Closing my eyes again, I laid back and tried to pull
myself together, my heart still wild in my chest. How had we even gotten
here?
He returned moments later, his t-shirt and pants removed. I bit my lip as I
took in his perfect chest, the skin glistening slightly with sweat from the
work he’d put in already. I wanted to run my tongue around down the trail
that led under his briefs, wanted to taste him again. Judging from the smirk
on his lips, he knew exactly what I wanted to do to him.
His free hands went to his briefs, thumb pushing under the elastic and
removing them entirely. My throat went dry at the sight of his dick, and I
must’ve been completely unabashedly eye-fucking him as he stepped closer
to me, giving me the access I was craving.
“Sit down,” I instructed, finally managing to look him in the eye again.
Ben didn’t argue, sitting down on the couch next to me. Without another
word, he opened the square foil package and rolled the condom on.
Seconds later I was on top of him, sliding him into me so slowly, losing
myself in how it felt to stretch for him, the intense pleasure from working
every inch of him inside. He gripped my hips, like he was trying to pull me
even deeper, my name leaving his lips like a curse. I never wanted to hear it
said another way.
I worked him, pressing a hand to his chest, and the other behind me on
his leg, as I rode his length. I took in every single groan and moan and noise
that left him, fueled by his endless dirty taunts, telling me to keep fucking
riding him, telling me I was his and he was mine and begging me, begging
me not to stop for a minute.
He pressed his hand against my clit, his fingers knowing exactly how to
get me off again and moments later another orgasm was crashing into me,
my pussy tightening around his cock.
“Fuck,” he said involuntarily, his eyes rolling backwards, and I knew he
was close. His hands on my hips kept me going, kept me riding him even
though I was spent, completely and utterly losing myself in every motion.
 We crashed into the next orgasm together, and I melted down onto his
chest, completely spent, muscles aching. I stayed there for a moment, our
sweaty bodies pressed together, as I listened to his shaky breath escape him,
and enjoyed that delicious post sex warmth of his body.

We made it to bed eventually, sleep coming easy as he held me in his arms.

I was about to drift off when his body moved behind me.
“I want you to be mine, Olive,” he murmured, the words so quiet I
thought I’d hallucinated them, right up to the moment he pressed his lips to
the sensitive skin behind my ear, kissing softly again. “I want to be the only
one who gets to hold you, gets to keep you.”
I stayed still, eyes shut like I was already asleep. Maybe he was testing
out the words, hearing how they sounded. And maybe by morning, he’d
forget what he’d said. Maybe he’d realized what he’d asked for was entirely
too much pressure and that answering him would be impossible.
He settled again behind me, his arms pulling me into his body as he
drifted softly back to sleep.
This is love, sang my aching, shattered heart. The realization was clear as
I tried to figure out a way out of this tangled mess, find a way that didn’t
have me breaking this person who’d give me everything I asked for without
question.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Three
Daylight - Harry Styles

“M s. Davis.” Ben nodded to me as I walked over to where he was

standing beside the familiar school bus. It took all my strength
to not melt into the ground at the sound of that old taunt that used to have
me spiraling in frustration, but now had my heart beating in a delighted
frenzy. His eyes had a daring glint as I stopped beside him, keeping some
professional space between us despite the fact we’d woken up in the same
bed this morning.
“Mr. Bennett, good to see you could make it.” I somehow managed to
keep an obvious grin from breaking out on my lips.
I’d planned to leave his apartment extra early without waking him up so I
could get a shower and a change of clothes from my own home, but once
again he’d been up before me and had a thermos of freshly brewed coffee
ready.
“I hope you got a good night’s sleep,” he smirked, a playful glint in his
eyes, his hands in the front pockets of his perfect tailored navy slacks. Like
me, he was wearing a thick coat and scarf. A dusting of snow had fallen
overnight, with more forecast to be coming our way.
“It was the weirdest thing, my mattress was all lumpy and
uncomfortable,” I said, feigning disgust.
“Hey, that’s Ikea’s cheapest mattress you’re insulting!” He tried to look
annoyed, but that bright smirk persisted.
I continued, ignoring his retort. “And I had the weirdest dream. I think
you were there.”
The smile twisted, turning flirty and verging on inappropriate in a work
setting. “Do you want to elaborate on these dirty dreams you’ve been
having, Ms. Davis? I’m more than happy to listen and take notes.”
He sent my heart into a quick flurry. I wondered if he still tasted like the
minty toothpaste I knew he’d used.
“Ms. Davis!” Frank, the bus driver behind me shouted. “We best be
making a move, this snow is really going to slow us down.”
I’d been glad this morning when I’d seen the weather forecast that we
had Frank as our driver. He was one of the more experienced bus drivers the
school employed and had battled more than a few storms in his lifetime.
However, I still itched to keep obsessively checking the weather every few
minutes in case the storm changed direction. So far, there was no luck.
I nodded at Frank and took in the school parking lot that was full of
parents huddled around their children, making sure they were all ready to
go.
“Alright, if you could make your way onto the buses, we can get out of
here,” I shouted to the group, who looked half frozen to death standing in
the icy wind.
 A few students hugged their parents goodbye and headed over. Ben and I
marked them off as they filed inside the buses.
Almost all the students in our groups would be coming along, with
everyone wanting to help out to keep the club going–or maybe they just
wanted a trip away from the school. Their reason hadn’t mattered so much
to me, it was heartwarming to have so many willing to take part. We’d been
kept pretty busy by them but I’d never get over how easily Ben interacted
with the students. He got them, joked with them, and made his boring ass
subject interesting to them.
“Good morning, Mr. Bennett.” Jenna appeared in front of us, her finger
turning her blonde hair as she stared hungrily at Ben. For seven in the
morning, she looked amazing, her hair in perfect undone curls, a perfect
amount of blush and highlighter on her cheeks. I, in comparison, had
grabbed the first clean school appropriate sweater I could find and had
barely had time to dry my hair let alone style it. “Hopefully that snow holds
off till we get to the conference,” she added, smiling brightly at Ben.
I knew that smile, flirty and alluring. Just yesterday, it had caused me to
spiral into a well of jealousy, a wild and frenzied anger following up the
emotion. And today, side-eying her as I tried desperately to keep my
concentration on the kids piling inside the bus, that hurt and rage threatened
to spill over again.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I heard Ben reply, dry and unentertained. He
turned away from her, sending a little nudge to me instead. Instantly, I
cooled, the rage turning to a simmer at the contact.
I watched as her shoulders stiffened, visibly taken back at his lack of
flirting. She shook it off and joined the crowd to get on the bus.
 “Good to see you, thanks for volunteering,” I said, moving the
conversation along as she passed me. I fought to keep the smile on my lips
pleasant. The smile she returned was not so kind.
“Glad to be here,” she answered, an edge of snarkiness lining her words
before she turned and made her way onto her bus.
“Does this happen a lot?” I asked, looking over at Ben as the last of the
kids got on the bus. He raised an eyebrow in question. “Parents making a
move on you?”
“A little,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. My stomach sank
further for him, seeing clearly he was underselling how often it happened.
“I always shut it down, but it’s hard when I’m trying to have a conversation
about their kid’s performance.”
“Have you ever reported anyone?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “Nobody’s ever pushed it, and I wouldn’t want
to embarrass the kids like that. Usually it’s just a few flirty comments, and I
end it with that signature scowl you used to love so much.” Snowflakes
began to fall around us, but somehow I wasn’t feeling the chill anymore.
Not when his hand rose to my face, his back turned to face the bus,
covering us from any prying eyes as those calloused hands wiped half
melted snowflakes from my rosy skin.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he said gently, his expression caught
between loving and serious. And I knew what he meant, but that wasn’t
what I thought of.
“I want you to be mine, Olive… I want to be the only one who gets to
hold you, gets to keep you.”
His words from last night had been ringing around my brain all morning.
It was easy to relax around him, to return his smiles and little flirtations.
 But it was just as dangerous to let it continue. He knew how I was doing,
he’d let me know as much last night, and must’ve known there was no way
I wanted a relationship, that I couldn’t offer him half of what he deserved.
But I’d muddied the water by kissing him, by begging for his touch. He was
only supposed to be a distraction, but this was quickly turning into
something more.
As I looked up at him, I made the decision to talk to him after. I’d get the
competition out of the way, and try to make this clearer. I didn’t want to
lose him, not when being with him was the only time I felt like I could
breathe, but I also didn’t want that one space to become suffocating too.
“Come on, we better get going,” I said, nodding to the bus. He agreed,
making his way to the stairs.
“Stay positive, Olive. We can do this,” he added, looking at me for a
moment before disappearing onto the bus.
His words lingered as I turned and looked at the school, the morning still
too early for any other students. I needed him to be right, needed to have his
confidence in us, in our group.
Because if we didn’t win... then it was all over.
What would I have then?

“Left! Go left!” One of the parent volunteers shouted from behind us,
directing us as we raced through the hotel attached to the conference center,
trying desperately to make it in time for the first competition.
 About an hour into the journey, we’d been forced to take a detour
because of a crash, and it had cost us precious time. Between that and the
near constant need to stop because of people needing to go to the bathroom,
we were running desperately late. I’d thought Ben’s head was about to
explode when we were cutting through the traffic trying to get here, taxis
cutting us off at every turn. I was just grateful he wasn’t the one driving.
I looked behind me, counting in my head the total in our group to make
sure we hadn’t accidentally lost anyone along the way. As soon as the bus
pulled up outside the hotel we’d run, quickly shouting instructions to Frank
about when it was all supposed to wrap up. The people at reception had
looked at us with blank faces before they realized why we were here, and
gave us the instructions and a map of how to find the center.
“Third door on the left!” Another instruction delivered just in time from a
parent. I paused for a moment outside the double doors, looking back at the
parent who nodded in confirmation. One deep breath in, and I pushed the
doors open.
Thankfully, nobody had settled just yet. There was a crowd of
competitors around the stage but plenty of people were still broken into
other groups.
“Ma’am are you here to compete?” an official looking person asked me,
the lanyard around their neck confirming my suspicions.
“Yes,” I smiled, and introduced myself with a handshake, telling them
which school we were from.
I must have looked like a complete mess from all the running–I was still
surprised I could talk. The usher showed us to a desk, where we all quickly
checked in and registered the groups.
 We had broken everyone up into four teams: one for the art subjects,
another for the math, and a third for the science competitions. We had also
pulled together a fourth team that would deal with some of the more mixed
competitions throughout the day and the final round, hopefully meaning
we’d have enough points to swing the competition our way if the day didn’t
go to plan.
Everyone was issued a lanyard with a label to identify them as student,
volunteer or teacher, as well as an identifier of what team they belonged to.
I was with the art group, along with one of the parent volunteers.
Meanwhile, we’d entrusted the mixed team to Ben.
We all gathered towards the front of the room as a speaker made their
way towards the mic on a small platform. I scanned the group of people
standing at the back for any familiar faces, but they were all strangers to
me. They all looked like professionals, their clothes high-end designer that
were definitely out of reach on a teacher’s salary. Ben, however, perked up
at the sight of one of them, and waved when he caught his attention. The
older man smiled back at him, friendly and full of recognition. I nudged
him when they broke eye contact, bringing his gaze down to me.
“Do you recognize anyone? Maybe get us a bit of an advantage?” I joked
innocently, smiling up at him.
He laughed. “There’s no luck in that. See him?” he said, turning back to
the stage as he pointed back at the older man, who was now settling into a
row of chairs set out on the stage in front of a mic. I nodded “He’s my old
professor, from when I tried to do my PhD.”
I paused, my eyebrows furrowing together as I tried to recall if I already
knew this nugget of information.
 “I didn’t know you tried to do a doctorate?” I looked up at him, his gaze
still stuck ahead as he took his seat.
“I didn’t last long, I was a year in when I dropped out,” he said with a
relaxed shrug. Ben finally looked at me then, his face giving nothing away.
“How come?”
He pulled back slightly at the question, hesitating before he spoke. I’d
never seen him like that before, calculating what he wanted to say before he
revealed too much. At his reaction, I regretted asking the question and
digging too deep into his past before he was ready to give anything away.
“It’s... it’s complicated. I met my wife while we were both in college. I
wanted to carry on, while she left and got a job in research. A year in, she
got a promotion and had to move states,” he explained, looking at me, his
eyes on mine. He turned his attention back to the stage. “I dropped out and
followed her.”
I tried my best to listen to every word he was saying, not sure what I
could ask. What could be too far after he’d set that boundary last night?
What would have happened if he hadn’t followed her and had completed his
PhD? Where would he be if he had completed it? Definitely not teaching
science to high schoolers, that’s for sure.
“I always meant to go back, but it was difficult to restart after I left,” he
said. “Dr. Carlson–he was my advisor for my first year–tried to tell me I
was making a mistake. But marriage is tricky and not exactly conducive
with long distances. I followed her, found a job in research I hated, and tried
to be happy. When it ended, and after a lengthy conversation where I told
him I didn’t want to return to my PhD, he suggested teaching.”
“Why didn’t you want to go back to your PhD?” I asked.
 “It’s intense, to say the least,” he explained. “After years out of
education, I didn’t think I’d adjust to that level of work again.”
I nodded, still processing everything he had told me. He noticed my
quietness and leaned closer to me.
“But it turned out to be a good decision. I enjoy teaching. It has its
problems, but I like to think I’m pretty good at it.” He sent me a reassuring
smile my way, and I returned it, no matter the misunderstanding it caused.
He had such confidence in his skills as a teacher, and it was deserved. I’d
seen it firsthand how he engaged his class and kept them on their toes. We
wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. And once upon a time, I wouldn’t
have had any trouble relating to him, would’ve agreed and put myself in the
same category.
But now... now doubt crept in at the edges, weariness from years of
giving this job every bit of myself and getting less and less in return.
Just then the lights dimmed, and the bustle of conversation hushed as Dr.
Carlson took to the stage, officially beginning the day.
“Welcome everyone... to the first annual STEAM event, sponsored, of
course, by Hydrocore,” he announced, met by thunderous applause. “We are
all so excited to have you here today to compete to find the best school in
the state.” The older man launched into a spiel of what to expect for the day,
the events, the time for the lunch, some fun activities that were available for
when teams had some time, where we could find fire exits.
All I could think about were the calloused fingers that were softly
running over my knuckles. Ben interlaced his hand with my own and gave
them a brief squeeze.
I looked up at him, finding him already looking at me, hazel eyes so dark
in the dimmed light they were almost black. For a moment, the rest of the
world faded out and there was only me and him and our hands linking us
together. His lips parted, throat bobbing as if he was going to say something
but couldn’t quite find the words.
The moment passed as the house lights came on; I pulled my hand back
first, my attention drawn back to the front of the room as we were all
instructed on which rooms to move to for our first competition.
“Anything motivational you want to say?” Ben nudged, eyes flickering
between me and the group of students stood before us, awaiting
instructions.
“Maybe you should say something,” I grimaced, nerves getting the better
of me.
What if this didn’t work out? What if we failed? The answer was simple:
no more after school groups, less budget, maybe even cuts to faculty after
the summer. My stomach lurched at the idea. Could I really do it?
He tilted his head towards me. “Olive, you’re the reason we’re here, that
we even made it this far.”
“Technically, none of the ideas were mine.”
“Sure, but I know the level of work you’ve put into this, into the project,
into making sure this went ahead. It’s because of you.”
His words had left me speechless, jaw slacked and wide eyed. But I did
my best to pull myself together, knowing the kids deserved to hear
something from us.
“Hi, can I get everyone’s attention?” I began, voice shaking. Everyone
turned their attention to me. “I just want to say thank you to you all. We all
know why we’re here, and I... I can’t begin to tell you how much it means
to me to see you putting this work into saving these clubs. And I know
today won’t be easy, but let’s go, let’s have some fun, and let’s kick some
ass!”
With a cheer from our little crowd, we all broke into our four groups,
heading out of the conference room and into our designated areas.
Now wasn’t the time for nerves or second thoughts. We were here, and
we had every chance of winning this.
Now it was time to fight.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Four
ICU - Phoebe Bridgers

