Kiss the Stars (Devon Slaughter Book 1) (14 page)

MY ALARM went off
at 5:37. I pressed snooze twice and didn’t have time to eat, or even make
coffee since I had to be at work an hour early for the senior do-over essays.

I was on my way
out the door before I realized I hadn’t rolled my lucky dice. I hesitated,
thinking: Why not break this ritual too? I was tired of the dice and their
limited outcomes. But my life felt so out of control.

I rolled a six
and got déjà vu.

The extra hour
tacked onto the morning made the day drag. I yearned to make coffee in the
teacher’s lounge but I was afraid of seeing Georgie and Henry. Most of all, I
dreaded facing Scarlet.

I couldn’t shake
the feeling Devon had been the ‘stranger in her bed’. I had wanted the girls to
get wild with their diaries and express their most secret desires. Now, I
wished I’d never given the project.

For lunch, I
bought cheese and crackers from the vending machine in the cafeteria. I stopped
at the soda fountain and filled a large cup with ice and Coke. I sat at my
desk, spreading bright orange cheese with the tiny red stick that came in the
packet. I kept seeing images of Scarlet and Devon and twisted bed sheets and
tangled limbs, skin slick with sweat.

I searched for a
Dramamine tablet in my desk. I didn’t find one. I closed my eyes and tapped my
foot six times.

Scarlet didn’t
arrive with the other girls, which was typical, but I found myself hoping she
wouldn’t show at all. Then I felt bad for wishing such a thing.

She was just a
young girl. There was no reason to think Devon was the guy she’d had raunchy
sex with
all
night. Except, well, there was a reason. Her description
fit Devon right down to his big black boots.

She slouched through
the door at her usual ten past, after the rest of us had made our circle. I
forced myself to smile at her but she avoided my gaze. I introduced the topic
of unreliable narrators and asked the girls to name a few. They brought up
Holden Caulfield and Huck Finn. I asked what they thought of Nelly and Lockwood
as narrators in
Wuthering Heights
.

“Stupid,”
Charity said.

Scarlet finally
met my eyes. “Humbert Humbert,” she said.

“Is he
unreliable?” I said. “Or horribly honest?”

I assigned them
the task of writing a story using an unreliable narrator. We gave back each
other’s diaries and agreed to keep writing. We’d exchange again the next week,
on an every other week basis.

As the girls
were leaving, I called to Scarlet. “Wait a second,” I said.

I packed my valise,
to seem less officious, hoping to make her more comfortable. Or maybe I did it
out of cowardice. “Scarlet, you have a strong writing voice. Evocative and
authentic.” I examined a spot of water damage on my copy of Joan Didion’s
Play
It As It Lays.

She said
nothing.

I had to look up
at her. She was very tall. Her book bag hung at her hip, the strap crossing her
long torso. I almost changed my mind. I heard Dr. Ess say, “Let it go.” But I
had to reach out to her, as her elder, and her teacher.

“Look, I want
you to know, I really enjoyed your diary. I enjoyed the way you wrote it, that
is. I’m a bit concerned though. You said you wrote about love. Only you wrote
about sex. You do realize there’s a difference?”

Her eyes
narrowed. I was confronted with her beauty. Her bones were strong, like her
writing. I imagined a man would not be able to resist her. And I remembered
Zadie had been tall too.

I saw her jaw
tighten but her cheeks turned red. She’s just a girl, I reminded myself.

“You told us we
wouldn’t get in trouble,” her tone was low and biting.

“Oh,
no
,
Scarlet. You’re not in trouble. I just—I’m your teacher. And I care. Scarlet,
you wrote about having sex with a stranger, a grown man. You’re a minor.”

“How do you know
he’s a grown man?”

“Well, I—I got that
impression. Are you saying he wasn’t? Was he your age?” my heart pounded too
fast.

“Miss Rain, I’m
eighteen. Fully legal.
And
—” she ran her violet eyes down the length of
me, making me feel miniscule, and plebian. “I doubt I’m much younger than you.
Who do you think you are?”

I swallowed. “Scarlet,
listen. That man? He took advantage of you. Even if you’re an adult in the eyes
of the law, you’re still in high school. He’s a monster.” I clenched my hands.
Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. “Can’t you see? He would have sex
with anything that moved.”

