Teach Me (8 page)

             
“My Ali-Oops,” he said, calling me by my nickname. “I’ve missed you so much.”

             
I hugged him tight. “I missed you too, Dad.” He carried my bags, and we headed home.

             
Cooper called me that first night as promised, and we e-mailed each other twice a day. I told him more about my parents, and he told me about his family. It was difficult telling him about my mom, how I lost her so early and my fear of forgetting her. Cooper listened and opened himself up to me by confiding that his family is wealthy, which in turn he has kept
people at a distance—until me. He was now in Northern California, and school would start in two days for both of us. Cooper told me he’d call me after school; he had lots to do with lesson plans. This will be the longest we’ve had to go not speaking since we met. He told me to open the small box that had been packed with all my letters. I wasted no time getting it open.

             
Inside was a charm bracelet made of petite keys strung together on a leather cord. Every key was different, like each one unlocked something separate. I put it on immediately. It sounded like I had a miniature wind chime on my wrist, and the sound was lovely. I e-mailed Cooper, knowing he wouldn’t be able to respond, telling him how much I loved it. I asked him if there was a story behind it; it looks like it has been passed down.
Maybe a family heirloom, which equals a new sort of seriousness in our relationship.
Which in turn means I need to text my best friend and get her input on what all this could mean.

             
Key to his heart?
–C

             
But there are so many. –A

             
There was no note? –C

             
No. I emailed him for answers. -A

             
I didn’t get a response back from my e-mail to him until the morning of my first day of school. I really wish I would have spent less time on my hair this morning so I could have read it. Instead I printed the response
and tucked it in my backpack as I left for school. I had called Christina, my best friend, from San Diego and told her all about Cooper. At first she was wary, but then she became supportive the more I told her about my surfer boy. Christina and I have been best friends since elementary school; she is like a sister to me. She was waiting outside so we could go to school together on our first day as seniors. Her music was up so loud that I could hear it through the windows. Christina was dancing in her car and laughing.

             
“
Seniors
!” she yelled as I opened the door. I started to laugh and climbed in. As I did, she immediately grabbed my wrist to examine the bracelet.

             
“This is super retro cute.” Christina’s dark green eyes were sparkling. “It totally has to mean something.” I buckled my seat belt, and she hit the gas as we headed toward Chino Prep Charter High School for our senior year.

We were both jittery with excitement as we walked onto campus, and we weren’t the only ones. Our entire class was keyed up for our last year of mandatory learning. I was just anxious to make it through the day and get home because I knew Cooper would be calling me.

             
During every class, I tried to read Cooper’s e-mail but quickly became bombarded with assignments. By lunch I heard the buzz that our old and cryptic English teacher, Mr. Snyder, had retired and that the new teacher
was a fox. I couldn’t care less except that I was the senior class English tutor and would work hand in hand with this new teacher. English was my last class of the day, seventh period, so I guess that is when I would see what all the fuss was about. I went to sixth period with determination to read the e-mail that I had been trying to read since seven a.m.

             
Luckily I have Mrs. Sinclair sixth period, chemistry, and she wanted us to talk to our lab partners about our summer. Christina is my partner; this is the only class we have together, and she told me to read the e-mail and then fill her in. Finally, I pulled out Cooper’s printed words. It wasn’t very long. I read it once, then again.

             
Time stopped.

             
Christina looked at me. “Are you okay?” She touched my arm, then my face. Cold sweat covered my body, and my stomach twisted, and I thought I was going to be sick. I jumped up without thinking and ran for the girl’s bathroom. I could hear Christina yell after me, but I couldn’t stop. I locked myself in a stall and leaned against the door, Cooper’s letter hanging in my hand. My heart thumped in my chest, and I was shaking.

I wasn’t alone long. “Ali!” Christina called. She tapped on the stall door. “Let me in.” With trembling fingers, I unlocked the door. She had both of our backpacks and wore a look of concern. “Is this about the e-mail?” Her golden brows knitted together in worry.

“Cooper,” I managed to say as I handed her the paper. I should keep this to myself but knew if there was anyone to confess to, it was Christina. I could trust her with this, and I’d need a friend who would understand and be supportive. Christina took it, eyebrows now arching in surprise, and then scanned the sentences multiple times. She looked back to me,
then
pulled me into a hug.

“It will be okay,” she said, her own voice trembling. I know she’s just being nice. It will not be okay.

The e-mail said this:

Ali- There was a mix up. I am going to teach at Chino Prep Charter, not Chico. I will be a teacher at your school. We need to talk…I don’t know how or if…I just don’t know what to do. Cooper.

S
i
x

Cooper

             
Every class that leaves moves me closer to the inevitable. I went to Chico Prep only to find out that there was a huge mix-up. I was supposed to say go to Chino Prep.
As in Chino, where Ali lives.
As in the school Ali attends. Not just teach there—when I received my attendance sheets, I found she was in my last class of the day and is also the senior English tutor. Which translates that not only will I be her teacher and have her in class for an hour, but I will also be required to see her three times a week while she tutors in my classroom.