T he instant my tray hit the table, I hungrily shoveled food into my

mouth, stomach growling in delight. It had been hours since I’d eaten
properly, and despite sneaking a granola bar during a short break (which
again I’d inhaled) I felt starved. Judging from the speed of the others eating
around me, I wasn’t the only one in need of brain fuel.
I wasn’t sure how the other groups were faring up but our competition
had been fierce. The morning consisted of back-to-back activities, first off a
team building event, followed by a classic art heat where groups buzzed in
their answers and the fastest won the points. We’d come second in that one.
Then the activity before lunch had been a creative task, using whatever
medium the group wanted, but there was a science twist to it. Each student
had chosen a different medium, and all had turned out to be very
impressive. We earned joint first place for that one, and I couldn’t have
yelled louder when they did.
Scanning around the makeshift canteen, I searched for Ben and his group.
They had been scheduled to have a free period before lunch, with their
afternoon a little busier than ours before leading up to the final competition.
I wondered for a moment how the students were holding up. It was a lot of
pressure to put on them, in the full knowledge that if we didn’t win the
group would be over.
Despite our success, I’d heard from the math group that they hadn’t done
very well in their competition. Not last place by any means, but certainly
enough to give some of the other schools an edge over us.
I spotted Ben across the room, a friendly smile on his face. It still struck
me as unusual to see him smiling like that, instead of what had been his
usual smirk or scowl. He’d kept it hidden away all this time, and I was
partially grateful he did. He was irresistible when that smile lit up his face, I
wouldn’t have been able to stay away for so long.
He was with Dr. Carlson, deep in conversation, obviously locked in a
long needed catch up.
“Well I never, is that Olive Davis checking out the asshole Ben Bennett?”
came a familiar voice from behind me. I twisted around, sandwich hanging
out of my mouth, to find Rosa Holland standing there, a grin spread wide
across her beautiful face.
I jumped up, swallowing the rest of my food while trying not to choke,
and reached out my arms to wrap around her tall body.
“Rosa! How are you?” My heart squeezed at the sight of my old friend,
her usual long dark hair cut short, framing her full face.
“I’m good! But never mind me, have you heard anything since
Wednesday?” she immediately asked, taking a seat beside me, her green
eyes laser focused on me.
“I’ve not heard anything yet, but they said it would be a few weeks.”
 She waved a hand at me. “The way I sold you, it’s almost guaranteed that
they’ll offer you the job.”
I shot her a smile back, but inside I was screaming. Nothing was
guaranteed. I’d had other teachers tell me the same thing about the vice
principal job back home and look where that had ended up. It was tiring,
being made all these tiny promises, letting yourself dream about the things
you could do, the changes you’d made–all for it to fall flat and leave me
feeling more lost and inadequate.
Besides, this had been a hard interview, and I’d almost thrown up with
nerves before I took the call. And even if I got the job, I wasn’t sure how to
feel.
It would be a great position, in a private school that didn’t have nearly
the same budget restraints as my current role did. But the job would be
more demanding, parents expecting a quality education since they were
paying for it. Doubt cracked through me at the thought of the pressure
alone. Was I so sure this was a good idea? A move away from everything I
currently knew, and a new demanding role when I was barely holding it
together in my current one?
“Han with you?” Rosa asked, pulling me from my overthinking.
“No, it’s just myself and some teachers from math.”
“And science, I see.” That grin only grew. “So, what finally got you two
to see eye to eye?”
“Budget cuts,” I grumbled.
“Ah, nothing like a good funding cut to bring two people together,” Rosa
said in mock admiration.
“Not that you’ve got that problem anymore,” I said, not mincing my
words.
 “Yeah, I’m pretty lucky,” she shrugged, an air of cockiness around her.
“Honestly, Ol, you don’t know what you are missing out on.”
“I have some idea.”
“You really don’t. It’s a different life here. Just imagine, endless supplies,
limitless paper copying. Laptops, Olive, laptops that work! That are from
this decade! And the air con–”
“Alright, you don’t need to rub it in!” I said, cutting her off.
“Well then, what will it take to get you to join us?”
What would it take? All year I’d been hearing stories about her new job
from Hanna and what it was like to work for a private school, a school that
got what it needed, could afford to give the students the quality of teaching
they deserved. And while teaching wasn’t straight forward, at least it wasn’t
a straight up dumpster fire. At least it was made a little bit easier by just
having the supplies needed.
If I was being totally honest, hearing all her stories had been partially
why she hadn’t heard from me in a while. Knowing how desperate things
were just to keep an after school program going compared to hearing how
nice her classrooms were, or which field trip they were all gearing up for–it
didn’t exactly make me feel good. Of course I was happy for her, but
knowing that kind of ease existed just made this job much more painful.
She must have noticed my faltering in answering her question because she
carried on.
“You know, I did hear that they had decided on somebody that had
interviewed already for the role. It could be you.”
I grimaced. “Honestly, Rosa, I don’t think my chances are very good.”
She waved a hand to erase my doubts. “I doubt that very much, Olive.
And there’s a rumor the vice is retiring soon. You know more
responsibilities has never been my thing but I bet you could be in the
running. Vice Principal Davis sounds pretty awesome.”
I fell silent, taking in everything she was saying. Did it sound awesome?
Did it sound exactly like what I had been dreaming of? What I needed after
everything this year? The vice job at my own school had felt like a
desperate last attempt to keep my head above water. I’d convinced myself
that getting the job was the only answer to everything feeling so impossible.
But what if it wasn’t? And, what if the answer wasn’t teaching at all?
Without thinking, my gaze slid across the room, catching on Ben. He
must have sensed it, because he caught my eye and sent a small smile my
way. I tried to return it, before looking over at Rosa.
“We’ll see.”

This was it.

All we had worked for, came down to an hour in one room, facing off
against three other schools, all for that grand prize. It would be enough to
save the program, give us some breathing space, give these kids who had
worked so hard something to show for it other than an entry on their college
application.
We sat in a darkened room facing the stage, four tables set up with the
teams from the schools battling through the questions. They varied across
science, math and arts, and had been growing in difficulty since the kickoff.
Even though I would have struggled with a lot of these answers, the teams
were able to answer them, with our group answering their fair share too.
It was a battle royale. And we were dead in the water if we didn’t win.
We had entered the competition in third place, which had been a bit of a
disappointment but out of all the schools in attendance, I was grateful we
had made the cut.
Then our project results came through.
First place.
My heart stopped dead in my chest. I was barely able to contain tears at
the pride. The points boost kicked us up to second place in the standings–a
close second, with only a few points difference between us and the lead. To
know all that work had paid off, it had done a lot to lift the heavy weight
that had been resting on my chest all day. Not enough to lift it completely,
but enough to feel some relief, some hope for the first time all day.
I played with that small jewel set into the gold ring on my finger, feeling
over the ridges of the gem. I closed my eyes for a second, still able to
picture her perfectly: her warm smile; her faint laugh lines crinkling; those
green eyes, the ones that matched mine, filled with love always–even if she
was criticizing my piano playing. She would be so proud. So proud we
made it this far, that we fought to save this group. Maybe I should be proud
of what we’d accomplished too.
“The answer is 3468.” A familiar voice rang from the speakers, and I
looked to the stage to see one of our students answering yet another
question.
“Correct, five points awarded!” the presenter cried, and the group around
me broke out into gleeful applause. It was hard to fight the smile that crept
onto my face, and I looked to Ben who was standing at the side of the stage,
his eyes glued to the students as the presenter launched into the next
question; the team began scribbling down their answers.
The look on his face told me he was feeling it too, seeing the hope grow,
the anticipation of the win. He knew it too, how close this must be now, to
actually pulling this off. I could barely breathe as the other team, our main
rivals, answered the question, and silence spread over the crowd as we
waited to find out if it was right.
“Incorrect. Does another team want to steal?”
Immediately, it felt like everyone on stage leapt from their seats to press
the buzzer, and our team won out, their badge lighting up as the presenter
turned to receive their answer.
“Transfiguration was painted by Raphael in 1520,” Sophia answered, a
confident edge clear in her voice.
It took all my self-control not to leap from my seat in early celebration. It
was right. Another point awarded, and with a quick glance to the
leaderboard I saw our team move up in the rankings, right next to the other
group. Joint first place. I could barely take it anymore.
“Ladies and gentlemen, with our last question it looks like we have a
tie!” The presenter announced, and the crowd broke out into cheers. He
looked a bit lost, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do in the
event of a tie. Were we going to split the prize? Half the money was
certainly better than none of the money, and despite the confidence I had in
the group, the sureness that if we were given another question we’d have a
decent shot at getting the answer right, it would be hard to turn down the
offer. “Which means, after a short break, we will return with a tie break
question. I can excuse the other two teams, and I thank you for your effort
here today.”
 The crowd clapped politely as the third and fourth place teams left the
stage, the two remaining teams looking excited among themselves. Ben
beamed at our team as he walked on stage to see them.
“I better get up there,” I said, turning to one of the math teachers who sat
beside me.
She smiled brightly. “No problem, I’ll watch over here.”
I slipped into the aisle and made my way up onto the stage. The crowd
was brimming with the excitement of a tie break, and one quick glance at
our opposition told me they were in crisis mode, all huddled around their
table, plotting.
“How’s everyone feeling? Congrats on the tie!” I smiled as I reached our
group, and the nervous smiles that were returned told me everything I
needed to know. I did my best to hide my own nerves, ringing my hands
together to hide the shaking. “You’ve done so well getting to this point, I
know whatever question comes up, you’ll smash it!”
“We’re hoping it isn’t math–they’ve answered most of those questions so
far, and quicker than even I could manage to get an answer,” Jon, one of
Ben’s best Mathletes answered, running his fingers through his hair. A few
others in the group murmured in agreement.
“They’ve also got a few wrong, so maybe speed isn’t always their
friend,” Sophia said, obviously trying to comfort the group.
“Exactly,” Ben agreed. “Look, even if it’s a math question, we’ve got a
decent shot here.”
His confidence helped my own, cementing the fact that we had an honest
chance of this, of bringing home that prize.
I could barely handle the tension any longer, the cracks appearing as the
smile on my face started to feel forced. It would come down to one single
question. An invisible band tightened around my chest, my lungs barely
able to move and my heart pounding hard against my ribs.
The discussions between the students faded out, the shaking in my hands
growing more and more uncontrolled. I felt faint. I needed to sit, needed a
moment to breathe, needed to black out for the next ten minutes instead of
having to sit through this stress.
I registered squeezing on my hand, and I looked down to see Ben’s hand
holding mine, so lightly it was barely there but enough to pull me from my
spiral.
“We can do this,” he said, his gaze on mine, his face clear of any doubt,
any concern. He swallowed, tilting his head to where the group of students
were sitting. “I swear, Jon was answering the questions quicker than I was.”
Jon piped up with a huge grin, “Damn right I was.”
His teammates groaned, giving him a little push at his confidence. And
even though I believed what he was saying, it was Ben’s touch, his hand in
mine, that did the most to soothe my nerves.
“It’s all going to be fine,” I confirmed, squeezing back, just as the
presenter returned to his podium.
“Everyone, if you could please retake your seats, we can continue.”
“Good luck!” I smiled, looking at our group who were now nervously
sitting down back at their chairs. I followed Ben to the side of the stage and
took up a spot next to him.
“Deep breaths,” he reminded, leaning down to murmur the words in my
ear, the heat of his breath sending chills down my spine. In the shadows of
the side of the stage, he’d moved closer to me, his body pressed up against
my side. I leaned into his chest, almost losing all my strength to stand on
my own.
 “One question and it will all be over,” I replied, and his head rested on
mine. My eyes closed, trying to focus on keeping my breathing deep and
equal. I was so nervous I felt like I could throw up, my stomach twisting
uncomfortably.
“One question, and we will have won this thing,” he said.
One question. One answer... and everything could be ruined.
The lights went down on the stage, the crowd plunged into dramatic
darkness as the screen on the stage lit up.
“Teams, for the grand prize, please complete the equation you see on the
screen,” the presenter said.
Immediately, everyone’s heads whipped around to look at the complex
equation. Ben swore under his breath at the sight of it, a reaction I probably
wasn’t supposed to hear. I even heard some gasps from the crowd before a
deadly silence fell over the room, only broken by the quick scribbles of
pencil on paper from the teams, locked in a race to find the correct solution.
Moments passed, and the tension was almost unbearable. With every
passing moment, my panic built up and up, clambering up my throat,
pulling on my chest, sending wave after wave of nausea crashing into me.
And then cutting through the silence, a buzzer.
I could barely look, barely stand to find out which team had won the
race.
“It’s us, “ he breathed, and I opened my eyes. Jon stood up out of his seat
and leaned over the table, hand still pressed on the buzzer. He had paused,
skin sickly pale, eyes wide.
“Yes, do you have the answer?” the presenter asked. All eyes, including
those of the other team with the exception of one older student who was
still scribbling viciously, were glued to Jon. He swallowed, glancing at the
paper in front of him.
“Is the answer...” he trailed off, then somehow managed to collect
himself. “Is the answer X = 5.67?”
A pause. An infinite silence. The tension. The grip this moment had. I
didn’t think a single person in the room was breathing. Then, the presenter
spoke.
And everything changed.
“Incorrect.”
Another buzzer ripped through the air. The opposition. The older boy
who’d still been working.
“Yes,” said the presenter, and an endless silence fell over the room. I
didn’t have time to pray, time to think.
“X = 5.67m^2,” the boy said.
“Correct! We have a winner!” The presenter cried, and cheers broke out
around the room.
We had lost. Lost the competition. Lost the funding. Lost the program.
It was all over.
Done.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Five
The Winner Takes It All - Jae Hall

W e had lost.
That was clear enough as I watched the crowds around us shoot
to their feet to cheer, the other group quickly surrounded by celebrations
and well-wishers.
I didn’t dare let myself think about what it meant. Not yet. Not even as
Ben left my side, leaving me standing alone as he walked past our group
and straight into the crowd without saying so much as a single word to any
of us.
We had lost. To what? A simple error? Forgetting to add on the unit?
Even me, with my total lack of mathematical skill, understood the
importance of that fact.
I lost sight of Ben, my attention turning to our group who were still
sitting slumped and silent at their desk. Stepping closer to them, I tried my
best to collect my emotions, tried my best to wear my teacher hat and be
there for them.
 “Ms. Davis?” Zara, one of our students in the panel asked, looking over
her shoulder at me. “What do we do now?”
I looked down the long table, taking in each of their distraught faces. My
brain tried to come up with commands, a step by step plan of what to do
next. Was there a ceremony we had to stick around for? Or could we haul
ass and get to the bus and drive far from here already?
Before I could answer, the winning team appeared and put their hands out
to shake. My students stood up and shook their hands, congratulating them
all the while knowing exactly what we had lost.
The words still clanged around in my brain. The club was over. Done
with. There wasn’t any more funding for it; we’d used up every cent of the
budget Rob could send our way. All our scrimping to make this possible
had been for nothing too.
Later. I could think about this later, dissect it when I was alone and could
fall apart without an audience.
I saw him then, through a brief break in the crowd as the opposition’s
teacher appeared in front of me, his hand out to shake. Ben was standing
next to the presenter, wildly flailing his arms in the air. I couldn’t make out
what he was saying, but it looked like he was asking, maybe more
demanding, they reconsider the result. Knowing him he was referencing
something in the rule book, probably using the words ‘margin of error’ and
‘impossible standard’.
“Congratulations on your win,” I said, managing to pull my focus away
for a moment to look at the teacher as I took his hand, shaking firmly. They
nodded and thanked me in response, moving away to give me a view of Ben
again.
 I watched as the presenter turned to walk away, and Ben pivoted on his
heels so I could catch a glimpse of his face. His face was awash with a
steely determination that had made me hate him for so impossibly long, his
lips pressed into a thin line as the presenter argued back with him. In one
look, I knew that unstoppable determination that drove him would not,
could not, be reckoned with. He wasn’t letting this slide.
One of the judges stepped in, and when the presenter stepped back into
my view, his expression almost made me smile. I took in the fear and terror
that had become clear across his face, his absolute dread at having to deal
with Ben for any longer.
I looked back at the students, realizing they needed my attention more
than Ben did. He would have to handle himself for the moment. I
swallowed, trying to find the right words to say.
And what was I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for getting you guys
involved in something that never should’ve been within your power or
concern. I’m sorry for the school system consistently failing us both,
causing us all to burn out and place our hopes in something that had been a
catastrophic failure’?
“You did so well,” I finally said, the words sinking like lead. “You all
worked so hard to get to this point, I can’t even tell you how proud I am.”
Jon sighed, resting his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have forgotten the
unit. The question clearly stated units, I just rushed and... we would’ve won
if –”
“No, don’t even finish that sentence,” I cut him off, pointing over at Ben,
who was still arguing with the officials. They’d pulled out a copy of the
official rule book, and were scanning through it looking for something, and
Ben was pacing like some kind of wild animal, face red in frustration. “He’s
arguing for you right now. He thinks you should’ve won, and maybe you
should have. But either way, this isn’t on you. You did your absolute best.
And it’s enough for me, it’s enough for your teammates, and it should be
enough for you.” They fell silent, some of them just staring down at the
table. “You should be damn proud of yourselves. I know I am.”
“You need to check the rules again, this is a simple error.” Ben’s familiar
voice cut through the noise of the crowd, grabbing more than just my
attention. I looked back at Jon, instructing them to stay where they were,
before making my way across the stage to where Ben was still arguing with
the officials.
“Mr. Bennett, the rules clearly state in the event of a tie break only exact
answers are accepted. There is no margin of error allowed.” one of the
judges stepped forward to explain, probably not for the first time going by
the look on his face. “The ruling stands, your team is second place.”
Ben made to yell again, but I grabbed his arm–not forcefully, but enough
to bring his attention to me instead of the official.
“Ben, you did everything you could.” I kept my voice low, quiet enough
that only he could hear me above the bustling noise. I fought to keep his
eyes on mine, moving my head so he couldn’t see past me. When his brown
eyes finally caught mine, I said the words even though I hadn’t been ready
to hear them. “But it’s over. Leave it be. We lost, and now we need to go
home.”
“It’s bullshit, Olive. A fucking unit error.” He tried to pull back, argue
whatever was formulating in his brilliant brain, but I kept him back, holding
him in place by both arms. He pulled against it, but not enough to break my
grip.
 “I know.” I spoke as gently as I possibly could, keeping my eyes glued
on him even as his eyes wildly darted around. “But it’s done.”
He looked at me then. That impossible anger melted away, his face
crumpling for a moment before he pulled himself together.
“Let’s get everyone home,” I said quietly, tugging him away.
He only nodded, defeated. I knew he still wanted to fight, that if I let him
go he’d turn around and restart the argument. I wasn’t sure when he’d
finally accept the result, if he ever would, but I knew he needed to stop right
now so we could go home.
This was bigger than him, than us. There were twenty students we were
responsible for, and right now, they were feeling just as bad as us.
“Come on.” I slid down his arm and took his hand. I squeezed it once in
reassurance, and his fingers interlocked with mine, like he’d done for me so
many times. Ben let me pull him away, before dropping my hand as we
headed back over to the group. They’d collected up their things and were
now looking to us for instructions.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ben said, motioning his head to the side, and
leading them all away to the other groups who were waiting for us outside.
The sooner we could get out of here the better.

