I was there to teach, but I was also there to learn, so I observed Mr. White whenever I could, and hoped, as the term progressed, I could reach out to some other teachers in the building to ask if I could observe their classes as well.
That day, Mr. White was exceptionally distracted. He seemed scatterbrained and ill prepared for the day. I had learned early on it wasn’t unusual for teachers to be running around at the last minute to prepare for class—they weren’t allotted nearly enough time to do the jobs expected of them. So, when he asked me midway through third period to make copies of the test for the next class, I gladly agreed. I owed a lot to Mr. White, and I definitely wasn’t above making copies.
I walked down the quiet hallway of the high school I thought I’d left far behind me. I hadn’t had a terrible high school experience, but once I left town I realized there was so much more outside of my world I had yet to experience. That was part of the reason I liked studying history—in the grand scale of things, very little history had happened here. The real stories were all set somewhere far away, somewhere I’d never been, and I grabbed on to those stories hoping one day I’d care about something deeply enough to fight for it as so many had in the past. There’d always been that little voice in the back of my mind reminding me that Kenzie was that one thing, the one thing I’d go to war for, the only thing I’d fight to the death for.
I turned down another empty hallway; only the sound of my footsteps and the soft murmuring of voices behind doors could be heard. Until McKenzie turned down the same hallway.
She was at the far end, walking toward me. She was looking down, watching her feet, unaware of me for a moment, until her head tilted up and her eyes met mine. Her hair was down, bouncing gently with each step as she reached up and tucked some behind an ear. The shy smile that bloomed on her face was both adorable and sexy.
I was suddenly jealous of every lucky bastard who got to see this image every day; all the eighteen-year-old punks who got to look at her and take their fill. She was stunning and she had no idea.
She walked toward me and it might as well have been in slow motion. The way her hips swayed, the way her eyes dipped as she tucked her hair behind her ear, the slow emersion of her teeth behind her smile—I could have watched it a million times.
The closer she got to me, the pinker her cheeks became. We didn’t say anything to each other, couldn’t risk it, but just as she passed me I reached out my finger to trail it across the back of her hand. I felt more in just that one run of my skin along hers than I had in any of the encounters I’d had with women in the last four years.
I’d never touched anyone the way I touched Kenzie. I touched her with delicate pressure, with intention, to try and give her some measure of how much I cared about her. There were no ulterior motives, no hopes that one touch would lead to many. Most of the time I felt as though if I never touched her again, I could live off the memory of my hands on her, of her lips on mine. That wouldn’t stop me from reaching out to her though, from daring to touch her in an untouchable place, where everything I’d worked so hard for could be stripped away from me.
She didn’t stop, she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t tense at my touch—she took it, claimed it, and continued down the hall. I knew in that moment, although it was probably already a foregone conclusion, that McKenzie Harris had taken a piece of me I’d never get back.
That evening when I arrived home I found my mom asleep on the couch. I was both glad she’d gotten out of bed, but a little worried that she was still sleeping.
“Mom,” I said, gently shaking her shoulder. “Mom,” I repeated softly. Finally, after a few nudges, she started to rouse.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said just after opening her eyes.
“You’re out of bed,” I said as she sat up.
“I woke up and you were gone, so I decided to try and watch some TV. You know, to keep my mind occupied.”
Well, it could have been worse. She could have wandered into Cory’s room. I’d found her there a few times over the last month, sitting on his bed and staring off into space, or clutching his pillow and sobbing. She swore she could still smell him on it. I took her word for it.
“How are you feeling?” A shadow fell over her face.
“It’s hard to be awake.” Her voice was almost as frail as her body.
“I know, Mom,” I whispered. “Can I make you something to eat?”
She gave me a smile that was just a shattered shell of what it used to be. “Sure, sweetie. That sounds good.” She stood at the same time I did, just ten times slower, and started heading back toward her room. “I’m just going to take a shower first.”
“Okay.” I started gathering what I’d need to make her dinner, but when I heard the shower start and the unmistakable sounds of her under the water, I went in her room to change her sheets.
Chapter Thirteen
McKenzie