She stared.
Color drained from her face. “You said no rules. You told us we could write
whatever we wanted,” now her voice trembled.

“You can. This
isn’t about what you wrote. It’s about what happened to you.”

She pressed her
fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “I cannot believe this.” She
opened her eyes; her hands fell to her sides. “I don’t want you to be my
teacher anymore. You’re a liar.” She turned and walked away. The door clicked
shut behind her.

* * *

I paced back and
forth. My limbs tingled. I counted the tiles on the floor, until my breath got
even again. I sat at my desk and tried to focus on grading the senior essays.
Finally, I checked my watch. I waited for the second hand to turn the time to
6:36.

I zipped my
valise and pulled it down the quiet hallway.

Outside the
office door, I waited. There was a light inside but it was low. I listened. Far
off, I heard voices and the sound of a door clanging shut. I debated with
myself. Finally, I turned the knob and went inside.

Mr. Stroop had
kept true to his green policy. The cubbyholes were empty, except for a cactus
in Henry Thorne’s cubby. A small pink envelope hung from one of the prickly
arms. Against my will, I examined it. The envelope had been sealed and kissed
with lipstick. Who else but Georgie?

An alarm blinked
above the door to Stroop’s office. There was a short wall surrounding the outer
office. The gate was locked. I found a locked gate on an easily surmountable
wall pretty silly, though I supposed it served as a warning.

I gazed at the
rows of filing cabinets behind the wall. Each cabinet had a little lock but it
was likely the same key opened every one. Something told me the key was in the
secretary’s desk.

I asked myself:
Why don’t you turn around and go to the library before you ruin your life?

I could probably
find the information I wanted on a computer. But if there was one thing I knew,
it was how the simplest ideas could get quickly (and irreversibly) complicated.
Wong would probably be at the library. And she was prying. Also, I felt
indebted to her. Not just for putting my name in for Teacher of the Year, but
for thinking I was great. If she made another comment about how fascinating I
was, I might get the urge to live up to her expectations. Going to the library
was definitely the hard way.

I would do it
quickly, I decided.
No big deal.
I had to see Scarlet’s file and I had
to see it now. I hoisted myself over the wall, landing clumsily in my high
heels. The cabinets were locked, as I suspected.

I jerked open
the middle drawer of the desk. What a mess. Under a pile of candy wrappers, I
found a plastic key ring full of keys, including one that looked just the right
size, like Goldilocks’ bed. The drawer I needed slid open.

I had no
intention of reading the whole file. I’d be in and out in seconds. My fingers
flew. When I found ‘Rose’ I pulled up the folder. My eyes zoomed in on Scarlet’s
birthdate.
I knew it.
She wouldn’t be eighteen for…let’s see, eleven
more days. Who was the liar? I couldn’t help noticing her address in the line
below. 21698 Stargazer Lane.

I put the folder
back and was about to close the cabinet when my eyes fell on Rain, R.
Wait,
that’s me.
My stomach dropped. I gripped the edge of the drawer. Of course
I had a file too. Everyone had to be accounted for. Yet I felt violated.

There were
copies of letters of recommendation from my professors. I smiled. My smile
disappeared when I saw my medical history. I stared, disbelieving. There was a
long list of medications I’d used, plus the ones I was supposed to be on now,
the dates I had been institutionalized. I blinked. Who had the right to know?

I didn’t hear
the door opening.

“Ruby?”

I jumped. The
folder fell. I dropped to my knees. With shaking hands, I gathered the papers.
My throat was closing. I heard him cross the floor, felt his eyes on me, though
I didn’t look up.

“Ruby, what are
you doing?” his tone was gentle.

I should have
been grateful he wasn’t Stroop, except I felt numb, unreal.

I was aware of
him coming over the wall, though I didn’t look up. He squatted down next to me.
When he reached for the last page, I snatched it quickly. “Please don’t.”

We stood up at
the same time. I put the file away and locked the cabinet, returned the key to
the desk. He watched me without saying anything. Finally, I met his gaze. “I
needed to see something,” I said. “No one was here so I—”

“You don’t have
to explain. But let’s get out of here.”

At the wall, he
scooped me up, before I could resist. Being in his arms felt safe. He deposited
me on the other side and swung over easily. “Now, we just have to erase the
surveillance tapes,” he said.