There was a thick dusting of snow on the parking lot from the storm. Ben
was keeping himself busy doing the final head count and making sure we
weren’t about to abandon anyone, when I spotted Rosa outside the bus,
looking almost blue without a jacket on.
“Were you about to abandon me without a goodbye?” she grinned,
shivered slightly as she attempted to pull the two sides of her clearly
inadequate cardigan together.
“I was going to text you from the road, we need to get back before this
storm traps us,” I said, walking up to her.
“Excuses, excuses,” she tsked. “I’m guessing you wanted a swift exit
after that drama.”
“Something like that.” I was unable to hide the disappointment from my
voice. Truly, the sooner I could get home and offload these kids to their
parents the better. I hadn’t spoken to Ben yet, but I could clearly see a
therapy bottle or two of wine in our future.
Maybe three.
“You should’ve won.” She looked almost sad for us, and I couldn’t help
but feel like I agreed with her.
“Tell me something I don’t know. We kicked your ass,” I joked, though I
didn’t feel like laughing.
She chuckled, then motioned her head to the left, sending my gaze over
her shoulder, to a semi-familiar older woman. “Do you think you have a
moment to chat with your potential future employer?”
Truthfully, I didn’t. My stomach lurched into tiny little backflips at the
thought of having to talk to anyone. I wanted to get home, and we still had
hours left on the road, probably longer given the storm. Hours in that bus,
trapped with everyone feeling so low–it sounded like hell.
I turned around, finding Ben standing at the door of the bus. I noted the
curiosity glimmering in his eyes but pushed it aside. This didn’t feel like
something I could turn down.
“I’ll be back in a minute, get Frank to start the bus up,” I said, not
waiting for his reply before I walked towards Rosa, shoes kicking up the
fresh snow as we headed back inside the building and found her principal in
the reception area.
“Principal Garcia, I believe you two have met virtually but let me be the
one to introduce you in person,” Rosa said, sliding easily into conversation
with her. “This is Olive Davis, one of the best and most creative people I
have had the pleasure of working with.” She grinned excitedly.
“Olive!” The older woman exclaimed. “Commiserations on the event but
I have to say, your teams did so well. It was impressive, especially given the
time frame you said you had worked to.” She looked every bit as elegant as
she had during our interview. Looking considerably warmer than Rosa was,
she was wrapped up in a luxurious cashmere red scarf and wool wrap
jacket.
“Thank you.” I tried to ignore the pit in my stomach that grew larger and
larger every time I had to talk about our loss. “I couldn’t have done it alone,
and the students themselves put in so much hard work.”
“Yes, of course. I saw Mr. Bennett was involved as well.”
“Yes, he was instrumental to the science and math preparation; he’s a
brilliant teacher,” I said, ignoring Rosa’s shit-eating grin that was growing
by the second, and instead focusing on the person that could possibly be my
new boss. Even the thought was exhausting. But complimenting Ben
wasn’t. Not anymore, not when it was an undeniable truth.
Watching him these months, I couldn’t understand how we’d managed to
be at such odds with each other for so long, how I’d told myself I’d hated
him, that he was the problem. All he’d been doing was exactly what I was
doing: trying to make the best of a bad situation. Except he’d been doing a
better job of keeping his head above water.
“Rosa, could you leave us for a moment?” Principal Garcia asked,
turning to my friend.
“Of course, I’ll see you on the bus,” Rosa said, and sent a smile my way,
mouthing the words “good luck” my way, before leaving us alone.
“I have to admit, I was suspicious of foul play when I saw his name on
the listing,” Principal Garcia said, and my eyes narrowed on her as she
spoke. Her words caught me completely off guard. Suspicious? Of what? “I
knew his uncle when he was a teacher and he holds such influence, even in
my own district, I wondered if he’d used his sway to get you into the
competition.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused–who is his uncle?” I felt stupid asking, still
trying to process what she was saying. The only time he’d mentioned his
uncle was after that first night, when he’d tried to relate to me about the arts
and had told me his uncle was also creative. Maybe it was a different uncle?
“Dane Marshall, the district head,” she said effortlessly, like the words
had no weight to her. It was a simple fact and nothing more. To me,
however, I felt like she’d picked up the heaviest stone her hand could fit
around and hit me square in the jaw. “I remembered him reaching out a few
years ago: there was an opening in our science department and he wanted to
serve as an introduction between Ben and I.”
Was it just me, or was the Earth on fire?
“He made it clear he didn’t want to influence me–not that I would allow
that anyway. But it didn’t matter anyway as he’d already received a
different job offer elsewhere. I never forget a resume however,” the
principal continued, completely impervious to the fact I was frozen in
shock. The rest of her words faded into the background as I slowly began to
lose my grip on reality.
His uncle–Ben’s uncle–was the district head. The same one on the panel
for the vice principal job, the job I hadn’t gotten because I wasn’t a STEM
teacher–unlike Ben. Ben, who was clearly still in the running for the job.
Ben, the guy I’d been sleeping with, who’d been there for me, who held my
hand and saw when I was struggling and hadn’t bothered to tell me who his
uncle was despite the multiple opportunities. Ben, who hadn’t even
introduced me when I’d met the district head, had stood there and stared at
the floor while I chatted away with him completely clueless to who he was.
Ben, who had lied to me.
“I’m sorry, I need to go.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, cutting
the woman off as she continued to speak, none of her words having
registered. I’d heard what I needed to hear, and now I was itching to find
Ben.
Find him, and recreate some of the more creative ways I’d plotted his
demise.
She straightened, her gaze stony. “I was hoping we’d have more time to
discuss the role.” Her voice took on a quality I could only call “old school
principal”, the words snipped. “Usually, when I offer a job to people, I get a
better reaction than ‘sorry, I need to go’.
I was on the verge of looking like an idiot because yet again my mouth
fell open. I tried, and failed to collect myself up, the lava-like anger that
was flowing through my veins still a distraction.
“I apologize, did you say you were offering me the job?” I stuttered.
If she’d been any less of a classy woman, she probably would’ve rolled
her eyes at having to repeat herself, but instead, she simply straightened and
said, “We did send an email yesterday with our offer, but I can see how in
the excitement of today it could’ve been missed. We’d like you to join our
facility as our new art teacher, starting whenever your schedule allows.”
An unintelligible noise escaped me, all thoughts erased from my mind.
This is what I’d wanted. A new job, a fresh start. Right? More teaching, but
with better resources. So why did my heart sink even further?
The words slowly began to string themselves together. “Thank you for
the offer,” I said shakily. “I really do appreciate it., Can I get some time to
think about it?”
She nodded. “Yes, but my board will want a decision soon. I have other
people I could offer the job to.”
“I understand, thank you!” My voice wobbled as I spoke, the overwhelm
really starting to hit home. I could barely think straight, could barely
remember the way back to the bus. “I really should be getting back now.”
“I hope to hear from you soon.” She smiled, looking almost friendly for
the first time. She turned and left me alone in the dry, hot hair of the hotel. I
didn’t have a single straight thought in my head, my brain feeling closer to
gray mush after the exhaustion of the day.
When I finally found some energy, I turned and tried to recall the exact
direction the bus was in, praying I could find it easily so I could get home
as soon as possible. Instead I found Ben, standing mere feet away, his eyes
on me.
And suddenly a new job didn’t matter to me, not when I’d be going to
prison soon for murdering Ben Bennett.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Six
Reckless Driving (Feat. Ben Kessler) -
Lizzy McAlpine

T he space between his brows was almost non-existent as he kept his

hazel eyes on me, his lips pressed together into thin questioning line.
On instinct, I folded my arms tightly across my chest.
It was like an old fashioned western, two old rivals standing ten paces
apart, their hands hovering over their guns, the tension growing like an
elastic band being pulled tighter and tighter until it finally gave in and
snapped.
“I guess congratulations are in order.” His words were sharp and jagged.
“So you were listening to my conversation?” It shouldn’t have surprised
me. He’d always dug, always questioned what Rob and I discussed behind
closed doors. But that didn’t stop the rage from boiling over.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Part of it.”
“So much for privacy.”
He let out a sharp breath. “When were you going to tell me you’d applied
to another school, Olive?”
 It was my turn to shrug, the motion careless and easy but the words were
anything but. “When were you going to tell me he was your uncle,
Bennett?”
He looked like I had smacked him in the face, his eyes dazed as he
almost tumbled backwards, his body going rigid. I kept my jaw tight, my
teeth gritted as I struggled to contain my rage.
“I-I didn’t think it mattered?”
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t think it mattered we were going for the
same job and he just so happened to be on the panel?”
“No,” he said simply.
“Bullshit,” I exploded, anger finally getting the better of me as I furiously
pointed down to the ground. “It matters and you know it.”
“I’ve never received preferential treatment,” he said, shaking his head in
frustration. I wanted to tear it from his body.
“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
“I never lied to you.”
“This counts as a lie Ben. You didn’t tell me.” I felt like I was explaining
to a child what basic communication was, that omission was as good as a
lie. The facts were clear, and yet he still denied it?
“It didn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“You’re leaving, and you never even warned me,” he said, voice
breaking.
If he thought changing the subject would free him from having to explain
himself, he was fucking wrong. I pushed past him, heading out of the lobby
and into the freezing air. Predictably, he followed.
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” I quipped.
 “But there’s no denying it.”
I shook my head, unable to even look at him. “Yes there is! I asked for
time. I didn’t give her an answer.” He stared blankly at me, like I’d shot him
between the eyes. “But you lied to me. You lied and you still won’t admit
it.” I kept walking towards the bus, the frosty air stinging my cheeks.
“Olive.” His voice was pleading, and it was enough to make me stop, and
turn to look at him.
His shoulders were slumped, his mouth parted as if he wanted to stay
more, but couldn’t find the words. I wanted to forgive him, wanted to let
this go, wanted it not to hurt anymore. But the trust between us had always
been fragile, built out of nothing more than the necessity to work together.
We’d avoided talking about the job, knowing without saying that it would
make existing together impossible. And me not getting the job was one
thing, but for it to be his uncle on the panel, judging, pretending like he
didn’t have any skin in the game. What’s to say he didn’t influence the
group?
My voice was pleading, the anger turning to hurt. “Just tell me why.”
“I got my job on my own, I swear to God, Olive. You can ask Rob.
Dane–he would never get involved like that.”
“That doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t tell me if you were so sure,” I
said, voice cracking.
“You hated me!” he exploded. “You hated me for years. And what, I was
supposed to hand you another reason to undercut me on a silver platter?
You would have made it a problem, so I kept it to myself because it was
nobody’s business.” He looked destroyed, running his hands through his
hair as he tried to explain himself, trying to convince me.
 “And what about this new job? I’m supposed to believe I wasn’t being
set up to fail because you’re somebody’s nephew?”
“Yes, because that’s the truth of it,” he said, exasperated.
I sighed, wishing he’d admit it. If he just said the words then this rage
could stop eating me up. It was exhausting, feeling this towards him when
he was the only person who’d ever made me feel better. If I didn’t have
him, who would be left? What would be left of me?
“I’m not an idiot, Ben,” I said, my voice tired and ragged, the words
painful to admit. “I never had a chance at that job, and you knew it.”
“That had nothing to do with me.”
I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not saying anything. I mean it had nothing to do with who I’m
related to, and everything to do with you.”
I let out a low groan. This couldn’t be easier for him. Just admit it! Just
break and admit it.
“Are you seriously trying to turn this on me?” I asked in a low voice. I
was seconds away from turning and walking away from him, my hands
wrapped in tight fists.
“No,” he breathed, the word quiet as he shook his head slowly, his eyes
closing for a moment. I swallowed, not sure if I needed to hear more, not
sure if it was better to call this a day and leave.
“Olive, I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe it was the wrong call not to tell you.
I was... I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t earned any of this.
I’ve worked my ass off for years, and I’m fucking good at it. And if I get
the job, it’s because I’ve put in the work. And I’m sorry you didn’t get it.
You’d be great at it, and I can’t explain why you didn’t get it but it’s not
because I have or because of who my uncle is.”
 His words rattled me, but my head was already spinning.
I was feeling weaker and weaker, like I wanted to crawl into bed and
never come out. “I feel like for months I’ve been telling you things about
me and you’ve not told me a goddamn thing. I didn’t even know you were
married until last night.”
“I’m not married, I’m divorced,” he blurted, clearly frustrated. “And… I
hear you, I should’ve told you more. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better, I
promise.”
I held my breath. I promise. What did that mean anymore? For those
words to mean anything at all I had to trust him. But he’d never felt more
like a stranger.
“We should get back to the bus,” I said after a while, kicking the snow.
He narrowed his eyes on me, eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to
read me. Finally, he nodded, agreeing with me but when he spoke, he didn’t
move.
“Congratulations by the way,” he said, his voice soft. I looked up at him,
slightly confused, and he stuffed his hands awkwardly into his front
pockets. “On the new job. You really do deserve it.”
I tried to force a smile, but I struggled to find any real words to respond.
Thankfully Ben let the subject drop. I felt empty, drained of all energy to
fight my corner any longer. I watched him as he turned, leading us back to
the bus. He had lied to me for months and knew I was applying for the job.
He’d seen the signs but never bothered to say anything about his uncle. And
somehow it wasn’t the lie, but the fact that now I didn’t know if I’d ever
actually gotten to know him that hurt the most, if he’d ever actually let me
in. If he ever would.
 My heart was already a shattered mess, parts glued and taped together, it
couldn’t take much else.

We sat in silence. I’d hoped he’d sit away from me, hoped he’d give me
some space just to let it go, but when he slid into the seat beside me, I knew
I’d expected too much. But at least he hadn’t tried to fill the silence. Almost
nobody was talking all the way home.
We were all exhausted from the day, and it hit me all over again on the
bus what had happened.
The clubs were over. There was no going back now; we’d made the bed,
now it was time to lie in it. And honestly, in the moment, there was relief
that came with it. Relief that the pressure was lifted, that I didn’t have this
‘what if’ hanging over my head. The decision about everything was made,
and I was so tired of having to try and worry. I could finally relax.
Or maybe I was just finally all out of fight.
It was dark outside by the time the bus pulled into the school parking lot.
It had taken us an hour longer with the weather, but we arrived safely. The
bus creaked to a stop, and without having to say anything the students
grabbed their belongings and disembarked. Ben got up first, saying thank
you to the students and to the volunteers and wishing them a safe journey
home. I followed but stayed quiet. I couldn’t think of anything reassuring to
say, couldn’t think of any words that would make me feel better, let alone
them.
 As everyone made their way back to their cars, Ben turned to me.
“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked, his expression soft. I nodded and
led him over to where I’d parked this morning. We walked in silence, the
fresh snow crunching under our shoes. My stomach tightened nervously,
weariness washing over me.
“Can I see you this weekend?” he asked. His question hung in the air, my
body stiffening in reaction.
I swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. “I don’t know if
that’s a good idea.”
“Can I call at least? I want to know you’re okay.” He stopped walking,
pausing to really look down at me then.
I held back a bitter laugh. Was I ever really okay anymore? Not without
him around, but now I wasn’t even sure I wanted that.
“I think I need space. I need to think.”
He looked away, shaking his head. When he looked back, something had
changed in his expression. “I’m really sorry, Olive. I never meant to hurt
you. I was going to tell you; I was trying to find the right time.”
I sighed. “That’s the thing, Ben. I don’t know if there was a right time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think all of this is a mistake. We knew what this was going into it. We
agreed one night –” I stated, but he cut me off.
“It’s been more than one night now,” he said, his voice abrupt.
I paused, closing my eyes for a moment, the words painful to admit. “I
know, and I think that was our mistake,”
“Mistake?” he repeated, getting worked up. I took in the hurt his eyes
held. I fought the urge to reach out, to wrap my arms around his torso and
pull him close–to feel his body against mine, the rising of his chest, his
arms pulling me in. I wanted that feeling so badly, but I managed to fight
the instinct and keep the distance between us.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to enact what I had decided on the journey
home.
“I need some space, Ben. Please just give me that.”
He shook his head, his voice pleading as he ran his fingers through his
hair. “I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I don’t want to go
back to passing you in the hallway and not even being able to say hello.
Hell, I want more than hello. I want to stay for more than one night. I want
to be there for you. I want to hold you. I want you in my life.”
I stood firm, listening to what he was saying but knowing I had to protect
what was left of myself. This was too much, too heavy. Everything he
wanted from me, I couldn’t give it. I didn’t have the energy. I barely had it
to show up for work, let alone a relationship.
“If you wanted me, you shouldn’t have kept things from me,” I said
firmly. “You put us in this position, kept me out while you kept burying into
me. And now it feels like I don’t even know you.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off before he could get the
words out.
“So I need time. To think and to sort myself out. And so no, you can’t
call. Let me go this weekend, and when I’m ready I’ll talk, okay?”
I kept eye contact with him, reading him as he steeled himself, as he
finally listened to what I was asking for. Time–to think, to feel, to make a
decision.
“Okay?” I repeated. I watched his jaw tense before he nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he agreed. “But if you need to talk...”
 I pulled my keys from my pocket and unlocked my car. “I know, I’ll call
if I need to,” I said as I pulled the driver’s door open.
He reached out and grabbed the top of the door. I knew then I wouldn’t
call. I knew if I called him it would all be over for me.
He nodded at me, somewhat reassured by my agreement. I took in that
last look of his face, my eyes scanning over his eyes, how soft his gaze was
on me. His lips were perfect and pink, that jaw I loved to trace with my
fingers sharp and smooth.
I thought I’d known who he was before. I thought he was the asshole at
work that made my day hell. Somewhere along the line, he’d shown me a
different side, started to help me, started to make me care and keep me
going when things were hard. He’d been a shelter from the storm, made
only for me.
What was he now that things were infinitely more complicated? That was
up to me to figure out.
“I promise, I’ll call you when I’m ready,” I repeated, and I slid into the
driver’s seat, waiting for him to let go of the door. I needed to get home and
finally just feel everything.
He took a moment, before he finally lifted his hand from the door.
“Get home safe,” he said. I smiled softly, nodding before pulling the door
closed. He stepped away, giving me space as I twisted the keys in the
ignition and started the engine.
He watched as my car pulled out of the parking space, stepping out as I
turned the corner. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, watching him
shrink into the distance, my heart squeezing tightly in my chest as he finally
faded from view.
OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Seven
Hate Me If It Helps - Alexander 23

OceanofPDF.com
 BEN

S he didn’t call all weekend.

