School Ties (20 page)

It's probably dumb, but I've already started thinking about slipping a ring on her finger. Making her mine. And not because I've gotten her knocked up. No. I will be fantastically and epically careful about that. Because I love her and she fills in the pieces of me that are missing.

Where I'm sober, she's giddy, where I'm hard, she's soft, where I'm rigid, she's flexible. Not that she's some shrinking violet. I love her spine of steel she dredges up when she needs it, but I'd like to give her something solid to lean against so she doesn't need it so often. Let her be tractable, pliant, docile—how I think she'd like to be. How I like her.

Tonight's the school dance and we're both chaperoning. I'd traded duties with Skip Connelly, who was too glad to take a vanload of kids to the movies instead. I'm not thrilled about standing in the dining hall decked out with the casino-night theme and having to separate couples who are getting too caught up in each other. I didn't like it when I was sixteen and I like it less now. But if that's where Erin is, then that's where I'll be.

I wrap a Hawthorn-crested tie around my neck, wishing it were Erin's head, that I was blindfolding her. She'd bite her plump bottom lip in uncertainty before taking a deep breath and letting go because she trusts me to take care of her, to show her things she's never known about and to keep her safe.
I will, Erin, I promise.

I pull on my blazer and my peacoat over it, fishing my cell out of my pocket to call Caleb as I head outside.

Erin

I'm slicking on lip gloss when there's a knock at my door. I almost get the shimmering pink gel on my cheek because my mouth kicks up in a delighted grin. He hadn't said, but I should have known.

When I swing the door open, he's there. The lily he's holding is a soft peach, a pretty complement to the vase of white, pink, and pastel yellow ones he's given me every day this week. One was waiting on my desk Monday morning, I'd found another one in the ladies' room at Turner during Tuesday's study hours (I'd giggled, thinking of Shep sneaking in there), another one when he walked me home on Wednesday. I've gotten one every day for the past two weeks and my apartment is filled with the sweet smell of them.

Lilies.

How did he—?

But Shep pays attention. He has an eye for detail, as has become crystal clear over these past two weeks. Despite avoiding me like the plague, he has my schedule down to the minute. On the two nights he's taken me out, he brought me once to a rundown bowling alley where he ordered me a Cherry Coke and clapped for me even when I got endless gutter balls, and the other time to the aquarium in Boston.

They stay open late one night a month and we got lucky it was our night off. He'd let me drag him around to all the exhibits, stood by indulgently as I pressed my nose to the glass of the jellyfish tanks, laughed and shook his head as I squealed about how weird sharkskin felt when I dipped my hand into the touch pool and one swam right under my widespread fingers.

Tonight when he's given me a soft, chaste kiss over the threshold to my apartment and I've put the pretty flower to join its siblings, he holds out an arm.

“Shall we?”

I nod, flushing. We shall.

We clomp down the stairs, both wearing boots because the campus is covered with snow. Though I'd like to be sexy, I thought he'd prefer me to be practical. At least my knee-high boots have fur on them so I don't feel too dowdy. When we arrive, Shep takes my coat and spirits it away somewhere safe, away from the piles of down and wool accumulating near the entrances as the kids arrive.

Tonight is the major dance of the season and we're hosting half a dozen other schools. The place is crowded and hot, and the slinky dresses some of the girls have donned—ostensibly to go with the theme of the evening—don't look as silly inside as they will when they're shivering their butts off on the way back to their respective campuses on the buses the drivers won't have warmed up.

The evening passes uneventfully, no fights this year, thank goodness. None of the kids seem drunk, and there are an average number of couples who need to be separated because they're practically having sex on the dance floor.

As I tap one particularly amorous young woman on the shoulder, empathy wells in me along with embarrassment. I hate this part of my job.
I get it, guys, I do, but this is not the time or the place. And if I can't get laid tonight, neither can you.