“
What
?”

“Just kidding,”
he said.

We looked at
each other for what seemed a long time. I tore my gaze away, and grabbed the handle
of my valise. He took the cactus from his cubbyhole.

“Who’s it from?”
I said.

“Georgie.”

“Why’d she give
you a cactus?”

He sighed. “She
invited me to Baja.”

“Oh. Sounds fun.”

“Does it?”

I shrugged. “So
is she your girlfriend yet?”

“No, Ruby.”

“Why not?”

“She isn’t you.”

* * *

I had to drive
home into the sunset.

I was still
reeling from Henry’s confession. Apparently, I was in Georgie’s way in several
aspects of her life—personally and professionally. What else was there? As if I
didn’t have enough problems without accidentally acquiring enemies.

Somehow, I
couldn’t let go of the hard kernel of resentment I had for Henry. He should
have told me a long time ago, after he kissed me, that he was breaking up with
his girlfriend and needed time. Instead of saying he would call, and
not
calling, and making fun of me with Georgie.

I’d waited weeks
before calling him. Okay, I shouldn’t have continued to call him on such a
regular (compulsive) basis, especially late at night, after I got home from the
bar. But why didn’t he ever answer? Or call me back, even just to tell me to
leave him alone? He led me on, I decided. No question.

And now he was
probably leading Georgie on too, saying things like, “Ruby wants me so bad but
she’s not you.” He’d make his fish face and Georgie would collapse into
giggles. He’d say, “Watch out for those lips.”

I READ the
directions on the Lexapro bottle. I wondered if I ought to take extra.

Where was Devon?

I missed him;
though it wasn’t so long ago I’d seen him. Or was it? Whenever I thought of
him, time became slippery and incomprehensible. I barely knew him, so why did
it hurt so much to think of him in someone else’s arms?

Because I’d
given him my virginity. We had a special connection, maybe even a cosmic one.

No, no, that
couldn’t be right. I was messed up. What had I told Scarlet? He’d have sex with
anything that moved. “You’re obsessing,” Dr. Ess would say. Love and sex were
two different things (as I’d tried to explain to Scarlet). At least, they
could
be. Not mutually exclusive though, and therein lay the confusion.

A sharp pain
stabbed at my heart. I bent over. I remembered Javier crumpled on the floor. I
had knelt next to him and laid my head on his broad chest. A policeman had to
carry me away. I was smeared with blood.

But that hadn’t
happened. I hadn’t been there. I didn’t know he was gone. I didn’t feel him
leave, and that’s what I should be teaching my students, preaching to anyone
who would listen.
You never get to say good-bye
. You will never know
which moment is your last with anyone who has ever mattered.

My body went
cold. My lips trembled. I was on the verge of a panic attack, the kind that
felt like falling through darkness.

* * *

The next day,
coming back from the cafeteria with my vending machine lunch, I saw Georgie and
Stroop in the hallway. She squealed and did some kind of jumping up and down
thing, clapping her hands. I couldn’t help but stare. My stomach churned.

As if she sensed
me watching, she whirled around. “Oh! Ruby, you’re always sneaking up on
people.” She wiggled her fingers. Her bright lipsticked mouth grinned, and she
sashayed off, her heels clicking in the empty hall.

I hoped Stroop
would follow suit and disappear but his gaze met mine. He put his hands in his
pockets and jiggled loose change. A flicker of a smile crossed his face, as I
approached. “Have you heard already?” he spoke in a jocular tone.

“Heard?”

“Miss Hartly has
won the nomination for Teacher of the Year.”

I swallowed. “Oh.”

“The Board voted
last night. They always favor the teachers who take on extra work, like
Georgina has done with Adult Literacy.”

A strangled
sound escaped from somewhere inside me. I crushed the packet of crackers in my
hand. Stroop’s voice followed me down the hall. “Ruby, wait!”

Inside my
classroom, I leaned against the door.

The crackers
fell from my hand.

Why did it hurt
so much? I’d almost forgotten about the nomination in the midst of my obsession
with Devon. What did it matter in the whole scheme of things?

And yet, my eyes
filled and it was one more thing that made me feel like a failure—I was crying.
Again
.