I felt like I spent the entire time staring at my phone, waiting for her
image to pop up and to be able to hear her voice on the other end. Every
time it buzzed it felt like my heart leapt straight out of my chest, and every
time the anticipation turned sour.
But I kept my promise. I gave her the space she had begged me for.
That meant keeping busy, keeping moving. Because the moment I sat
down, I was reminded of how many surfaces she had let me take her
against. The ghost of her haunted my apartment, my dreams. She was living
rent free in my mind, taking up all available head space, and she didn’t even
know it.
And yet, I’d still managed to fuck up. Badly too. I’d been a complete
brainless tool who’d tried to fight the inevitable truth instead of working to
get ahead of it. I should’ve told her. The smart thing would have been to be
upfront about it, introduce them when she’d walked into my classroom that
day after work and he’d popped by to see how I was doing. Out of all my
family members, he had always been the warmest, the one that felt most
like family. But as soon as she appeared in the room, I’d been so nervous I
hadn’t even noticed how off color she’d looked.
“I hope you aren’t here about the clubs,” Rob finally said. “I made it
clear I couldn’t help you if you didn’t win.”
He sat on the other side of his desk across from me in his office. It was
first thing Monday morning, the first Monday after the competition, and I’d
thought about this moment all last night. Tried to figure out how I could fix
this with her. This plan was the best I could come up with.
“It’s not that,” I shook my head. I sat up in the chair, looking him in the
eyes as he lifted a mug of coffee to his lips. “I want to pull my application
for vice principal.”
He spluttered, hot coffee spilling from his mug. Rob pushed back in his
chair as the hot liquid burned. I watched as he collected himself, grabbing a
napkin to mop up the spilt coffee.
“Olive found out about Dane,” I said plainly. We’d never discussed my
uncle directly–it hadn’t come up before–and I was still resistant now.
Bringing it up was to acknowledge the connection. I’d always thought I’d
gotten this job on my own credentials, it hadn’t even been Dane who’d sent
it my way. But with him a few levels above, he loomed over the role.
Rob threw the used napkin away, his face twisted in confusion.
“What about him?”
“That he’s my uncle.”
“Okay...” he looked at me, eyebrows raised as if he still didn’t get the
connection. I would’ve thought Hanna would’ve filled him in already.
There was no way Olive hadn’t spoken to her over the weekend.
“She found out, and she thinks there’s a connection between her not
getting the job and the fact he’s my uncle,” I explained, “So I can’t take the
job. If there’s any threat of influence there, I can’t take it,”
“Any influence that he might have had was managed, Ben,” He said it
like it was so obvious, but I shook my head.
“Can we know that? You were there alongside him. What if he said
something that swayed the others towards me? I would have never applied
for the role if I’d know he’d be making the decision,”
 I’d thought, that first day when the role was announced, that the decision
would be more in Rob’s hands, or with the school board, rather than Dane.
But when Dane had visited me in my classroom a few weeks later, he’d
mentioned he was on the judging board. I’d tried to pull my application
after that, but Rob had again convinced me that it would be okay, told me
that he thought I'd be excellent in the role, and they would manage the issue
with my uncle.
So I'd left it alone, decided just to see where it went, and avoided the
topic whenever it came up. Thankfully, it had seemed like Olive hadn’t
wanted to talk about it either, and that suited me fine. Until, she found out.
He sat up, his chair springing forward slightly before he spoke, “After the
interview, after you left. Dane stood up and made sure the rest of the panel
knew about your family connection. Then, he dismissed himself from the
decision. He’d only been a part of the process so he could grill all the
interviewees on the topics he wanted to make sure the new vice was
competent on. After that, he left it up to us,”
My mouth went dry. Nobody ever said anything to me, me and Dane
hadn’t even discussed the interview outside of the office where it had taken
place. But for him to dismiss himself from the entire judging of the role… It
was a smart move, and showed exactly what I needed it to do. There was no
influence, whether I got the job or not, it was on my own merit.
Then, with a sigh, Rob added, “He even recommended Olive for the
role,”
“Really?”
It didn’t take me by surprise she’d be a contender for the role, it was the
recognition she deserved. For years, she’d worked hard to make this job
work, to give her students the best experience she could, despite the budget
cuts and limitations, and I’ll admit it, me.
But if Dane, who came highly respected in his role as the district head,
despite his own pushing for budget cuts, had recommended her before
bowing out of the judgment, why hadn’t she gotten the role?
“She was his favorite,” Rob confirmed. “But the others were always clear
on a STEM focused appointee.”
“So, she never stood a chance?” My heart broke for her. If I hadn’t
applied, if Dane hadn’t had to excuse himself from the judgment... would
she have gotten the role? Had I still ruined it all for her?
He shook his head. “I tried to warn her before she applied, but even I
thought she’d still have a shot at it.”
We fell silent, and the room was awkward. I wasn’t sure what else to say,
and instead I found myself thinking about the other role Olive had been
offered. She’d never told me about it. As much as she complained about me
not opening up to her, she sure kept some things close to her own chest. But
I’d suddenly become grateful she had applied elsewhere. Somewhere they
saw her potential, saw how dedicated a teacher she had been, and gave her
the recognition she deserved.
Of course, that meant she’d leave here. Leave me. That thought alone felt
like a cold dagger in my heart, but if it was for the best, I could deal right? I
could let her go, if I knew she’d be happy.
I’d spent half the weekend worrying about her. She’d been a mess the
night before, and for weeks it felt like I’d been watching her fade away. I
could see she wasn’t okay–with work, with whatever was happening at
home. And now with the competition over, I just wanted more than
anything to know she was okay.
 Suddenly, Rob said, “You can turn down the job if you want, but it won’t
prove anything.”
“Turn down the job?” I repeated, blinking twice.
“The board decided last week they wanted to offer you the role of vice
principal. You’ll probably get a phone call sometime this week.”
My heart stopped in my chest, my palms suddenly too sweaty for the fists
I’d accidentally been holding them in. I rubbed them together, the skin
sticky and hot. Why were they so sticky and hot?
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, trying to pull myself together.
And then I felt it, the wash of relief. I’d wanted this job. I’d been
working towards it since I’d joined, itching for more authority over the
changes that were inevitable. I liked teaching, liked interacting with the
students, but there was more work I could do here. And I’d been out there.
I’d had a job doing something other than teaching and it gave me a good
view of what employers wanted, especially in STEM. I wanted the role to
help mold more prepared students.
And now I could. If only Olive could see that.
“Think about it, decide if you really think turning down the job is really
the best idea. You have your own future to think about as well,” Rob said,
taking another sip from his coffee.
All I could think about was Olive. “I really fucked things up with her,
Rob. I don’t know how to make it better.”
He shrugged, the movement less than reassuring. “You did. But, as your
boss, I don’t advise you throw away your future at this school to try and fix
it.”
I looked away, knowing he was right but hating it just as much. I knew it
wouldn’t be easy to make this right, and now with the job truly mine, it was
even harder. Could I turn it down for her? I wanted to, wanted to know I’d
choose her over this. But could I really say that even if I turned this down,
she’d forgive me? Was there even an option where she did let this go, a
future where we were together and she wasn’t in another city with another
job?
We were wrapped in so much uncertainty it was hard to see a life
together, a life where she could be mine and I hers. But somehow, that was
the only future I really wanted.
“And as your friend, as her friend...” Rob continued, clearing his throat
as he sat up straight in his chair again. “Give her the space she needs.”
I nodded, knowing that I had to learn to do that. I had to let her come to
me, then I could tell her everything, ask her if there was a chance, and make
sure she was okay. No matter how hard it was, I had to give her space.
If she needed me, she’d call. She had sworn that to me. And I would be
there in a heartbeat.
“Thanks. I promise I’ll think about it,” I said.

OceanofPDF.com
 Twenty-Eight
Green Eyes - Coldplay

OceanofPDF.com
 BEN

T rying to explain the difference between Newton’s laws had never

been this difficult. My last period junior class were really struggling
to grasp the concepts. I wasn’t sure if they were just tired, or if finally the
cracks caused by one too many sleepless nights were finally beginning to
show and I was doing a terrible job of explaining them.
“Give me a moment, guys,” I said, looking out at the classroom of
puzzled faces. Cameron, one of my smarter students, was sitting in the front
row, a pen scratching his head as he tried to work out the problem. If he was
struggling, maybe I had thrown them into the deep end too quickly.
I turned to my laptop, clicking on the browser and bringing up the most
invaluable resource for struggling teachers: YouTube. I quickly searched for
one of my favorite channels, finding their explanation video. While it
loaded, I plugged the laptop into the projector, sparing one glance at the
laptop to make sure there was nothing untoward open on the screen. I
fiddled about with the tricky remote that only worked if I banged it twice on
the desk, rotated the batteries inside to find the right connection, and
pressed the power button with just the right amount of pressure.
Finally, the projector flickered to life, the fan on the device immediately
starting up with a worrisome crackle, a visible cloud of thick dust puffing
out from the vent.
Something inside me grew a little heavier. I still very much wasn’t over
the loss from last Friday. The money that the win could’ve given us, the
resources–I would’ve finally been able to take a baseball bat to that
projector. I’d been visualizing my revenge on the school’s less than
adequate IT equipment since I’d joined, and victory had been so close I
could practically smell the partially fried motherboards.
And then it was stolen in one cruel rounding error twist.
“This should explain it properly,” I said, clicking play and leaning back
in my chair. The sound blared through the speakers, pushing me back up so
I could quickly adjust the noise before anyone was deafened. At least the
blast of volume had truly captured everyone’s attention.
I pushed back in my chair again, letting the video play. A quick glance of
the clock told me the video should take us right up to the end of the day.
It was Thursday, but this week had felt endless, the hours dragging by. It
didn’t help that I’d spent most of it either trying to out run my problems on
a treadmill, leaving me so tired my legs felt weak under my own weight; or
lying awake in bed completely exhausted, but my mind far too filled with
thoughts to properly shut down. I’d keep checking my phone, making sure
the volume was up so I didn’t miss any calls. Then five minutes later I’d
check again, anxiety chewing up my nervous system.
Without even thinking, I glanced across the hallway and into the
classroom opposite, finally finding her.
Olive was sitting at her desk, red pen in hand as she was slumped
forward and staring down at whatever she was grading, her brown hair
tucked behind her ear. I swear she looked thinner, the line of her jaw more
defined. She’d always been small but never thin, never this gaunt and frail.
Instantly, I wanted to march across, wrap my arms around her and ask her
what she needed. She’d liked the soup I’d brought her, despite my average
cooking skills and the fact her father was a professional. Maybe if I bought
her a vat of it and a ton of bread she’d eat it.
 The pen that had been hanging from her hand fell, landing on the floor
beside her feet. She leaned down, her shoulder length hair falling out from
behind her ear. I was mesmerized as she gently picked it up.
I missed her touch. She had this thing where she slowly ran her fingers
up and down my collarbone, the pads of her fingers sending a million tiny
shocks around my body. I didn’t tell her how much I loved it and somehow
had managed not to react to the touch but it drove me out of my mind. The
memory alone was doing just that.
Then her green eyes were on me. She visibly flinched, her gaze cold and
icy and unforgiving.
Crap. Staring at her across the hallways was not giving her space.
She stood up, and I swear my heart lurched in my chest, thinking for a
moment she was going to come over here, that I’d finally finally finally
hear her voice again and this sick pain that had been eating me up for the
last week would lift. But instead she stopped in the doorway, taking one last
look at me, before she pushed the door closed.
I can’t begin to tell you what that final clicking of the door did. I
should’ve looked away then, should’ve turned back to the class. But
instead, I watched her through the door window, watched her as she
returned to her desk, not sparing another glance my way.
What was it going to take? What was the price of her forgiveness?
I still hadn’t given an answer to the offer of vice principal, and Rob’s
warning was still echoing around my mind. I wanted to say yes. I knew I
could make a difference here. The last few months I’d spent my free time
either looking up different grants I could apply for, preparing for the
competition or trying to figure out how I could ‘accidentally’ run into Olive
for a moment of her attention. And my grant research had been successful!
It was longer term, which is why it wouldn’t help with the funding for the
clubs, but the sooner I could start applying, the sooner we could make a
difference: get some new resources and show the outdated IT equipment the
door.
But would it mean losing her for good? Would I be doing that anyway
with her other job offer? I needed to talk to her and figure this mess out.
Figure it out with her rather than guessing what she was going to do. But
she needed space. And I was trying to give her that. Trying and failing.
Finally, the bell rang, pulling my attention back to the room.
Immediately, students clambered up from their seats, grabbing their bags
and stuffing their notebooks inside.
“Please review the notes from today at home, we’ll continue this
tomorrow,” I tried to say over the noise, hoping the video had been enough
to explain the theory to everyone. I saw a few students nod their heads in
acknowledgement but most were too busy trying to make their way out of
the class.
When they finally filtered out of the room, I let out a sigh, relieved the
day was finally over. I collected the homework that was piled on my desk.
It would be another late night getting this all sorted. I took a few minutes to
run around the room, making sure the chairs were tucked under the desks
neatly, and doing anything to kill a few minutes to allow Olive some time to
get ahead of me and avoid any awkward run-ins in the hallway.
Last thing I needed was to further get in her way.
Through the silence of the classroom, I heard a door click open in the
hallway. I held my breath for some reason, listening to the echoing
footsteps as they grew fainter and fainter, my beating heart the only other
noise I could hear. I fought the urge to go to my doorway, make sure it was
her, and walk her to her car, but I remained planted at the back of my
classroom.
Space. I had to give her that. It was the only thing I could do.
Finally, when the footsteps disappeared, I moved again, heading to the
front of the classroom to grab my rucksack and pocket my phone. I headed
out, flicking the light switches off and closing the door behind me.
To give her a few more minutes to get ahead of me, I decided to go the
long way through the hallway, taking a left through the music department
instead. I heard it then, faint at first, but unmistakably someone playing the
piano. We’d had a few reports of students hanging around the school after
hours over the last few weeks, and had been told to investigate and escort
them to the exits at every opportunity.
Following the noise, it took me to the last room in the music department,
the door ajar.
The sound was beautiful, the melody new to me, but I instantly knew that
whoever was playing was obviously skilled and not just some kid messing
around. It was a sad tune, my heart sinking with every new note.
I paused at the door, letting the sound wash over me, my heart aching as I
took a moment to allow myself to think of Olive again.
Picturing her in my bed was easy, but it was always the same early
morning memory that haunted me. Her bare shoulder sticking out of my
navy sheets, her chocolate hair spilled all over the pillow, her back to me.
I’d traced my fingers along her shoulder, the touch gentle across her soft,
tanned skin.
She’d felt like mine for a moment, like this was where she’d belonged,
where she’d always belonged. It felt as though everything–all the
heartbreak, the drama, the fights at work–had been leading to that single
moment when she finally felt real to me.
It was like we’d always been tied together, never managing to pull apart,
fate pulling at the puppet strings to keep us coming back.
And finally, she was there, and I could touch her and she wouldn’t
disappear. I could try saying words I was too afraid to voice during the
waking hours, but try them out, see how they sounded and settled within
me.
I’d never thought I’d feel like this again, but around her it was hard to
imagine feeling any other way.
I blinked a few times, finally coming back to the moment as the music
stopped. I let the memory fade, before pushing the door open, ready to
politely scold whoever was inside the room. I stopped dead when I saw who
sat behind the large black piano.
“I didn’t know you could play.” The words escaped me, uncertainty
running wild as Olive turned suddenly to find me lingering in the doorway.
A breath escaped her as she turned, the shock on her face quickly subsiding
into a twisted mix of relief and a sadness I wanted so badly to erase.
“I’m kind of rusty,” she murmured, her gaze back on the keys, her long
fingers hovering over them as if she were deciding what to play next.
I stepped inside, taking her response as an invitation to come in closer.
Her shoulders were still slumped, little wisps of her hair escaping the bun
she had pulled her hair into since I last saw her.
“It’s beautiful,” I replied, truly meaning it. I leaned against the edge of
the open door. This was the closest we’d been since last Friday, and every
inch closer hummed a panicked tune inside my head. I wanted to ask where
she learned to play like that, if she’d ever considered doing music instead of
art–but I managed to keep the questions inside, instead allowing a small
silence to fall between us.
“Ben.” My name left her lips and my spine stiffened.
“I know, I know I’m sorry,” I babbled. “I didn’t know you were in here,
and then… when I saw it was you, I couldn’t help myself.” I put my hands
up, rising from the doorjamb. I should have left and remembered she asked
for space and not to keep pushing her.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” she apologized, her head hanging down. Her
shoulders hunched as she took in a deep inhale, like she was trying to gather
herself; the urge to be closer to her doubled.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I whispered.
“I need time.” Her voice was small and the room shrank with it.
“I know.” I didn’t know how else to tell her the reminder was
unnecessary, that I’d reminded myself of this fact day and night and every
moment in between.
She took another deep breath before speaking, finally looking at me.
“And space.”
I caught the edge in her voice and instantly began to shift uncomfortably
on my feet, raising my hand to rub at a sudden ache at the back of my neck
as I looked at the floor, trying to protect myself from her cold gaze.
“I know it might not seem like it, but I’m trying to give you as much
space as I can.” I shrugged desperately, knowing that while I was trying,
self-control was not my greatest asset where Olive was concerned. Being
around her drove me out of my mind, but not being around her? That was
some sort of unbearable and excruciating self-inflicted torture I had
absolutely no tolerance for. “As much as possible considering I work across
the hall from you.”
 Those green eyes didn’t hold any glimmer of joy, any lightness I’d once
spotted. The dark rings around her eyes told me she still wasn’t sleeping,
her faded skin and the almost line of her cheekbones an unnecessary
confirmation she still wasn’t ‘doing okay’.
I wanted to walk over, sit on the bench next to her and run my fingers
down the line of her jaw, following the line to her chin, tracing my thumb
on her lips; full and pink and always perfectly soft.
“We should talk about that.” Her voice cut through the silence. Had I
been staring at her too long?
“I-I can’t move back to our old classroom,” I tried to explain. “The AC in
there only blasts hot and it was either fix that or the clubs, so I’m a little bit
stuck there for a while.” I wish I could move away and give her more space.
It must hurt her more to see me every day, and I wished I had another
option but it was her or heatstroke and while I’d endure it, thirty students
definitely wouldn’t.
“You don’t have to move,” she replied, but I plowed on.
“I promise to stop looking over.” It was entirely a lie. She knew it, I
knew it. But I tried to convince myself I could do it anyway. Like not
wanting to look at her for every single moment of the day was something
that was well within my control.
“Ben, I handed in my notice on Monday. Tomorrow is my last day.”
I didn’t know why–maybe because only a little while ago I was teaching
Newton’s laws–but I imagined a giant Newton’s cradle, the device with all
the balls strung up and hung side by side, as big as a human. I imagined
Olive picking up the first ball, letting it go. I could hear the soft clink as the
first ball hit the second, the motion running through the set like a wave until
the final ball, solid and heavy, finally kicked up with equal force, and hit me
squarely in the balls.
“You quit?” The words left me in a stammer.
She nodded, “I resigned.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” I exploded, stepping further into the
room and immediately pacing. “Is it the new job at the other school? Surely,
they would make you work a notice period?”
She was slipping through my fingers. One moment she was in my bed,
her hair sprawled on the pillow beneath her, her bare skin within my reach.
The next she was gone, the bed empty and cold.
She shook her head, her gaze stony. “It’s not the new job.”
My heart stopped in my chest, a realization dawning. I paused, looking
straight at her, my spine somehow stiffening further. I tried to find the
words like a cautious first step into the unknown.
“Did you... did you find out I got the vice principal job?” I started out
carefully before the words tumbled out of me like rocks in a landslide.
“Because I asked; Dane stepped down from the panel. There wasn’t any
influence–I swear, Olive. I was never handed any favors.”
She shook her head, but that wasn’t enough to stop me.
“Are you sure? Because it was just politics and bullshit with subjects,
and- and I’m sorry I got the job, I’d turn it down if it helped, if it means
you’d stay here –”
“Ben,” she said gently.
“Just don’t leave, Olive, please don’t leave.” Finally I was begging for
the inevitable. It hurt more than I’d thought, watching her slip out of grasp.
She’d asked for space, and I’d tried–but this? This was too much. Was she
moving away? Taking a new job? Was this one of the last times I’d see her?
 “I have to go, Ben,” she said. The way she looked at me then was resolve
mixed with that infinite sadness I’d seen too many times across her face. “I
don’t fit here anymore.”
“You fit with me,” I said like my heart was breaking into a million
pieces.
She sighed, tearing her gaze away from me, and her words were cold and
icy, slicing into my heart like a sharp blade. “I’m still trying to figure out if
I do, Ben.”
“So, what, this is all I get? You get to disappear and pretend like we
didn’t happen?”
She didn’t say anything. She sat there, staring down at the piano, refusing
to meet my gaze.
That’s what she wanted? To move on from us? Forget… about us? I had
ruined this so spectacularly there was no recourse, no solution that could
bring her back to me. I wanted to get on my knees in front of her, get down
and beg for her forgiveness, for another chance. To tell her that although I
didn’t deserve it, I could make it up, I would do anything not to lose her.
But I knew then, it was beyond me. I’d given her all the space I could
manage, and it wasn’t enough.
“It’s for the best, Ben,” she said, finally getting up from the piano. She
grabbed her bags that were sitting on the ground, and finally looked at me. I
froze, her green eyes were almost too much, showing me everything I
needed to know.
She wasn’t okay. She wasn’t close to okay. She hadn’t been herself this
entire semester, the entire time we had been together. And maybe that’s why
she knew she had to let me go. And suddenly, all the fight I had for us
dimmed.
 I watched her leave, knowing the entire time this was it for us. But if
that’s what she needed, if she’d needed to forget me and move on to find
some peace in her life after everything, then that was what I needed to let
her do. Even if it felt like I was ripping my heart out of my chest with my
own fingernails.

