In Waves | ✔️

07 | proposition

"Wait, so they were doing it? Like, fully doing it?"

"Yes, Rachel. They were doing it. Or they were about to, or they already did. I don't know, I've willed my mind to repress it into a blur." I shudder. "A horrible, horrible blur."

We're sitting in our buzzing chemistry class waiting for Mr. Clarke to arrive, and I've just recounted the walking-in-on-Rob incident from last night. Much to Rachel's intrigued horror.

She holds my arm as if she's giving me condolences at a funeral. "God. You poor, sweet summer child. Yesterday's song must have been chaotic."

"To put it lightly."

A few years ago I got into the habit of playing piano to end off the day. It started as tinkering before bed, but soon I realized the pieces were turning into songs. Full songs I improvised as I went. Reflections of my mood, my day, my life.

Since I don't write music, after a while I started to record audio of them, saving them to look back on so they wouldn't be lost. Sort of like a journal I listen to. Between school, Matt, the record store, Mom's talk, and Rob, yesterday's might have been one of my most inconsistent melodies to date.

"But on the bright side, he did feel guilty enough to work my shift on Saturday morning, so I can sleep at your house on Friday."

"Nice!" She gives me a teasing little nudge. "Maybe Matt can sleep over, too."

My eyes roll away from her. "Not funny."

"You know I'm just playing," she says, her voice falling into a hush. "But on a serious note, you realize it could eventually lead to that, right? Matt being your... first."

"No, Rach, I've never considered that at all," I say in caked sarcasm. My stomach is already tying itself into knots thinking that far ahead.

She pats her hands on the desk. "Sorry. Guess we'll put a pin in that until you guys get the first kiss out of the way. Small steps."

I take out my notebook to busy myself while we wait. Matt's not in this class, but if he was I'd be doing everything I could to avoid looking at him in this moment.

I swear there's a collective sigh from the girls when Mr. Clarke walks in. Rachel included. I give her a look of disapproval.

"What? We never have hot teachers, Lia. I'm only human."

I glance around at the girls ogling him. "Yeah. Teacher. He's old."

"Please, he's in his twenties," she whispers, thirsty eyes drinking him in as he sets down his briefcase. "And there's nothing wrong with looking. I'm sure he's just as guilty of that with students."

"Gross. No way."

Her eyes dart to me. "He's a guy. A red-blooded, sex-focused guy, just like the rest of them. The only difference is that he's more mature than a typical horned up teenager like, oh I don't know. Carter."

I turn to the row behind us and look at Carter sitting next to Sean. He meets my eyes and winks. I whip away and watch Mr. Clarke absentmindedly tousling his messy brown locks.

Admittedly, he is the most good-looking teacher I've had. Sun-kissed skin, stylish glasses, thick stubble that frames a strong jaw. And judging by the way his shirt buttons strain, it's clear he's no stranger to the gym.

In fact, it almost looks like he stepped straight out of one of those melodramatic teen drama shows, the ones where the teachers look like they could pass for students themselves. There's no doubt in my mind that all these swooning girls think they're living in that show, willing the universe to throw them into some sort of steamy storyline with him.

"Actually," I whisper to Rachel, "the only difference is that he would be arrested if he said things that guys like Carter say to girls."

"Exactly." She shrugs. "Which is why teachers have to bury those dirty thoughts and save them for later, when they're off the job."

"Ugh, you're ruining him for me. I heard he's actually a really good teacher."

"The total package, then." Her head tilts, gaze gliding down his slacks. "In all areas."

No one can give me second-hand embarrassment quite like Rachel. She giggles when I pinch her arm, breaking her blatant staring before he can catch her.

Mr. Clarke gets into the lesson and guides us in our textbooks, drawing detailed diagrams on the whiteboard as he goes. It doesn't take long to confirm that what I heard is true: he's good.

I think he must be used to the way students act around him. I mean, there's so many batting eyelashes turned his way that he should be caught in a windstorm, but he flies through the storm with ease.

He answers every question thoroughly, makes sure everyone understands, and he's genuinely lighthearted enough to keep this from getting boring. He also lets Rachel take the hall pass to go to the bathroom without a second thought. Some teachers are weird about that. She's barely gone for a minute before her seat is filled.

"Do you have an extra pen I can borrow?" Carter whispers.

"No, sorry."

"Really? Doesn't sound like you."

I bite my tongue, dropping my own pen to get out another one. I give it to him, but he doesn't go back to his seat.

"While I'm here, I wanted to let you know that... I've been thinking."

"I didn't know you were capable of doing that."

He lets out a quiet laugh. "About you. I've been thinking about you."

I stop writing, but I keep my eyes on the board.

"And Matt," he continues, his voice staying low. "The fact that you two are getting closer really warms my heart. I mean, I'm not one to get tied down, but Matt's the type who needs something serious, you know? And every girl he's dated, they've all brought their A-game to make him happy. And that's what you want, right? For him to be happy?"

He scoots closer, and I automatically look at him now. His dark eyes are glinting.

"And I'm sure you know about the girlfriends he's had, but the thing is, I don't ever recall Little Lia having a boyfriend. So, with his level of experience, and your lack of it, I feel like you're going in blind. And I thought... maybe I can help you out."

Carter glances at Mr. Clarke writing on the board, and then slowly, so slowly that I don't register it at first, he slips his hand onto my thigh.

"Maybe I can give you the experience you're in desperate need of."

His fingers slide higher, and I jump up so fast that the piercing scrape of my chair cuts through the air of the classroom. I'm staring at Carter hard, and he's smirking at me, and the weight of everyone's eyes are pressing on my crawling skin.

"Lia? Everything all right?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"I—um—" I look at him and then back to Carter, mind racing.

Mr. Clarke, seeming to detect the energy, lightly tells Carter to go back to his seat before he picks up the lesson again. Sinking down, I feel as if a puppeteer is pulling my strings for me to move.

Rachel skips in and returns the hall pass, plopping down next to me with a smile. "What I miss?"

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