Huh, I didn’t know we had a recreation center, and I didn’t know there was housing for the teachers either. I’d thought they just came in daily, but I guess it makes sense.
I also heard what he didn’t say. He has an apartment and doesn’t have to sleep here, but clearly that happens, and I’d say it must be fairly common considering how he worded it.
“Speaking of the recreation center, we also need to talk about your extracurricular activities. Meadow Ridge requires all students to participate in something, be it a sport or playing an instrument. Though both are encouraged.”
I know where this conversation is going even before he says it, and the panic creeps in.
“I read through your file.” He flips a page, completely oblivious to my rapidly deteriorating mental capacity. “And while it shows you have a few talents, it looks like your aunt and the Dean havespecifically requested that you participate in the showcase and spotlight your—”
The air gets thick, and my lungs stop taking in enough oxygen, leaving me heaving as Mr. Adler’s head finally snaps up and his lips move, but whatever he’s saying is lost on me.
Black dots flash in my vision, and I know I’m going to pass out if I don’t get myself under control.
I don’t have time for this. I have things to do, freedom to gain, but even still, I can’t seem to get a grip on myself.
It’s as if my brain can’t process how to make my lungs take in a real breath.
I clutch the necklace that hangs around my neck, the one that Jordan gave me after we lost Mom and Dad, and squeeze my eyes closed.
It helps, but it’s not enough…
Everything stops as I feel the steady rhythm of a heart below my hand, the rise and fall of a chest that centers me, allowing me a moment to mimic it without thought.
I’m not sure how long it takes before I’m able to peel my eyes open, but when I do, I’m both shocked and not at all surprised to find Mr. Adler on his knees before me. His brows are drawn together, worry clear on his face, but he doesn’t voice it, at least not yet.
My hand rests on his chest, and I know I probably should pull away, but I can’t, not when he’s the only thing that’s helping me keep it together.
He doesn’t pull away, doesn't ask any questions, or even look at me weirdly as he sits perfectly still, letting me find comfort in him.
It should be weird; he’s not only my guidance counselor but also my professor and practically a stranger, but somehow it’s not. There’s something about him beyond his good looks, though I can’t put my finger on it.
“My mother taught me to play.” I offer, in way of an explanation that he didn’t ask for but feels deserved.
He could have let me lose it; I’m not really his problem.
That’s what most everyone else in my life would do, with the exception of maybe Julez.
Still, he doesn’t talk, and when I peek back up at him through my lashes, I don’t see pity the way I’m used to but instead a sadness that says he understands that kind of loss.
My fingers fist in his shirt, and now my heart races for a completely different reason.
I think his understanding is what pushes the rest of the words from my mouth, words that feel heavy and thick as I say them.
“After she died, I was only ever able to play for Jordan…”
There’s more. Fuck, there’s so much more, so much nobody knows about, but I can’t force it out. Years of abuse and trauma shut me up, even when I know I’m away from her and with someone who feels safe.
Will anyone ever actually be safe?
“Fuck.” Now his eyes are sad, but understanding shines in them as well. His hand comes up and rests on mine when I move to pull away, worried I’ll overstay my welcome, and he gives me a hard look.
“I can’t get you out of that showcase, Wren,” he says, his jaw clenching in anger, but I don’t think it’s directed at me. “There’s a note in the file that says if you refuse to participate, you will be expelled.”
I’d love to say I’m shocked, but I’m not. My aunt has always had a knack for finding cruel and unusual punishments. I didn’t think he would be able to step in. I’d never even think to ask him for that kind of thing, but that he even considered it makes me warm up to him even more.
I need to get myself under control. A crush on a hot teacher is one thing, but this…this feels like it has potential to be something else, something much more consuming.
“Do I have to practice or can I just perform?" I ask, my voice sounding weak and pathetic even to my own ears.