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 Twenty-Nine
Warm Foothills - Alt-J

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 OLIVE

O ne box of belongings.
It was filled with art supplies I’d bought over the years, heavy
textbooks covering different periods of art history, and some art from past
students I’d kept away as mementos and good examples. That’s what was
left of my teaching career, tucked away neatly in a single cardboard box
sitting ominously in the back seat of my car.
I drummed my fingers on the wheel, staring out at the porch wrapped
house, all lights inside the house off. I’d been sitting in the car for at least
twenty minutes, trying to find the energy to get out of the car and go inside,
the pressure building with every moment that passed.
I still hadn’t told my dad I’d quit.
I hadn’t told anyone except Rob. I’d sat down in his office halfway
through Monday and told him I couldn’t do it anymore.
Something had snapped, and I was still trying to figure out what had been
the breaking point. It could have been losing the competition and the
closure of the after school club, the drama with Ben, or if I’d simply finally
found the bottom of the endless pit I’d been free falling into since the
summer. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.
Not when I’d marched straight in and told Rob this was my last week and
that was the end of it. Hanna had called me later that evening in hysterics,
asking why I hadn’t told her I was quitting, why I hadn’t given her any
warning her best friend was leaving. I’d managed to calm her down, and
finally, with a deep breath, she told me I’d done the right thing and she’d
been waiting for a month for me to finally do it.
 The rest of the week had been a weird dance around Ben; avoiding the
teacher’s lounge in case he took his break in there, trying to stagger the
times I left the classroom so I didn’t run straight into him. I’d asked for
space, and he’d given it, no calls or texts. He hadn’t even come up to me at
school until yesterday, when he’d found me at Mom’s piano and I’d finally
told him I was leaving. The way he’d reacted, it had nearly torn me apart
not to pull him close instead of pushing him away. But it was for the best. I
needed distance, needed to push myself away from the safety and peace he
offered, maybe more than I’d first thought.
I sighed, knowing it was long past time to go inside. I pulled the keys out
of the ignition and climbed out of the car. I took the box inside, knowing if I
left it in the car I’d avoid it for at least a month.
As I stepped inside the house, the smell of fresh paint quickly hit me, the
smell hanging strong in the air.
“Dad?” I shouted, my voice ringing around the empty, dark living room.
“Are you home?”
I heard heavy footsteps at the back of the house and a few grumbles
followed.
“Hey.” He stuck his head out of the doorway to Mom’s office, white
blotches of paint smeared on his face. “Sorry for the smell, I’ve tried
opening windows but it’s still strong. I’ve had to put the dog outside.”
“Oh,” I said, slightly taken back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m painting,” he said simply, motioning me in with a hand. “Come
see.”
He disappeared, and I took a moment to place the box on the ground
before I followed him into the room. The smell was stronger from the
doorway and I paused, scanning my eyes wildly around the room.
 It was... empty. Completely empty. Never in my entire life had this room
resembled anything close to tidy. Her books that never quite made it back
onto the bookshelf her piles and piles of music, some half-finished melodies
she’d had stuck in her head; the piano that used to stand grandly in the
middle of the room that filled this house with such life and noise and
music–all gone.
The hardwood floor was covered with tarps, old curtains, and newspaper.
The walls had been a light neutral brown, but now they were a cozy red, the
walls still wet and glossy with fresh paint.
Any sign of her was gone, and the moment I’d been completely dreading
ever since he’d brought up the subject of changing this room had finally
arrived and... I was still standing, could still breathe. I was adjusting, and
the moment was enough to tilt me off center, but the change felt closer to
relief than devastation.
“Where did you put her stuff?” The question pulled a knot in my stomach
tight as I kept my eyes on the room, a little apprehensive to look at my dad.
“Mostly in storage,” he said. “I recycled most of the unfinished notes she
had, but a lot of them I’ve been organizing into folders. Her books I’ve
offered to some of her friends so they have something of hers too, but I’m
also going to put a lot of them back where they should go.”
The moment eased further, tension melting away to relief.
“What do you think?” he asked. “I thought red would be a nice change
because I always thought this room was cold.” Dad stood in the middle of
the room, looking around and inspecting his work. “I repainted the roof too.
You wouldn’t believe how dirty it’s gotten over the years.”
“It’s great,” I said, still taking it in. I finally looked at him, a grin on my
lips. “She would’ve hated it.”
 He laughed, rubbing his forehead. “The fights we used to have over
paint. It could never be bright–God forbid I wanted a splash of color!”
“She liked neutral,” I said with a shrug. “And hated everything else.”
“I just wanted to do something for myself “Still not sure what I want to
do with the space but since the piano’s gone, I wanted to start changing it.”
He looked at me and the crinkle in his forehead deepened. “Are you okay?”
I pushed away from the doorway where I’d been lingering, suddenly
needing some space. “Yeah” My voice came out weird and high-pitched.
“But we should talk.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Does this have anything to do with the cardboard
box you left by the door?”
“Maybe.” I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. I should’ve told him
already. He’d been home all week so there were plenty of opportunities to
talk to him. But getting through this last week had been hard enough
without having to explain myself. I’d made this decision and I was terrified
that if I talked about it, I’d be talked out of it.
“Were you fired?”
I shook my head. “I resigned.”
His reply was instant, firm, and unexpected. “Good.”
“Good?”
“That job was killing you. I’m glad it’s over,” he said, before turning his
attention back to his painting, lifting the roller that had been sitting in the
paint tray.
“You aren’t mad?” I asked, wondering if I’d ever felt more like a child
waiting for my father’s approval.
He shook his head firmly, his attention still on the wall. “You’ve not been
the same this year. I know with your mom it was always going to be hard.
But it was harder than it needed to be.” He paused, and for a moment it was
silent between us. He lowered the roller, and turned back to look at me. “I
was losing my daughter, and a zombie was coming home in her place. It
was breaking my heart every day seeing you like that, Olive. You lost your
glow.”
I didn’t know what to say. What was I even supposed to say? That I
knew? That I’d known I was drowning and that finding the surface had felt
near impossible? I was still trying to find myself again, and maybe I
wouldn’t. Maybe when she’d died, a piece that made me who I was had
gone too, and after months of trying to find myself again, I’d realized that
girl was gone forever.
I didn’t know what was next, who I’d end up being. But I knew now that
trying to be the old me had been keeping me unhappy for far longer than I
needed to be. I was ready for that to stop now.
“I’m sorry,” I said genuinely. I’d been so distant, so closed off when we’d
always been close. I hated that I’d worried him.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“I’m glad you’ve made the decision.”
I nodded, not really knowing what else to say to him. Anxiety still bit
around the edges, the freefall of unemployment looming. I knew I couldn’t
stay there anymore, but did that mean giving up teaching altogether? I still
had the other job offer, even if it meant moving away from here. Maybe that
was more of an advantage than I could see. A fresh start, somewhere new
and far away from all the security I’d used to stay uncomfortable here.
One step at a time, I tried to tell myself. This was all new, and I wanted
to figure out my next step, not leap into something completely wrong
because of fear.
 “So I guess you’ll be around the house more often then?” Dad asked,
back to painting, the red paint wet on the walls.
“Probably, until I figure out what to do,” I said, and cleared my throat.
“But then... then I’m going to try and get my own place again. I think it’s
time.”
He smiled softly at me. “You are always welcome home, Olive. Stay as
long as you need.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Knowing that would be his reaction had allowed me to
take this leap, to quit when I finally felt ready.
“Think you could handle dinner on your own tonight while I finish up
here?”
“Sure, I’ll see what I can find in the fridge,” I answered, turning to leave
the room. I heard a tiny yelp, and when I looked out the windows at the end
of the room, Meatball was pressed right up to the glass, her wet nose
leaving a smudge mark on the pane. She yelped again, jumping up and
pressing a muddy paw to the glass.
“And can you let the damn dog in before she digs her way out?” Dad
asked, wiping his brow with his free hand as he looked her way. There was
a wide grin on his face at the sight of the small dog. He still pretended to
resent her, complaining endlessly when she sat at his feet and whined for
scraps of food, but I knew as soon as my back was turned he fed her bits of
meat and leftovers.
I was beginning to think the dog might be eating better than me, judging
by the size difference I’d seen in her since I’d moved in.
Leaving Dad to work in the study, I headed for the kitchen to let Meatball
in. She rushed in with the cold breeze, any heat in the dark room leaving
instantly. I grabbed a towel and called her over, making sure to give her a
clean before letting her loose around the house. Her coat was mostly fine, a
few leaves stuck to her wild fur, but I tried to clean her paws so she didn’t
leave tiny footsteps all over the hardwood floor.
She used to only let Mom clean her like this, the dog too fussy to allow
anyone to handle her roughly. But instead of resisting, she happily let me
take her paws and rub them clean before of course looking up at me with
her wide dark eyes, the implication clear.
Treat, or I’ll eat all your shoes.
Sighing, I relented far too easily, and grabbed one of the dental chew
sticks we kept, throwing it her way. She jumped up, grabbing it easily
between her teeth and scurried off to eat it somewhere nobody would find
her.
She’d become more than just Mom’s dog, more than even just Dad’s
secret love. She was mine now, had snuck her way into my heart and carved
out a place for herself. Imagining the past few months without her pressed
up beside me, keeping me company when getting out of bed felt too hard,
or the moments where I’d found myself missing my mom and she’d
somehow know and come find me–it kept me distracted long enough until
the storm passed.
She had been Mom’s, and now she was ours. Or maybe, more accurately,
we were hers. She’d given us both what we needed, even before we had
realized.
I thought for a moment, wondering what else I had been missing. I’d only
just left work, but slowly the heavy weight of it was lifting. It had been
keeping me down for so long, I felt like I’d missed months of my own life.
Like things had been happening to me, and I’d been so busy trying to
survive that I hadn’t realized exactly what I’d been doing, who I’d been
falling for all along.
My heart clenched hard at the thought. Missing him was unbearable.
Thinking about him was torture.
I looked at the stove, remembering the time he’d come over when I was
sick, and made me soup without any question. He’d given me exactly what
I’d been craving that night too. But that was exactly the reason I needed
space. For the first time in months, I was able to breathe on my own,
navigate these messy feelings without help, without a map or a distraction
from the pain of it all.
I needed this time. Even if it meant giving him up forever.
I knew what I needed to do at that moment, the solution so clear it was
more annoying I’d not seen it before. I threw the dirty towel in the laundry
basket and went back through to the living room to the cardboard box. It
felt less threatening now, and closer to a means to an end.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled to my best friend’s contact. Even the
dial tone made me tap my fingers anxiously across my belly until I finally
heard her voice.
“Ol, what’s up?” She sounded slightly concerned considering we’d only
seen each other an hour ago. But I let it go, trying to get to the point before
I lost my nerve.
“Hey… is Rob there?”