I turn back to where I left Shep overseeing the punch bowl and see a somehow familiar sylphlike form standing between him and me. The clingy black dress is too sophisticated to scream student and the dark hair is twisted up just so. A sudden tightness in my throat descends, gathering strength while it makes its way into the pit of my stomach. As I approach, the head perched on the slim neck turns and I'm greeted by the severe profile of Lana Davis.

I'd never blamed Lana for what happened as much as I blamed Will. He was married, she wasn't. I'm not a big rah-rah-sisterhood kind of girl. Women have been as untrustworthy and back-stabby as men have been in my experience and I was glad when she moved across the country. Apparently she's back. Shep laughs at something she's said and I stop in my tracks. Not again. Not Shep.

I try to silence the harpy voices in my head, telling me I shouldn't be surprised.
Of course this is what I get for thinking I could have a happily ever after and with someone like Shep. He's so far out of my league it's not even funny.
But I force myself forward because Shep isn't Will. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't.

Would he?

Shep smiles when he sees me, and the screaming dies down to a tolerable level. If he were Will, his face would've fallen to be replaced by a grin that used to heat my insides but eventually made me wonder what the hell he'd done this time. I step behind the refreshment table and plaster a polite smile on my face while Lana finishes her anecdote, barely glancing at me.

When she's finished, she flashes a smile that makes me as suspicious as Will's. “Erin! It's been so long. I didn't realize you were still here. It's good to see you. You look . . . nice.”

I'm wearing my purple dress I love, but her unenthusiastic compliment makes me feel plain. I can't compete with her brand of supermodel sophistication.

“Hi, Lana. I thought you were still in California.”

“I was, but the good weather, the happy people—” She gives an exaggerated shiver. “They weren't for me. Frosty New Englander at heart, I'm afraid. I jumped at the chance when they needed a mid-year replacement at Streeter. And Zach tells me he's teaching on the Hill.”

She's turned her gaze back to Shep and he looks away. She called him Zach. No one calls him Zach. Not here anyway, no one but me. It's supposed to be our secret code. Did he ask her to? I'd say no, because he's shoved his hands in his pockets and looks distinctly uncomfortable, but maybe because I'm here?

“I guess we'll be seeing you at these things, then.” Streeter's a girls' school, so we don't compete against them, and the less I see of Lana Davis the better. At my “we,” Lana cocks an eyebrow in my direction. Shep reaches out a hand, linking his pinky with mine. Lana's eyes alight on our joined fingers and her eyebrow edges higher—as does my heart, back into my chest. With such a small motion he's declared us. I squeeze, reveling in the pressure of his response.
We.

Shep

Lana stays for a few more minutes, but her eyes keep darting to where my finger's still looped with Erin's.
Look all you like, Miss Davis. You're no Jedi, and when Erin said “we,” she meant it.
Lana doesn't approach either of us for the rest of the evening except to throw a wave while she's herding the girls out the door. But whenever I'd look up, she'd be looking at me.

I'm no stranger to being looked at. Girls at school and women at the club had made no secret of thinking I was attractive. Some of the girls had been so aggressive it made me uncomfortable. But at the club there were rules they wouldn't dare break—not if they wanted to keep coming, anyway—and that felt safer. Anytime someone's feelings had moved beyond a crush, a preference to play with me, and a reminder I was just doing my job hadn't worked, I knew Mordecai would be there.

The way Lana looks at me is different. I don't like it and there's no Mordecai or club rules standing in her way. Not to mention how her being here makes Erin feel. Erin's a friendly girl but her look of panic when she saw Miss Davis talking to me makes me wonder if there's a story there. I walk Erin back to her apartment after the dance is over but don't come up because there's a flood of guys around us, heading back to their rooms.

At the door in front of Sullivan, I take her hand. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

She nods, looking distracted, worried, so I squeeze to get her attention. “Erin. What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Her tight smile and too-chipper voice are pretty good indications she's lying through her teeth. I give her hand a gentle shake. “Tell me the truth.”

“Fidelity was . . . not Will's strong suit. He and Lana . . .”