             
My first question was
,
how the heck could this have happened? The answer was in Chico. There was a spot open in the history department, and the English opening was in Chino. The phone notifications were crossed, and the calls went to the wrong candidates. Brian Smith went to Chino to find himself in the same situation. Once they told me where I was actually supposed to be, I prayed I had heard wrong. No way
I can
teach at Allison’s school, but I accepted, and I have to live with my choice until I can find something new. I only had time to send her a quick e-mail,
then
jump on a plane. Now I face the slow torture of her entering my classroom.
Sheesh
, my classroom.
The hardest part of this is my absolute desire to see her
combined with absolute terror. I hope that I can keep my wits about me and get through the final class of the day—Ali’s class.

             
The bell rings, and the last class starts to trickle in. I don’t even want to see her face when she walks in because I don’t know if she got the e-mail I sent. I had the picture of us from this summer that she gave me in a letter—our last night together—on my desk. But it is now tucked safely in my top drawer. I sit on the edge of my desk and look over the plans I have for the first week. I decided to have the students read
Dracula
since it was what Ali was reading and one of my favorites—it would be a good starting point.

             
There are murmurs throughout the class. I was told by the basketball coach at lunch that all the kids in his class were talking about the young new guy—like I needed something else to make me nervous. A burst of giggles breaks out, and that’s when I look up.

             
Ali is standing in the doorway, not looking up and unwilling to move. There are two open seats in the classroom, front row and back. The bell rings, and the students are supposed to be seated. Ali is still standing outside, looking like she might throw up. I am so conflicted. I want nothing more than to pull her close and tell her how much I love her. But I can’t. I am not even supposed to know who she is. I am just staring at her, having no idea what to say.

A guy from the back of the class stands and goes to her. He puts his arm around her shoulder and whispers into her ear. I want to take his head off. Ali nods, still staring at the ground. The guy who is going to fail my English class keeps
talking,
and Ali smiles weakly. Finally, he is able to talk her into coming into class, and I am relieved. I realize that there are twenty pairs of eyes staring at me now, and I look up and smile.

“Welcome to senior English,” I manage to say. “I’m Mr. Perez.” Then I take roll. Jeremy Fisher is the guy who is sitting next to Ali. I pass around a seating chart, and everyone fills in their names. I look at it and just stare at Ali’s handwriting for a moment. She handwrote the notes she gave me about a week ago, but now her letters seemed hard and strained, like her hand had been trembling as she wrote it.

“Okay.” I set the paper down. “We are going to start this year off with
Dracula
.” Then I jump into the lesson I have planned. All I can do is focus on the words of Bram Stoker. I outline what I expect from them and blah-blah-blah until the bell rings. All the students get up, except for two—Ali and Jeremy.

I watch him lean close and take her hand, leaning in and saying something to her. Ali responds in a whisper. Jeremy stands and leaves. Ali and I are alone. I walk to the closed door and prop it open, just slightly. She doesn’t move at all, even as I move and sit in the desk next to her.

“I didn’t know,” I finally say. She nods. This is killing me. I move and kneel next to her. I can see that she is wearing the key bracelet I gave her. It was my grandmother’s. She was always misplacing things, so my grandfather made it for her. The last key he put on was the key to a new house he had built for her. The key, he said, that would start their future. That’s why I gave it to her. I see Ali as my future. She sent me an e-mail asking about it, but I was notified of the school mix-up, and I didn’t respond. I want so bad to reassure her how much she means to me, but now I am bound by rules.

“We are supposed to be planning our approach for tutoring this year,” she says, and I can see she is holding back tears as she takes out a spiral notebook. She clears her throat and takes in a long breath, and she still hasn’t looked at me. “The beginning of the year is when we’ll get the most interest, and . . .” Her hands are shaking. I put my hand over hers, and she seems to relax.

“Please look at me, Ali,” I whisper. “I’m still me.” I just want to see her big brown eyes and tell her everything will be okay.

“You are Mr. Perez,” she says as her voice catches in her throat. “I am Allison Starr, your student.” Tears rolled down her pink cheeks, and my heart starts to break.

“Ali,” I said, moving closer. “I know this complicates things, but . . .” What could I say? As long as I am here as Ali’s teacher, we can’t be
together. Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are dull, but sparkling with tears. Her incredible lips are pouted out, and the bottom one is trembling. I can’t stop myself from touching it. Ali’s lips part open, and the tears keep coming. I cup her face with my hand, and her eyes close, and she leans into it.

“I need to go,” she mutters but doesn’t move. She locks her gaze with mine once again, and I’m drawn in. I lean in and press my lips to hers. After a quick moment, she leans back, stuffing all her things into her backpack, and runs from the room. I sit on the floor, alone and confused.

***

I am living in a hotel for now. I slump into the badly upholstered chair and power up my laptop. I stayed in my classroom for almost three hours, unwilling to leave in case Ali came back, but she never did. I brought up my e-mail. I have one from Ali. My heart beats an extra time or two as I open it.

Dear Cooper,

I opened your letter and it said to email you about how my first day of my last year of high school went. It was horrible. I found out that the guy that I love is unattainable. It doesn’t help that every girl in my entire school is in love with the new English teacher and won’t stop talking about him. He reminds me of this guy I met at the beach this summer. I am in love with that guy. The most horrible thing is it feels like my heart is literally breaking in my chest and I find it hard to breathe. Even more
atrocious than that pain is the pain of being in love and knowing that it is over. I know it has to be over but desperately want to hold onto denial and find some way to make it work. I don’t want to let him go, but he just got his dream job and I know what he will choose. I will chalk myself up to a summer crush and find some way to push on.

I hope your first day was better. I don’t expect a reply. I have no expectations.