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 Thirty
Fever To The Form - Nick Mulvey

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 BEN

TWO MONTHS LATER

“S o that brings us to the end of our planned agenda. Does anyone

have anything they’d like to bring up?” Rob asked the group of
assembled department heads and infills, all eyes on him. I don’t know how
long I’d been zoned out for, scribbling circles instead of taking notes on the
paper in front of me.
“Yes.” Karla, the coach of the girls’ volleyball team, stuck her hand up.
“We’ve lost all our balls. Can we submit a request for some more?”
“All of the balls?”
“We think we have a thief.”
“A thief of volleyballs?”
“The basketballs are also running low,” said another teacher who raised
his hand from where he stood in the back. Rob looked at me, somehow
managing enough physical restraint to not roll his eyes in front of everyone,
but I felt the implication anyway.
“Do your departments have the budget left for replacement balls?” I
asked, ignoring growing amount of hushed giggles. Rob had been chairing
the meeting for the last hour. Although I was still new to the position of
vice, with my predecessor deciding he would much rather hit the golf
course than stick around for the rest of the year, it was far past time I started
pulling my own weight and helping out.
Karla shrugged. “Only enough for a couple.”
 “Well then, a couple is all you can have. I suggest you try to make them
last,” I said, with a firm nod.
It had been made clear to everyone there was no room in the budget this
year. Everyone had to make cuts. Rob had sat me down when I’d finally
accepted the role and made it clear how severe the situation was. Even he’d
been hoping Olive and my plan to win the competition would work, and
when it hadn’t, he knew he’d have some serious fights coming up. If we
didn’t stay within our department budgets, or even less, then the school
would have to look at cuts to staff.
There was no room for missing volleyballs.
Karla looked back at me, clearly frustrated but instead of arguing she
simply nodded and sat back in her seat. I wanted to tell her I’d sign the
request and give her the equipment she needed. I didn’t want to be that bad
guy, but this was a bigger part of the job than I’d anticipated–but I’d signed
up for this.
“Anything else?” I asked, looking around the room. The silent, grim
response told me everything I needed to know.
Right next to budget constraints was staff morale. Olive had just been the
first to leave over the last few months, with a few others from various
departments handing in notices shortly after. Most had found other
positions, some outside of education altogether. One English teacher even
fled town to live in the wilderness. It was a hard job being made harder.
Then with unfilled positions and a resulting larger workload for the rest of
us, it was like piling rocks on rocks.
“Thanks everyone for your time, I’ll catch up with you next week,” Rob
said, bringing a smile back to the group. There was a buzz around the room
as people got up from their seats, and slowly shuffled out.
 “Thanks for taking that one,” Rob said, standing next to me as he
watched everyone leave the teacher’s lounge, returning to their classrooms
before lunch ended.
“It’s the job,” I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. Instead, I
focused on putting my empty notebook away in my backpack and helping
Rob put away the chairs we had taken out for the staff meeting.
“Hopefully next week we’ll have some good news for them,” he said,
lifting a set of chairs over to the side of the room.
I raised my eyebrow. “Good news?”
“Yeah, I think we’ve finally got a buyer for the piano,” he said as if I was
supposed to know what that meant. But he didn’t catch on and carried on
speaking. “We’ve had plenty of interest, but finding a buyer that felt
legitimate was a little difficult. Obviously, the board had certain
requirements, especially since it was technically school property.”
I stopped what I was doing, pausing to really look at him.
“I’m sorry, what piano?” I asked, and finally he looked at me, the furrow
between his brows narrowing.
“Olive’s?” Her name still sounded strange to hear. “Didn’t she tell you?”
I shook my head. “We haven’t spoken.”
Why did those three words still feel like a tailspin, like chaos and ruin?
Weeks of not seeing her hadn’t loosened the grip she had on me. If
anything, it had only grown stronger and infinitely more insatiable, like I
was trapped in a vice that had been turned all the way, and then some more.
“Oh, sorry, I just assumed,” he said. He looked awkward as all hell as he
rubbed his jaw uncomfortably. I fought the urge to ask him about her, if
she’d landed on her feet with that other job she’d been offered. If she was
really gone. But I knew that wasn’t fair.
 “Anyway, you sold it?”
He nodded. “She called me a few weeks ago after she left and told me to
sell it. She said she felt that the money would be better for the school than
the piano. It’s a pricey thing, you know.”
My grip tightened around the plastic back of the chair I’d been putting
away. I was a man starving, and I knew it was rightfully so. But that didn’t
help, didn’t ease the need to ask about her, to get every single nugget I
could about her.
Rob continued. “It was her mom’s. She gave strict instructions not to sell
it when she donated it, but then she changed her mind.”
Her mom’s piano? I knew enough to know it meant the piano had been
important. Her mother had been a music teacher after all.
“Why did she do that?” I asked.
“Beats me,” he said unhelpfully with a shrug. Given his wife’s friendship
with Olive, I doubted he didn’t know, but not enough to call him out on the
lie. “But with the money, things will definitely get easier around here. I
didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up, but selling the piano takes a lot of
stress off our plates for this year.”
It was true, and I tried to focus on that, but she kept creeping back into
my mind. The endless wondering was going to drive me insane if I didn’t
get out of here soon. I carried on putting the chairs away, trying to find
anything to distract myself. I’d lost count of the nights I’d spent wondering
how she was, staring at her contact on my phone, finger lingering over the
call button.
“Oh, and she left one more instruction,” Rob added a moment later.
I forced a smile. “What’s that? Defund math and science?”
 He let out a laugh, shaking his head. All of those times spent arguing
with her across from him in his office came flooding back before he finally
replied and erased them all with two simple words.
“Reinstate Mathletes.”
“What?” I spluttered, losing my grip on the chairs I had been trying to
lift. My legs almost gave in under me too. “Did she say anything about
me?”
“No,” Rob said. “Just she wanted the clubs to be given their funding
back. Whoever takes over for Olive can choose whether they want the art
club to go forward or not. But in the meantime, the Mathletes should be
yours again.”
That woman. Every time I thought she’d left me, she ended up coming
right back in some small way.
I didn’t have anything else to say. I didn’t have the words.
“I gotta... I gotta go and set up my next meeting.” The words stumbled
out of me, the world tilting ever so slightly on its axis as my head swam.
What she had given up for me, for the school and the clubs–it was too
much, entirely too much. This big piece of her mom I knew had to be
important.
The last time I saw her came flooding back. The melody she’d been
playing, so sad and aching, still haunted me. She’d looked so tired and
delicate. I missed her, missed her touch and smell and infectious laughter.
This time without her had been gray and empty. Would it ever be different
now she was gone?
“Sure, I’ll see you around,” Rob said, waving goodbye as I grabbed my
rucksack and left, walking down the hallway to the nearest exit. I pulled my
phone out of my back pocket, not even stopping to think as I scrolled down
the contacts, trying to find the one entry under O.
I was done with this distance, done with having her so far away. She had
done this and I needed to know why. I scrolled, scanned, then scrolled up
again, trying to figure out where exactly O came in the alphabet before it hit
me.
I’d deleted her contact.
I’d spent night after night staring at it, fighting the urge to press call and
hear her voice. But I knew that’s not what she wanted. She had asked for
space and it had been months–months–since I’d last spoken to her. It was
clearly over and she was gone. So I’d deleted the contact, trying to kill the
temptation to press call and hear her voice again.
What I would’ve done just to know she was okay.
But instead, I’d found it in myself to press delete, and just like that, she
slipped through my fingers for the second time.

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirty-One
Labryinth - Taylor Swift

OceanofPDF.com
 BEN

A week later and it was official: the piano was sold. I told Rob I’d help
out, take over the selling of the instrument and arrange the moving.
I watched them roll it out the door, safely wrapped in blankets and covers
as the movers loaded it into the van and shipped it off to the private buyer
who’d put in a more than generous bid for it. I’d almost put one in myself,
figuring Rob would probably sell it to me if I gave him market price. Then
at least I’d have a reminder of her save the now closed door across the hall
from my classroom. But keeping a piano in an apartment this size was
ridiculous; it would take up the entire living room. I also didn’t play and my
upstairs neighbors stomped on their floor if the TV was just a little too loud,
never mind if an idiot tried to learn on a very loud baby grand.
Besides, if Olive had told the school to sell it, she probably would have
said goodbye, let go of it somehow. I needed to do that too, but I was
struggling to figure out how.
I was sitting in my apartment later that evening, homework and grading
completed. The TV was on and a glass of whiskey was drained. I was only
able to think about her, unable to distract myself again. Usually when I got
stuck on her like this, I’d hit the gym, but my body ached too much from
already going every other night this week. More felt like physical torture,
but at least it would be a distraction.
I headed to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible in the fridge,
when I heard my phone buzzing on the coffee table. Peering over at the
screen, I saw an unfamiliar number flash up.
 At first, I dismissed it. Who even calls nowadays apart from spam
numbers anyway? The last thing I was in a mood for was a call telling me I
could claim compensation for the car accident I hadn’t recently been in.
But I paused for a moment for some reason, then I reached out and with a
deep breath, I pressed the answer icon. I held it to my ear.
“Hello?” I answered hesitantly.
“Hey, it’s me.”
I closed my eyes at the flood of relief I had just hearing her voice.
My Olive. My sunshine.
I almost lost my grip on the phone until I snapped back to reality, for a
single moment doubting it was really her voice. But I’d never misremember
that sweet sound, never forget her voice.
“You called.”
I could hear her nervous smile in her voice as she replied. “I said I would,
remember?”
“I know,” I said, my voice hoarse. I coughed to clear my throat, standing
suddenly too difficult as I sank back down onto my couch. “But I have to
say you took your time about it.”
“I guess I did,” she said, the smile clear in her voice.
I swallowed again, rubbing my hand across my brow as I tried to commit
every word to memory, every inflection of her voice. Jesus, I had missed
her.
“Are you... are you okay?” I asked, now worried something was wrong.
That had been what was promised–that if she needed help, needed to talk,
she would call me. Was she in trouble?
“I am,” she said.
 But I began to ramble, suddenly nervous. “Are you sure? Because
sometimes it’s a stupid question asking somebody if they’re okay but
they’ve called you out of the blue at 8pm and they don’t know how else to
respond.”
She chuckled, and I swear she probably rolled her eyes at me. “I promise,
I’m okay. I’m doing better. I was hoping... I need help with something.”
“Okay,” I replied immediately.
How did I tell her that she could ask me to come hide a dead body with
her and I’d still be there, by her side, shopping for the appropriate acid and
correct plastic tub to break the body down in?
“Do you think you could meet me?”
“When?”
“Now?” She said, her voice rising slightly in uncertainty.
My eyes flashed to the clock that hung on the wall, seeing it was already
late. Not that it was going to stop me anyway.
“Now is fine. Where do you need to meet?”

