Good

“I don’t have a record player!” I cried, exasperated. “Why did you buy me that album?”

 

Mr. Connelly sighed and scratched the back of his head. He had no choice, and he knew it. And when you’re not given a choice, it makes acting on what you’ve always wanted to do so much easier. He walked towards me with purpose until he was inches from my face. He hovered over me, and I was afraid to look up at him. So I stared at his chest instead.

 

He bent down and whispered in my ear. “Because I wanted to do something nice for you. You need someone to do something nice for you, for Christ’s sake. You walk around this school like someone killed your dog. You’re the saddest thing I’ve ever seen, Cadence. The loneliest thing I’ve ever seen. And any chance I get to see you smile, I’m gonna take it.”

 

I wanted to scream for not being able to touch him. I was afraid someone would walk through the door.

 

“Do you do nice things for all your students?” I asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Why me?”

 

There was a brief pause.

 

“Because I like you, Cadence. I like you very much.”

 

“But I don’t have a record player,” I replied. It was an absurd response.

 

 Mr. Connelly cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. His touch was so gentle, reminding me of the last time he cleaned my floured hands and face. I thought he could get anyone to do what he wanted with those hands. They were magic.

 

“You don’t have to have a record player for me to like you, Cadence.”

 

I laughed.

 

“But guess what?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I have a record player. And I’m not tutoring tomorrow.”

 

“Again?”

 

“I have another doctor’s appointment,” he replied, and I could hear the smile behind the words.

 

I nodded, my face still trapped in his hands.

 

“I . . . I think you’re the sweetest thing,” Mr. Connelly said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

He nodded and released my face.

 

I watched him turn to the white board and grab the dry erase marker from the tray. I was unsure if I should stay or go to my locker.

 

“Go put your books away,” he said. It came out flat and unemotional.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really. And keep that door open when you leave,” he replied.

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

Mr. Connelly turned around. “Why would you ask me that?”

 

“Because you’re acting harsh right now.” I hugged my waist defensively.

 

“Cadence, I don’t mean to sound harsh. I really don’t. But I’m taking a huge risk here. One really gigantic risk. I don’t think you realize how gigantic. Do you understand?”

 

I nodded. I tried to fight the impulse, but it was useless. And I’d waited so long. I flung my arms around his neck. He leaned over, but I still had to stand on my tiptoes. He wrapped his arms around my waist and stood up, lifting me off the floor. I smelled the aftershave on his jaw and the musk of that tender flesh on his neck. I’d never smelled those things on the boys I dated in the past. But Mr. Connelly wasn’t a boy. He was a man. He smelled like a man. He felt like one, too—his muscled arms holding me captive against his muscled chest.

 

He walked me to an alcove in the room that couldn’t be seen from the classroom door window and buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply.

 

“My God,” he breathed.

 

He gripped me tighter, and I gasped for air.

 

“Will I see you after school tomorrow?” he asked softly into my ear.

 

I shivered and nodded. A faint “yes” escaped my lips.

 

“Good,” he replied, and set me carefully on my feet.

 

I couldn’t process what just happened. Mr. Connelly walked back to the white board and resumed his work. I watched him for a split second before leaving the room. I sprinted to the bathroom and hid in a stall. My entire body shook uncontrollably. My stomach hurt. My armpits were moist. I thought I’d peed in my pants only to realize that it wasn’t pee at all. My panties were wet because of him.

 

***

 

Cadence, you’re a very bad girl.

 

I lay in bed, trying to ignore my conscience. I didn’t think she was right anyway. Why couldn’t I touch myself? At least I wasn’t having sex. And so what that I was fantasizing about my math teacher? That’s all it was: a fantasy.

 

I knew I wouldn’t go to his house tomorrow. I didn’t have the guts. He scared the hell out of me, and I was an utter mess around him. I really couldn’t figure out what the attraction was anyway. Yeah, I thought I was kind of cute, but there were girls in my math class who were drop-dead gorgeous. I didn’t think I was that. I wasn’t a super model. I was your girl next door.

 

Well, maybe he liked the girl-next-door types. Or maybe he sensed my emotional vulnerability, my loneliness. Maybe he thought he could take advantage of that. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew this was all wrong, and I knew I had to confront the possibility that Mr. Connelly was a bad man. A user. An exploiter. So why didn’t I believe any of it? Why did I think he was genuinely nice and kind instead? That he had fallen for me apart from any insidious motive? Was it just my naiveté?

 

You’re seventeen, Cadence. Of course it’s your naiveté.

 

I answered my conscience by plunging my finger inside myself, moaning softly.

 

“I’m a smart girl,” I said out loud, breathing heavily.

 

Sure you are.

 

I continued stroking myself, feeling my growing wetness as I thought about Mr. Connelly’s hands. At the moment they were passing papers to the students in my math class. But then the students disappeared and the rest of the papers along with them. It was just Mr. Connelly, coming at me with purpose. He put his hands on me, picking me up roughly and forcing my legs around his waist. He carried me to his desk and set me down on the edge, pushing himself against my open thighs.

 

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

 

Cadence? Aren’t you supposed to be at youth group right now? It’s Wednesday.

 

“I have time,” I said.