Add being a cheating dickwad to the myriad reasons Will Chase is tied for first place on my personal shit list. The humiliation contorting Erin's face makes me sorry I didn't take her hint to drop it. I should've brought it up later, when we were alone.

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry I asked you here. But don't worry about Lana, okay? She's not my type and even if she were, I'm not Will. I would never do that to you, I promise.”

She offers a wan smile. I wish I could take her in my lap and hold her until her insecurities drain away. Fucking dorms. There are a few stray guys hurrying across campus to make curfew but none nearby so I take a chance and lean down, brushing my lips by her ear. “I promise.”

Her smile in response is more vivid, but not as bright as I like to see. Tomorrow. I'll fix it tomorrow. Before I can, though, I have a meeting with Headmaster Wilson.

•   •   •

Early the next morning while most of campus is sleeping off the night before, I rap on the door to the Headmaster's office. His booming voice rumbles through the heavy paneled wood. “Come in, Mr. Shepherd.”

Mr. Shepherd? Have I done something wrong? Adolescent guilt squeezes my stomach but when I open the door, the Headmaster's kicked back in his chair, his big hands folded across his midsection.

“Sorry, Shep. Force of habit. Have a seat. Coffee?”

“No. Thank you, sir.” I'm keyed up enough without caffeine. All I know is that I got an email earlier in the week saying he had some things he wanted to discuss with me. I'd be lying if it hasn't been gnawing at the back of my brain for the past few days.

“I guess we'll dive right in, then. First things first. You're going to get an envelope in your faculty mailbox tomorrow morning offering you a permanent position here. If you're willing, you'll replace John Phelps in the math department and take over his coaching duties, too. It's more responsibility than you've had as a fellow but it would be accompanied by a raise as well. I hope you'll consider it.”

Consider it? Is he joking? “I don't need to consider it, sir. I'm honored and I accept.”

It's probably not the smartest idea to accept a job without reading the fine print, but to be honest I'd stay here if they stopped paying me altogether. As long as I've got a roof over my head, enough to eat, a job I love and Erin, I'm good. I can't wait to tell her. I love it when her face lights up because I've made her happy.

Headmaster Wilson smiles, satisfied. “Excellent. I'll expect your signed contract handed in next week. And before you go enjoy your Sunday, there's one more thing. I've been thinking about your brother.”

“Yes, sir.” I sit up straighter in the hard wooden chair, wondering if this is going to be good news or bad.

“Here's the thing. I'm sure Caleb is a fine young man. You wouldn't risk your reputation or that of the school's by telling me that if the truth were otherwise. However . . .”

Shit. “However” is just a fancy word for “but.”

“However, I can't in good conscience take him for next year. There have been a few knock-down, drag-out fights in Admissions already because we can't take everyone. We've been flooded with applications this year. Up ten percent from last year, which is a wonderful problem to have. For everyone except all the qualified students we have to turn away.”

My jaw tightens, but that's the only outward sign I give of how disappointed I am. I'd hoped this would be the year I could get Caleb out. I don't know how much longer he can take living that life, in that house, without breaking and without becoming something he's not. Angry, bitter, abusive. I'll have to come up with another plan. Maybe go work at another school that's not so competitive? Have him come live with me and send him to Hawthorn public schools? They're way better than Shamokin. At least that would get him out of the house, away from our dad.

My desperate contingency planning is interrupted by more words coming out of Headmaster Wilson's mouth. “There would be one way for us to skirt the rules, however.”

“How?”

“It's a long shot and I'm not sure you'd want to take on the responsibility, but—”

“I would do anything.” Headmaster Wilson doesn't have a complete picture of what my life was like before I came here, and I'm glad. No matter how often I tell myself my circumstances growing up were in no way my responsibility or fault, it's something that nags at me with shame. Coming here was the best thing that ever happened to me. If I have a shot to do the same for Caleb, well, there's a very short list of things I wouldn't do and I'm pretty sure Headmaster Wilson isn't going to ask me to kill someone.