Her car was already in the cemetery parking lot when I pulled in, the sun
long set, dark gray rain clouds overhead leaving the graveyard looking
more on the spooky side. She hadn’t explained why she wanted to meet
here, and to be honest, I hadn’t asked. I was too caught up in the fact she
had called me at all.
 I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. I tried to
remember the breathing techniques I’d learned in therapy for the times
where my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest, and it felt so
tight that breathing was impossible. But just the sight of her sent all
intelligent thought out the window.
She climbed out of her car first. She’d cut her hair, and it now neatly
skimmed above her shoulders, closer to her jaw line than usual. Even in the
light of the dimly lit parking lot, the sight of her still caused my heart to
double in size. Those eyes were still so vivid and green and perfect as she
walked over to me.
“You need a jacket,” I said, getting out of my car and taking in her
clothing. She was wearing a thick sweater and leggings, but in the cold
night air, it wasn’t enough to keep the chill off her.
“I’ll be fine, I don’t mind a chill,” she lied, shrugging–but I could see her
shivering, the cold already getting to her.
I scoffed, and opened the back door of my car to pull out a second jacket
I’d taken with me. Somehow, I must have known she’d need it. She had
never been the type to dress appropriately for the weather. She rolled her
eyes, but instead of arguing, she just accepted the jacket, looking grateful as
she took it from me, wrapping the thick winter coat around her.
“It’s a little big,” she said, the smallest smile on her lips like she knew
how utterly ridiculously cute she looked. The jacket was so big on her it
practically came down to her knees.
“It’s perfect,” I said, shrugging her off. “You look good,” I added, taking
another look at her and truly meaning it. It was like the Olive I’d seen all
those months at school had been slowly turning into a zombie compared to
the person that stood before me now. She looked rested, some but not nearly
all of the weight she’d lost put back on. Even her skin looked brighter,
tanned despite the cold snap we’d been experiencing.
I won’t lie and say I was a little bit worried that it was the lack of me in
her life that had caused her to improve, like the removed stress of me had
been enough to make her happy again. But it was outweighed by the relief
she truly was doing better.
“Thanks,” she said, a smile still on her lips. “You look good too.”
I wanted to call her on the lie, it had been weeks since I’d slept right but I
let it sit. I was fighting every instinct to close the space between us, pull her
into my body and remember how perfectly she fit there.
“So, is it okay if I ask why exactly you’ve invited me to a graveyard at
late at night?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy about the awkwardness of it
all. She broke eye contact, looking out into the distance instead. “I mean, I
appreciate the invite but I’m always up for somewhere a little less morbid.”
“I’m sorry, this is stupid,” she said and shook her head, looking down at
the ground as she fiddled with the ruby ring she always wore.
I shook my head. “Just tell me why.”
She took a deep breath before she finally spoke the words she’d been
avoiding. “I need to see my mom.”
“Oh.” The stupid sound escaped me before I could stop it, my stomach
squeezing with a sudden plunge of anxiety.
“It’s her birthday today and...” she trailed off, and I didn’t dare interrupt
her as she finally found her words. “I haven’t been to see her since
everything blew up. And I said I’d do it today. I promised Dad and myself
and my therapist–I got one of those, by the way. Not the one you
recommended, but she’s great. Her name is Laura, and she’s nice and did I
tell you I’ve been doing better?”
 The smile on my lips was pure relief. “You mentioned it.”
“Well, I felt ready to see her–Mom that is, not Laura. But I’ve still been
avoiding it, and I need to go before it gets too late and I don’t see her today
because it used to be important to her, seeing me today.”
“So you called me?” My heart was a soft squishy thing in my chest.
“Is that okay? Dad’s already been, and I didn’t want to ask him to go
again. It’s totally not okay, right? It’s been weeks and I should’ve called
before, but I was scared and not ready, then today... I needed help.”
“And you thought of me?” Those were the only words I could muster.
She’d called me–thought of me and trusted me.
“Yes.” She nodded, finally looking at me, and I don’t know how I didn’t
melt into the ground.
She trusted me, needed me. I held onto that with both hands, refusing to
let that small fact disappear. It had to mean something.
“Of course it’s okay, Olive,” I said. “You can always call me, for
anything.”
She smiled again, but it was smaller this time. She looked back out to the
entrance of the graveyard. “I’m scared,” she said apprehensively. “I don’t
know what to expect. Dad said it will help, but it’s...”
She trailed off, and when I was sure she wasn’t going to finish the
thought, I did it for her. “It’s a lot, but I’m here.”
She nodded, shifting her weight uncomfortably.
“How about we take baby steps? Do you know where she is?” I asked.
“Over here.” She pointed to the left. “I think; the memory is a little
fuzzy.”
“Let’s start walking and not think about it, just head in the general
direction,” I suggested.
 “Okay.” She nodded, and we made our way in, walking slowly side by
side as we took our time, the breeze making the night air even colder.
“So, you’ve been good?” I asked, trying to make the moment a little less
awkward, put her at ease somehow.
“Yeah.”
Apprehensively, I asked another question. “Been up to much?” I wanted
to hit myself for such a basic, stupid question, but the space between us was
threatening to become a chasm of awkwardness and I couldn’t bear that for
a moment.
She smiled and took a deep breath. “Not much. Weirdly, I’ve been
cooking.”
“I thought you were terrible,”
“Closer to a hazard than terrible,” she corrected with a laugh, and I
couldn’t help but smile. “But I’ve been getting better. Much better, in fact.
At first, Dad was teaching me, but I’ve been reading cookbooks and online
videos. It’s amazing what you can do when you’ve got a lot of free time on
your hands.”
“So can I take that to mean you didn’t take the other job?” I held my
breath, the answer threatening to crush me.
“Nope,” she said, her gaze darting about uncomfortably. I wanted nothing
more than to know what she was thinking, to help soothe her obviously
freaking out mind.
“Oh, I thought you would’ve.”
“I’m still figuring a lot out, but I needed a break,” she said.
“That’s good. If that’s what you needed.” Silence fell again, so I tried one
more time trying to distract her. “And the therapist?”
 “She’s excellent,” Olive piped up, finally looking up at me. “Twice a
week, I go in, I cry for an hour, I come out and cry in the car, and then I go
home and cook, and then eat the rest of my feelings. It’s probably how I’ve
become decent.”
Somehow, I suspected she was better than decent. I couldn’t imagine her
half-assing anything, and she’d always loved food. Even before this year,
I’d catch her inhaling a takeout burger in her car over lunch and the scene
was nothing less than pornographic.
“Sounds healthy,” I joked, but I was more grateful than words could ever
express that she was finally talking to somebody, even if it involved a lot of
crying.
“Better than bottling it up,” she shrugged.
“You got me there.”
Suddenly she paused, tearing her gaze away from me again as she bit her
lip uncomfortably. “Ben, I owe you an apology for how things went down,
how I treated you.”
“I don’t think you do,” I tried to assure her.
“I was using you to escape. I think you knew that, but still, I’m sorry.”
she said, but I shook my head, hating every moment she felt she needed to
explain herself.
We were both adults. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Just
because things had gotten messy between us, it felt undeniable and
unavoidable. I wouldn’t regret it, couldn’t bring myself to consider
changing my mind on that first night when we had kissed and it felt like the
mess my life had been until then suddenly felt right. Like everything I’d
gone through–the divorce, the heartbreak, the year of therapy and learning
and unlearning–had been all for this, for her.
 “Olive, you have nothing to apologize for. We were clear from the start
what this was, even if it got complicated. I knew what this was,” I said, and
she still wouldn’t look back up at me. All I wanted was to look into her eyes
and know she was really hearing me. “I think I owe you the apology. I
should’ve been more upfront. Maybe things would’ve been less
complicated if I had.”
“I think things with us might have always been complicated. Depression
has that effect,” she said sadly.
I sighed. Maybe she was right–maybe we were always destined to fall
apart. We’d agreed on one night and the mistake had been taking it further
and expecting it to work between us. She was in a bad spot and I had
messed it up from the start. Maybe I was hoping against fate, but with every
moment we spent together, it was going to get harder and harder to say
goodbye again.
“I’m happy you’re doing better,” I said, trying to ease the rising anxiety
that was building up. And then I found myself saying something really
stupid. “I really missed you.”
I swear it was only a moment but it felt like the second stretched into
hours as my gut twisted into seventeen different pieces, bile definitely
threatening to come up and choke me to death with fear. Then she looked at
me, her lips curved up ever so softly, and the feeling slipped away.
“Would you believe me if I said I missed you too?”
“I could be convinced,” I said, fighting a rising blush. I looked away,
unable to hide a grin on my face. I swallowed, trying to free myself from
the uncontrolled reaction. “You know, it’s more than okay that you called.”
“Really?” she asked, her words so soft and unsure.
 “Of course. I asked you to call me if you needed anything. It would’ve
been nicer in daylight because I hear these places can get a little creepy
after dark, but I’m here,” I said, looking at her again, fighting the urge to
reach out and touch her. “I’m always here for you, Olive.”
She looked up at me then, her eyes soft, lips slightly parted as a strand of
her hair fell past her ears and onto her face. Before I even had a chance to
stop myself, I reached over, fingers delicately brushing her skin to move her
hair back off her face and behind her ear. The contact was small, almost
non-existent, but I swear I didn’t breathe while I touched her. And she
didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. Instead she looked up at me, her face the
only thing I ever wanted to look at again. The moment froze as she scanned
my face, scanned down until she reached my lips where her eyes lingered
for a moment too long.
This wasn’t the moment at all to be thinking about kissing her, but it had
been weeks and I’d almost forgotten the softness of her lips, the pressure
she liked to use when she was close to orgasm and she wanted to keep the
enjoyment going a little longer. Almost, but not quite. She was hard to
erase, the memory of her both torture and pleasure.
What would I do when she was gone?
Finally, she looked away, her gaze scanning across the gravestones and
trees that lined the path. Her lips wobbled slightly and she said, “I think
we’re close.”
“Do you remember the way?”
Her hand slid into mine, and my fingers intertwined with hers, her grip
gentle but I held her like she was going to slip away from me again if I
dared to let go for a single moment. She nodded, and stepped forward,
leading the way up a dimly lit path.
 We quietly walked hand in hand, leaves rustling in the air as she led us,
sometimes stopping to look around, trying to remember before finally she
stopped, her hand going slack in mine. I held on, squeezing to give her the
strength to carry on.
I watched her as she held her breath. For a moment, I thought about
telling her she didn’t have to do this, that we could go back to the car and
never talk about this again. But she was done avoiding this. She hadn’t
invited me along as a distraction, not this time. This time, she needed
support.
“Do you want me to wait here? Give you a moment?” I asked, squeezing
her hand again to grab her attention. At first she didn’t answer, and I gave
her a moment to think before finally she nodded, looking ahead at one
single gravestone. Fresh flowers and an unopened envelope sat at the
bottom of the stone.
“I’ll be here if you need me, just call my name and I’ll come over,” I
said, and this time she nodded instantly, loosening her grip on my hand.
This time, I let go, and watched as she took an apprehensive step forward.
Slowly, she walked until she was standing right in front of the
gravestone. She reached forward, her fingers grazing the words where her
mom’s name was carved.
I anxiously drummed my fingers against my thighs, unable to stay still as
I itched to go to her side. Her shoulders were beginning to shake, and she
was whispering something too softly for the words to carry over to me. Not
that I needed to hear–this was a private moment for her, one she’d allowed
me to support her through but that didn’t at all mean I had any right to it.
Olive leaned down to her knees, reaching to see the flowers I assumed
her dad had left earlier in the day. She picked up a few leaves that had
blown onto the grave, keeping it neat and clear.
Minutes passed, and I tried to focus on anything else other than her,
giving her the space she needed while staying close enough that she knew I
was here if she needed me. It felt impossible not to be drawn to her. I still
wasn’t sure this wasn’t a giant hallucination and she was nothing but a
dream.
Time had only confirmed what I’d already known was happening for
months, but had refused to acknowledge. I was in love with Olive Davis.
Everything about her was irresistible, intoxicating. The way she thought
about things had me hanging on every single word she spoke, her smile
made my day. I longed to touch her, to wrap her up in my arms and keep her
safe and warm.
I needed her to breathe. Slowly she’d become integral to my life, and a
month away from her had been nothing but torture. I couldn’t live like that
anymore. I wanted her, and I was willing to wait, willing to follow her,
ready to do whatever she needed me to do to get her back.
Finally, she looked my way, and with a nod of her head, I headed over,
anxiety over my realization brimming over. As soon as I was next to her, I
wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into my body. She leaned in, an arm
snaking around my back, her head resting on my chest as she kept her eyes
on the grave as if she was not quite done seeing it yet.
“I think I’m ready to go,” she said, letting out a deep breath.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said, her hand slipping down from my back, meeting my hand
again as her fingers interlaced with mine. “I want to go.”
We walked away quietly, taking the same route to head back to our cars.
The silence wasn’t awkward, mostly peaceful, as she stayed quiet, deep in
thought. We were halfway back when she finally looked at me.
“You know what’s weird? Dad gets a lot out of that. He goes and he talks
to her. He said he feels most connected with her here,” she said
thoughtfully.
I looked down at her strangely, eyebrows pressed together. “And that’s
weird because?”
“Because... for me back there, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less connected
to her.” Her words didn’t sound sad, but somehow resolved. Like a burden
had been lifted and in the end, she’d realized the thing that she’d been
putting off hadn’t held any of the power she’d feared it would.
“Do you get moments where you do?” I asked, more out of curiosity than
anything. She was opening up, and it felt like a blessing, felt like true trust
rather than me having to whittle the truth from her. She was talking openly
and honestly and I wanted to be there to hear it all.
“Not really,” she said. “I thought I would when I went back to teaching,
but I felt inadequate–like she would know better. And that day when you
found me at her piano, that was the first time I’d played in years and...
nothing.”
I remembered the melody, sad and full of melancholy. She’d been
desperate in those final weeks at school, desperate to live up to her mom’s
shadow to prove she wasn’t struggling, that she could handle all of it–when
really it was the opposite.
“Maybe it will come,” I suggested. “You’re still finding your way with
this, but maybe, eventually, you’ll have a piece of her again.” I wasn’t sure
what that would look like for her, what could bring her that peace she was
searching for. I badly wanted to figure it out for her, to give her that
moment. But like the gravestone, this was something she had to do for
herself. Maybe, just maybe, she’d let me stand on the sidelines and be there
for her instead.
“Maybe,” Olive shrugged. “Maybe she’s just... gone.”
I looked down at her, finding her green eyes on mine. If I remembered
correctly from the pictures I’d seen in her living room, they were her
mother’s green eyes.
“I don’t think so. Do you?” I asked, realizing the heavy question I’d
posed after I’d said the words. She squinted for a moment, taking some time
to think before answering.
“No, not really,” she said, her words settling between us, and the subject
was dropped.
I hoped she found what she was looking for, hoped she found that
connection again. But if she didn’t, I wanted to be there. I wanted to help
see her through those hard moments where it got too much. I’d be there for
her, even if it meant from a distance.
“She would have loved you,” Olive said out of nowhere, her gaze settling
ahead on the graveyard gates we were nearing.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”
“Well no. But I think she would’ve learned to.” She smiled, brighter than
before.
I chuckled, hand squeezing hers tightly, the rough skin of my palm
moving against hers. I was still so scared she was going to disappear again,
that she’d pull back and I’d be left with only the memory of her. But I took
a leap into the darkness, knowing that sometimes, you had to be brave.
“Like you did?”
“Hmm,” she said playfully, smiling that bright smile I found myself
falling headfirst in love with. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
 She looked up at me for a moment, every bit of her irresistible to me, and
leaned her head over to rest against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around
her shoulders to pull her closer into me.
I wanted so badly to ask what this had all meant, her calling me up
suddenly at night to come with her here. I needed to know that this meant
the same to her, that she felt the same way. But I couldn’t help but still think
that I’d blown my shot with her entirely. There was so much between us
now, and she was healing. God, it made me so relieved to see her doing
better. Even coming here, talking openly about how she was feeling–what if
I ruined that all? I couldn’t hurt her anymore. She didn’t deserve that.
I took a moment to remember this, remember the smell of her hair, the
feel of it against my skin. I committed to memory the warmth of her body,
and how she looked so cute all wrapped up in my jacket that it made my
heart squeeze tightly. She looked so beautiful, and every single thing about
her was perfect. Even when she had been infuriating and stubborn, I’d still
fallen for her because she was that intoxicating.
She was gentle and kind and creative and gave so much to things that
shouldn’t be her responsibility, she burnt out, forgetting her own needs for
others. Even when she’d hated me, I knew she’d do the same for me. If it
was for the kids, she would’ve second guessed it, diving in head first and
finding the solution.
With every step, the parking lot grew closer, and it felt like a step closer
to returning to the pitiful existence that had been my life this past month
and the years before I had gotten this close to her.
But if that’s what it took for her to be happy, I had to endure it.
As we walked through the gates, she pulled away, unwrapping her body
from mine. Immediately, I wanted her back, and I had to curl my hand into
a fist to stop myself from reaching out.
Finally, we reached our cars, and my heart couldn’t have felt heavier.
“Well,” she said, her voice quiet and small and sounding exactly like I
felt. “I guess I should let you go.”
“I can stay,” I said, the offer instant and desperate. “If you need me to.”
She didn’t say anything, and I suddenly didn’t know what to do with
myself, my footing unsteady. I wanted to beg for forgiveness, beg for five
more minutes with her. I would’ve if i didn’t think it would make
everything worse.
Her head tilted up to me, her green eyes on mine, and the pull that kept
me wanting to be close to her, the reason I found it hard to leave her alone,
was strong. Suddenly moving away wasn’t an option.
Her mouth opened to say something, but her words were interrupted by a
rumbling above. We both looked up and watched as the cloudy night sky
erupted into heavy rain, thick, cold raindrops showering down onto us.
The rain was pelting down in an instant, soaking us through, but when I
looked back at her, I found her looking right back at me. Rain was soaking
into her hair, the droplets running down her perfect face and I still couldn’t
bring myself to move if it meant moving away from her. If it meant
goodbye.
“I don’t want to go.” I said, my voice breaking as I broke every rule with
the words. Every boundary she had set was demolished with five simple
words but I had to say them. If this was my last chance, if this was the last
time I’d ever see her again, she had to know. I was all in for her, for any
chance of a life with her. “I don’t want to wake up another day without you.
I don’t want another hour, another moment, where I can’t touch you. Tell
me to go, Olive. Because if that’s what you want, what you need, I’ll do it..”
 I was desperate for her to answer and put me out of my misery. She’d tell
me that it wasn’t our time, that we’d tried and I’d screwed up my chance
and that was it. It was more than I deserved anyway.
Seconds felt as long as minutes as she gazed up at me, her lips wobbling
as she shook from the cold, her hair sticking to her face. Closing my eyes
and sucking in a deep breath, I waited for the final blow, trying to prepare
for that final chance to fade away.
“I don’t want you to go either,” she said, her quiet voice cutting
impossibly through the thundering rain.
The weight of her words was heavy. In an instant, I pulled her body into
mine, and her full lips crashed into mine. I wrapped my arms tighter and
tighter around the wet jacket she was wearing, like she was a life raft and
letting her go meant drowning.
I lowered my forehead to meet hers. One of her hands ran up to my
soaked hair, running through it while the other went to the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes, trying to process how it felt to touch her again.
She pulled my head down, clearly impatient as my lips easily met her
own, my heart thumping hard. She didn’t seem to know it yet. She was
mine, and I was hers, and I had no intention of ever letting her go, not ever
again.

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirty-Two
Dress - Taylor Swift

