“Why didn’t you tell your mom you were already dating someone?” I snapped.
“What do you want me to say, Cadence?” Mark asked. “You want me to tell my mom I’m dating one of my students who isn’t even a legal adult yet?”
I gasped. “You’re ashamed of me!”
“Cadence, I’m not ashamed of you. I’m practical. You knew from the beginning that we had to keep this a secret. At least until we’re finished with school.”
The rational side of my brain knew he was right, but the emotional side was hurt. And angry.
“You looked at her breasts!” I yelled.
“What?”
“I watched you look at her breasts after you made her laugh!”
“Are you for real right now?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, I’m ‘for real’ right now,” I spat. “And don’t try to deny it.”
“I won’t.”
I gasped again.
“I’m a 28-year-old man. I look at breasts. It’s biological. Sorry if that makes you mad.”
I wanted to come through the phone and strangle him.
“I’m not letting you touch mine anymore,” I hissed.
Mark snorted. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Actually, no. I’m not,” I snapped.
“Cadence? I think maybe we should talk later when you’ve calmed down.”
He might as well have said, “Let’s talk later when you’re not being an irrational, emotional female.” My anger escalated to fury.
“I am calmed down. I’m just fine, thank you very much. I was merely letting you know that you can forget about touching me intimately from now on because you don’t respect me enough to keep your eyes off other women,” I said.
Mark sighed. “All right, Cadence.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I was expecting him to argue with me, to beg me to allow him to touch me. I’m seventeen. I wanted groveling, damnit!
“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this anymore!” I screamed. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together!”
I held my breath, waiting for his response.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied, then hung up.
***
I doodled in my notebook while Mr. Connelly explained something about limits. I never looked at him once, and while I feared class time would be tricky and awkward, I discovered it was surprisingly boring. I didn’t expect him to beg for forgiveness in front of the entire class, and he didn’t expect me to make a scene. We were both wise. I felt very mature in that moment, having gained a massive amount of perspective the previous night. I had called Avery to ask her a few questions.
“Does Gavin look at other girls?” I asked.
“All the time. Why?” Avery replied.
“Doesn’t it make you jealous?” I asked.
“No.”
“That’s impossible, Avery. Not even a little?” I asked.
“Cadence, men look at other women. Their brains are designed that way. That’s how God made them. And there’s nothing wrong with it as long as they’re being faithful,” she said.
“Well, how do you know Gavin is faithful to you?” I asked.
“Because he’s a terrible liar. I would know in a second if he weren’t,” Avery replied. She paused for a moment. “Is Mystery Man taking a look at the menu?”
I grunted. “Just one item.”
“So why do you care? Does he want to be with that one item or with you?”
“I think with me,” I replied.
“Okay then. Stop being so insecure. He’s only doing what comes naturally.”
I shrugged. “I think that’s a lousy excuse.”
Avery huffed. “No. What’s lousy is berating men all the time for looking at women. Who gives a shit? If he loves you, he loves you. Case closed.”
I grunted. We had yet to exchange “I love you’s.”
“Does Mystery Man make you feel special?”
“Yes.”
“Does he make you feel beautiful and wanted?”
“Yes.”
“Then get over yourself. He’s probably already in love with you, and you’re worried about some woman who doesn’t even matter.”
“How are you so wise at eighteen?” I asked. I meant to be a little teasing, but she answered seriously.
“I read a lot of Cosmo and erotica,” Avery replied. “And the Bible. I read that, too.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” I said.
“I’m not,” Avery huffed. “I do read the Bible, you little cunt. I just finished Galatians last night.”
I grinned, thinking about Avery using the words “Bible” and “cunt” in the same sentence when I was jolted back to the present by Mr. Connelly’s voice.
“Hmm?” I asked.
“I said that I’d like you to come to the board and work this problem,” Mr. Connelly replied.
I tensed immediately. He couldn’t be serious. He’d never before told a student to come to the white board. He always asked, never wanting to put a student on the spot. He thought it was a terrible practice. That’s what he told me. That’s what he told everybody in this room. I remembered. It was during the first week of school.
I shook my head.
“I didn’t ask, Cadence. And you need some practice anyway,” Mr. Connelly said.
Why was he doing this? Was he really so mad about our conversation yesterday? I’d gained perspective, and I was going to tell him that, but he didn’t give me the chance.
“I don’t understand it,” I said, gripping the sides of my desk.
“I’ll walk you through it,” Mr. Connelly replied. He handed me his dry erase marker. “Come on.”
I slid out of my seat and walked to the board because that’s what you do. When a teacher tells you to do something, you do it. You don’t complain. You don’t argue. I already did that once and was yelled at because of it.
“Everyone, pay attention to Cadence, please,” Mr. Connelly said. He glanced at me briefly, and I know he could see the panic written all over my face. “All eyes on her.”
I stared ahead at the board. I had no idea what I was looking at. A bunch of numbers and lines and weird symbols that I was supposed to know. And letters. The dry erase marker was slick in my hand, and I thought it would slip out if I tried to write. I looked at Mr. Connelly expectantly.