OceanofPDF.com
 OLIVE

T he third time I stood in his apartment, it looked a little more like a

lived-in space and less like the clinical lab it had been before. I felt
like I was seeing it for the first time as I stood there in the dim light of the
hallway, peering into the living room, the jacket he let me borrow dripping
water onto the wooden floor.
I scanned over the stacks of books and paperwork that were littered all
over his living room, finding clothes thrown over the couch like he’d been
sorting out laundry and had abandoned it halfway through. The kitchen was
chaos with its uncontrolled stack of unwashed dishes sitting beside the sink.
I almost wanted to grin knowing that even buttoned up Ben Bennett
could get a little messy. But knowing the real reason for the mess stopped
any smile from curling onto my lips. When I’d seen him earlier in the
parking lot, I’d been worried. He never looked tired, but tonight he’d
looked exhausted, and suddenly I wondered how we’d switched places.
Now, I had a pretty good idea of what was wrong.
“Here,” he said, appearing from the bathroom. “Give me the jacket and
I’ll put it in the tub to dry.”
We were both soaked from the rain. I’m not sure how long we’d stood
out there in the storm, my hands tangled in his hair, his arms holding my
body tightly against his. I’d never wanted to let go, but when he’d felt me
shivering, he made it clear we could go back to his and ‘talk’.
I had no intention of talking. Not when he looked so cute with his usually
perfect hair wet and sticking to his forehead.
 I unzipped the large jacket and passed it over, swapping it for the towel
he gave me. The jacket had kept the rain off me for a little bit, but we both
ended up soaked through, my t-shirt clinging to my body, my jeans dark
with the wetness.
“Can I borrow some clothes? I’ll end up with hypothermia if I have to
stay in these,” I said.
“Sure,” he said, his easy tone echoing against the tiles in the bathroom.
“You know where the bedroom is.”
I slipped my shoes and socks off at the door, not wanting to leave wet
footprints on his floor. I managed to avoid any small puddles we’d left,
tiptoeing through to the bedroom, my bare feet meeting the warmer plush
carpet in there.
Slowly, and still shivering slightly in the cold air, I went over to his
dresser, pausing for a moment as I tried to remember which one he had once
found a t- shirt for me to wear. I apprehensively opened a drawer, finding
careful stacks of cotton t-shirts, and a pair of shorts with an adjustable band
so I could tie them around my waist. I pulled the clothes out, throwing them
on the bed, and found Ben standing in the doorway, leaning as always
against the doorframe.
“Do you have some sort of medical condition that makes it physically
impossible for you to stand up straight in a doorway?” I asked, lips pressed
into a firm smile.
His shoulders shook with laughter, and he looked away for a moment,
shaking his head at my smart-ass comment. I let his laughter wash over me,
realizing how much I’d missed the sound.
The time apart had been hard, but necessary. Once I left the school,
things had become easier almost immediately, like I’d finally freed myself
from an anchor that had been pulling me down. Of course, there was still
work left to do. A lot of work, in fact. More therapy, and taking my
medication consistently, and giving myself a thousand reminders that
quitting didn’t make me a failure, until I finally started to believe the words.
But I’d finally done it on my own, avoiding Ben who felt like a safe
haven and forcing myself to deal with everything head-on this time.
It was still hard, but for the first time in months I felt free of the haze, and
knew truly what I needed, who I wanted.
A shiver rippled through me, a stray droplet of water running down my
back from my hair.
“You’re shaking,” Ben said. His t-shirt was soaked around the neck
where his jacket hadn’t covered, his jeans darkened near the bottom. How
long had we been out there that we were this wet? “You need to get out of
these clothes.”
I lifted the clothes I’d picked out to indicate I was planning on doing
exactly that, but stopped when he finally stood up from the doorway,
making his way over to me. The room was dark, his features hidden from
me until he walked into the light shining through the window. Then I saw it,
the lust written all over his face. His eyes were fixed on the wet t-shirt stuck
to my body. He stopped beside me, and all of the air must’ve been removed
from the room because I forgot how to breathe. He reached out his fingers
to the bottom of my shirt, and paused.
“Can I?” He asked, his fingers still at the edge of wet material. He looked
up at me, and something deep inside of me swelled under his gaze.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. Slowly, his fingers curled under the material,
and like I was a carefully wrapped present, he slowly lifted it over my head.
It was impossible not to shiver as the material revealed cold skin but his
body was so close to mine, I could feel the heat coming off him. All I
wanted was to close all the distance between us and press my skin to his.
Despite his insistence I must have been cold, he was slow with the
movement, so careful. Before, I would’ve sworn he was doing it to torture
me, to send me right to the edge of need and keep me hanging for as long as
he could. But this time, it was like he was savoring the moment, slowly
unwrapping me like he wanted to take in every single second.
I’d missed him, missed this connection between us. He was undeniable in
every way, from the way he studied me, to the way my heart pounded when
I caught him. I struggled to remember now what it was like to hate him,
wished so hard we hadn’t wasted so much time with our petty games and
squabbles if it meant I could have more time with him.
If there was one thing I was supposed to take away from this summer,
from my mom, it was that time should not be taken for granted. And as he
lifted the t-shirt over my head, our eyes locked. He lifted a hand to my face,
cupping my cheek and stroking the skin there with my thumb like he was
wiping it clean. A moment there and he had me pressing into the motion,
instantly addicted to how it felt when he touched me, that buzz of
electricity. He ran his thumb across my lips, pressing so carefully, before
resting where my neck met my shoulder, his thumb now on my throat.
“I missed you,” he said, dipping his head low, down to my collarbone
where his lips trailed down. I shivered under the touch, every kiss he
pressed leaving an invisible mark on my skin. My heart was a drum beat of
‘I need you, I missed you, I want you’.
“I missed you too.” My voice was shaky with anticipation. His fingers
trailed down my skin. Every single touch felt considered and intentional,
like I was delicate and he was scared I’d shatter if he went any faster. It was
clear from the start that this time was not like the others. He rubbed his
thumb over my peaked nipple, pleasure sparking at the touch, and I sucked
in a sharp breath at the sensation.
“I wanted to call you every day,” he murmured, his breath hot against the
sensitive skin and he continued to leave a line of soft kisses across my
collarbone, down the side of my neck. All the while, he was still caressing
my nipple, overloading my brain with lightning bolt sensations.
His other hand went to my jaw, gently pressing so I looked up at him, my
eyes meeting his. It was like we were both still cut open and raw from the
separation, still wounded–but this was us healing, finding the fractured
pieces and putting them back together. Not the way they were before, but a
new, more brilliant pattern instead. I saw the colors of us: deep purples and
blues and flashes of red so scarlet it was maroon.
He paused, his gaze turning soft and I sensed his apprehension before he
said, “I need to know how things are going to be.”
“What do you mean?” My brows furrowed, gaze flickering between his
eyes and those soft lips I yearned to taste again.
“I mean...” he trailed off, his throat bobbing like even trying to string the
words together was painful for him. He pressed his eyes shut like he was
preparing for the worst.
“Will you still be mine tomorrow?”
I inhaled a sharp breath at the question. Last time we’d gotten this close,
I’d run. I’d been so terrified to open myself up, for him to see how much
pain I was in. It had been too much and I’d pushed him away
Our relationship had been a distraction that had gone too far. Something
that was supposed to be one night, turned into two nights, before turning
just plain messy and we’d both ended up hurt. Now it was clear how much
he’d been hurting these last few weeks without me while he waited for me
to heal.
My heart thumped uncontrollably as I took a deep breath, summoning up
the same courage it had taken to finally press the call button.
I pushed to my toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and careful.
Instantly, he melted against me, his hands pressing into my skin, holding me
close. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, and he wrapped arms
around my bare skin.
“I will be. Will you still be mine?”
I felt the smile break out on his face, felt the relief in his body as he
pulled back from me to force my head up from his neck. He kissed me
again, this time the softness was gone, leaving only pure need for me.
“I was always yours, Olive,” he murmured against me, but the words
were completely redundant. He didn’t need to tell me anymore, he could
show me instead.
The calmness broke into a frenzy. Our lips moved roughly against each
other. I was pulling his hair, pulling at his top, and his hands were on my
neck, squeezing my breast, feeling every inch of me before finally undoing
my jeans. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to touch every inch of his
skin, taste every bit of him. And apparently, he had the same thought.
He dropped to his knees, a hand around my thigh to pull me closer to
him, and dipped between my legs to taste me. My spine lost all its integrity
as my legs struggled to hold up my weight, the impulse to rock against his
mouth overwhelming. He moaned against me, and the vibration shot
straight through me, my eyes rolling back.
I was lost to him, to his touch and the pleasure he gave me.
 I twisted my hand in his hair, fingers tangled in the strand as I pressed
him closer, wanting everything that he gave me.
“I fucking love how you taste,” he said, pulling back for a breath. I took
the opportunity to move to the bed, and this time, he sat on the edge and I
climbed on top, straddling him. I needed him inside, needed to feel his
pleasure as well as mine.
He was mine, and I was his and I wanted us to both know it.
I savored the moment, committed to remember how he looked at me like
I was everything to him. I wanted to remember how he made me feel, and
how every bit of contact between us felt intoxicating. I wanted this to last
forever.
Finally, I lowered myself onto him, working his length inside me. He
pressed his hand against my lower back, pushing me further as I rocked him
inside, working every inch in slowly. My body shook from the pleasure and
pressure of him, my head against his shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there.
His other hand gripped my thigh, fingertips pressed so hard into the skin
that I was sure I’d be left with bruises. But I wanted it. I wanted all of him.
There was no more holding back as I rocked on him, our shared moans
only silenced by kisses or the pressing of lips against skin. We built
together, no longer scared of jumping off the edge anymore. Instead, we fell
together into whatever we were going to be. Where we were going to land
was unknown, but I knew it was going to be with him by my side, holding
my hand tightly.
And that’s all I needed.
We reached the peak, crashing into the pleasure together, and I couldn’t
imagine being anywhere else in the world, wouldn’t want to be with
anybody else. The heart that no longer belonged to me beat hard in my
chest, every feeling I had towards him elevated to impossible heights.
He looked up at me, his hand rising to move some of my hair back
behind my ear, and he grinned, his signature smirk curling onto his lips.
“Ready for round two, Sunshine?”
I returned the smile, an eyebrow raised as I smothered a giggle. “Were
you always so eager?”
“For you? Always.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Thirty-Three
Invisible String - Taylor Swift

OceanofPDF.com
 OLIVE

TWO YEARS LATER

B en’s driving had not improved in the two years we’d been dating,
despite what he claimed. How that man hadn’t caused several
accidents in his lifetime I will never understand. He’d always insisted it was
a sign that his driving was never as bad as I made it out to be, but the two
hours with my hand clutched onto the Jesus handle of the passenger door
begged to differ.
Why had I agreed to let him drive the majority of the journey again?
“You okay over there?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road to glance at
me. My heart didn’t restart until he looked back at the road, indicating left
up an all too familiar street. At least he’d started using his turn signals–well,
most of the time.
“Totally fine, just watch that—” the bouncing of the car hitting a pothole
finished my sentence for me as my old house came into view, looking every
bit as cozy as I remembered it. A soft blanket of snow covered the front
lawn and rooftop, and with the dim light shining out of the living room, I
could already feel the comfort of the late afternoon beginning to burn.
We’d moved away six months ago after I’d graduated from culinary
school. The early mornings and late nights spent grueling over burning
stoves, sticky batter, and crying over failed croissants had all been worth
that moment when I finally got my diploma. I was still trying to figure out
where exactly I was going to land. I’d been doing a mix of private cooking
and pulling odd shifts at restaurants since I’d graduated, and I loved the
freedom of it all.
And it had all been down to Dad. One Friday night when I was still at
home, he’d convinced me to come to work with him. I’d ended up cooking
most of our meals at home by that point, my knife skills now apparently up
to scratch.
From that first shift, I was addicted. The rush of the kitchen, the absolute
speed and skill necessary for the job–but also the creativity, the passion. I
ended up spending a few months working there until I’d decided to apply to
culinary school.
God, Dad had been so proud. He was so happy I was following in his
footsteps, but I think more that I wasn’t such a liability in the kitchen
anymore.
Ben couldn’t have been more supportive. He spent nights helping me
prep for classes, running across town to pick up odd ingredients I had
forgotten to grab, and allowing me to use him as a guinea pig for new
recipes.
When we’d left town, set up somewhere new, it was a decision between
the two of us. He wasn’t from here anyway, and I felt ready to move
somewhere new. Our place was small, but it was ours.
Ben pulled the car in behind Dad’s and came to a safe halt. We had made
it alive.
“Now are you sure we brought enough pie?” Ben asked as he put the car
in park, turning to look over his shoulder at the stack of pie boxes sitting in
the backseat, a seat belt wrapped around them in the name of safety.
“We have four pies, that has to be enough,” I tsked, holding back the
smile that was threatening to break out on my lips. Dad and Ben got along,
but that didn’t mean the old man didn’t make him work for it. All those
years of complaining about him hadn’t eased from Dad’s memory very
easily, and he had been determined to make sure Ben worked for his
forgiveness for torturing his daughter for so long. He’d always find some
very small, meaningless way to criticize him–like not taking enough pie to
Thanksgiving dinner or being too stingy with his topping on pizza, or the
biggest sin of all, ordering food from the wrong place.
Ben knew what the game was and never once complained. Although he
had once argued back that he had in fact used enough pepperoni, which had
resulted in a scowl so harrowing you would’ve thought the world had come
to an end. He knew it was all in jest, and I think he enjoyed trying to match
my dad’s expectations.
“I still think we should’ve picked up a pecan,” he replied, those hazel
eyes every bit as magnetic and gorgeous as they always had been.
“Nobody likes pecan, Ben.”
“I like pecan.” He pursed his lips, scowling.
I shook my head. “No, you think you like pecan, but nobody ever eats it.”
“That’s not because nobody likes it, that’s because you have four pies at a
Thanksgiving dinner for three people.”
“Well, this year Hanna and Rob are coming, so it’s four pies for five.”
He brought his hands up to his face and groaned. “Oh God, that means
we definitely didn’t bring enough pie.” He parted his fingers so he could
look at me between them. “Is it too late to run to the store?”
I failed to stifle a laugh. “Yes, it’s too late.” I wanted to tell him how
adorable he was, that even after all this time, he could still make me laugh
and smile and how I would never take that joy for granted. But instead, I
just rolled my eyes at his dramatics and said, “It’s too cold, can we please
go inside now?”
“Sure, just one more thing,” he said, lowering his hands.
“What?”
“I love you,” he said, beaming wildly. The words came so easily, but they
always had my heart squeezing that little bit tighter in my chest.
I couldn’t help but smile. “I love you too, you crazy pie man.”
“Hey–say that again when he bites my head off for only bringing four
pies.”
“We can tell him it was my job this year,” I suggested.
He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “It will still be my fault.”
“Probably,” I shrugged. “But I’m sure you’ll survive.”
We climbed out the car. I grabbed our overnight bags and Ben grabbed
the four pies (apple, chocolate, pumpkin and, although I’d argued it was an
odd choice for November, a peach cobbler) and we made our way inside the
house.
The familiar and irresistible smell of my father’s decadent cooking filled
the air, and I yelled out to let him know we’d arrived. Immediately,
Meatball ran up to me, greeting us with her usual yaps. The scampering of
four extra paws followed as my dad’s newest dog, a dachshund who’d been
found collarless beside a road and lovingly renamed Linguine, followed.
He’d surprised us all by adopting another rescue shortly after I left,
claiming that Meatball had looked a little lonely without me around.
Between the two, I couldn’t tell you who was the more spoiled dog, with
Linguine copying Meatball’s demanding ways.
With a gleeful cry, Dad emerged from the kitchen, immediately pulling
me close to him.
 “It’s so good to have you home kiddo,” he said warmly.
I closed my eyes and pulled him in for a hug, my heart swelling as I
realized how much I’d missed seeing him so regularly. It had been easy
when I had been still coming home every few weeks for dinner and to see
him, but I’d only seen him a few times since the summer, and found myself
missing both his cooking and his company. We spoke every few days, but
there was something different about being around somebody that phone
calls could never replace.
He still worked at the restaurant and had even taken up a few more shifts
during the week to keep himself busy. I tried to tell him to take it easy–he
was supposed to be retired after all–but he’d just waved me off and told me
not to worry so much. I knew he loved the work; he wouldn’t do it
otherwise.
He finally let me go, and turned to Ben, a familiar narrowing of his eyes
causing a smile to creep onto my face.
“Ben,” he greeted, voice low and void of inflection.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Joe, it’s good to see you!” Ben said cheerily,
ignoring the look from my father. I knew Dad would cut it out after the
football went on and they’d had a few beers, but for now they played the
game.
“Are these my pies?” Dad asked and Ben nodded. “Four this year? Don’t
you think that’s too many? Don’t you know anything about food waste?”
“Oh, I’m sure Olive will manage one entirely on her own.” Ben looked at
me, smiling. My undying love for pumpkin was well noted between us.
Dad just grumbled, probably agreeing with Ben but not letting him think
about it for a single moment, and carried the boxes away into the kitchen.
“Just make yourself at home, you know where to go,” he shouted.
 I took Ben’s hand, issuing him a reassuring squeeze as he looked down at
me as if to say “you don’t get this from my parents”. And he was right.
They had adored me from the second they’d met me. Despite Ben’s
warnings that they were all strictly people of science, they didn’t seem to
mind having an art major turned professional chef join the family.
In the background, I heard Dad shout something about the peach cobbler,
so I led Ben up the stairs and up to my old room, sensing that he might
already be in need of a break from the grumpy man act.
Dad had updated the room after I left, joking that he didn’t want to give
me an excuse to move back, but had instead made it more comfortable for
when I visited. He’d removed the posters from the walls, painted over the
old dusty pink with a soft sage green, and replaced the small bed with a
double, making it easier for me to bring Ben with me. There were still signs
that this was my room, however. My old dresser was still there, and though
I’d left it empty, I knew Dad had filled it up with some of Mom’s old
clothes when he’d finally felt ready to move them from his room, but not
quite ready to get rid of them. Some of the old art I’d left had been hung up
too, something I’d argued against, but he insisted he’d loved.
I dropped our bags beside the dresser, and watched Ben flop onto the bed,
his brown hair falling out of place with the motion.
“What time do Rob and Hanna get here?” he asked.
It had become something of a tradition to have them over at
Thanksgiving. Hanna had given birth just before last year’s celebration, and
the baby had turned their lives upside down. I’d invited them over, and they
seemed grateful for the adult contact after a few weeks with a newborn.
“They should be here soon, but with Cleo they’ll probably be late.” I
said.
 I was excited to see my goddaughter again. She’d started walking last
week and had been causing all sorts of chaos since. They’d turned into
devoted parents, Cleo being the absolute center of their worlds. It warmed
my heart to see them so happy as parents.
I walked over to the bed, and laid down next to him, his eyes flickering
open to study me, those hazel eyes on me. Instantly, his arm was on my
waist pulling me close to his warm body. “Happy to be home?”
I nodded my reply and resting my head on his chest. “I miss it
sometimes”
“I know,” he said, his breath warm on my skin.
“But I love our home too,” I said, looking up at him and watching a smile
grow on his lips.
When he’d gotten his new job, we’d decided to find a place together. It
was a small one-bedroom apartment close to his new school, with a big
enough kitchen for me to be able to work easily. It instantly felt like home,
somewhere we both belonged together, his physics textbooks and my art
history and cookbooks mixed together on the bookshelves.
He leaned down and kissed me gently, those familiar soft lips never taken
for granted.
“How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?” he asked, and I stared
back up at him, knowing I was just as lucky, just as happy, to finally have
him.
“Probably some sort of miracle,” I smirked. He playfully nudged me in
response, lips finding mine again and pressing softly. His arms wrapped
around my waist, pulling me into his body, and I knew he was planning on
never letting me go.
 Our lives were tangled together permanently now, tied together with that
invisible string that had always kept us coming back to each other.

OceanofPDF.com
 Acknowledgement

T hank you reader; for reading these words I have written and
(hopefully) finding some enjoyment in them.
To my beta readers: Leila, Annie, Antonia, Alicia, Ema, Jessica, Brandy,
Courtney and Nellie. Thank you for your time, brains and for filling out my
nearly endless questionnaire.
To Cary, for her endless support on everything Invisible String and
completely unhinged document notes on Ben. I will treasure them forever.
And Katie, for her work on the beautiful bookmark and all her thoughts
and support with the book. I was lucky to meet you.
To my editors, Amy (IG: @Amyedits_) and Bethany
(@Bemerryeeditorial). This book would be trash and unreadable without
you both. There are not enough words for me to be able to thank you
properly for your hard work.
To Sam, for bringing Olive & Ben to life with this beautiful cover (and
for putting up with me during the process).
 To every single person on bookstagram who has supported me, chuckled
at one of my memes, or been excited for this book. I love you all.
To my friends, Sophie and Vicky, and sister, Kirsty, for putting up with
me going on and on about my book and characters and allowing me to pick
your brain with ideas.
To Mum, for describing this book as 'like 50 shades' to our family
members and friends despite it not being at all 'like 50 shades'. I'd apologize
for writing a smutty book but let's admit it, it's kind of badass.
To Dad and Matt, for not reading this book at all (hopefully).
To Sally Throne, for writing The Hating Game and helping me find my
way back to reading.
And Euan. My workplace / friends to lovers romance trope brought to
life. This book wouldn't exist without your love.

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 Dicktionary

F or whatever purposes it may serve to the dear reader, this author

wishes to inform you that smut can be found on the following
chapters:
Chapter Eight

Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two
Happy reading

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M eg Jones lives in Aberdeen, Scotland with her two cats, Pepper and
Panda. She spends her free time writing smutty books, reading
smutty book, and fending off the local giant seagulls. Meg can best be
found spending far too much time on Instagram at @megjoneswrites.

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