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I make my body small, angling it to the side as I try not to cause the curtains to sway despite my white-knuckle grip on them.
He bypasses the doorbell completely, a wise choice considering it doesn’t work, and a half a second later the sound of his thick knuckles rapping on our shanty wooden door cause me to jump, my arms pulling into my body as my shoulders dart upward.
My heart hammers in my chest as I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
Craning my neck, I can barely see him at this point, despite his big frame. My view gets blurry and I realize that despite the summer heat I’ve still managed to exhale too hard on the glass, fogging it just enough to ruin my view…and catch his attention.
His neck bends slowly, his head trailing behind it and I yank the curtains shut, stepping back from the window. I don’t want him to see where I live, to meet my mother, or him to see the embarrassing conditions that make up my life.
“Who is it?” my mom asks, almost in accusatory fashion.
“Mr. Smith, your daughter’s Russian teacher.”
My bedroom door comes flying open, my mom standing in the entryway with her hands on her hips as she purses her lips and shakes her head. Her body is tight and her arms move from her waist to fold across her chest as her legs pull closer until they’re touching, a primal instinct to protect her vital organs when a deadly predator is near.
Three more knocks on the door boom through our tiny apartment and my body jerks in response yet again, as I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
Mom motions toward the door with her head and eyebrows. “He’s your teacher. You answer it.”
“Are you going to put some clothes on?”
“I’m wrapped in a sheet. It covers more than clothes do. Plus it’s my house and I don’t need to get dressed up for nobody.”
“Anybody, mom,” I correct.
“Just get your ass to the door and open it up.”
I take a deep breath and move toward the door, taking the handle in my grip like it’s a ticking time bomb before slowly turning it sideways, opening the door for my beast of a teacher.
As I slowly open the door, it quickly becomes clear that Mr. Smith’s wide shoulders take up the entire width of our doorway, and I’m not the only one who notices. Daryl cowers away, saying nothing.
“Are you going to invite me in?” my teacher grumbles.
My mom raises a finger and just as her mouth opens Mr. Smith says, “Shut it. I heard what you did back at the school, making a scene and embarrassing your child. I’m calling the shots now, since you clearly can’t,” he orders, his eyes scanning the room and stopping on the empty Jack Daniels bottle on the cracked coffee table in front of the couch.
“I was just going to welcome you to our home,” my mom says, clearly words she hadn’t planned on uttering seconds ago.
His eyes glare at her and my mom laughs nervously. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Wodka,” he says, and my eyes narrow, noticing he asked for ‘wodka’ and not ‘vodka’. It’s the most Russian I’ve ever heard his accent and only opens up the mystery that makes up this man even wider.
He steps past the threshold looking like a tornado who wants to come in and wipe out every part of this apartment if for no other reason than so it can be rebuilt fresh.
“I heard you were taken from my office kicking and screaming, Alexa. Is that true?”
“Yes,” I say softly, nodding my head slowly.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. And I’m sorry you weren’t treated with the respect a princess deserves,” he says, his icy gaze returning to my mother.
“Well…I just figured she might have offered up something…maybe in order to pass that exam…she’s a crafty one is all so you never know, and I was thinking—“, she rambles.
“Silence!” my teacher orders, the glass in the window shaking as his dual-syllable word echoes through the house. “Is that your room?” he asks, motioning his head toward exactly that.
“Yes,” I swallow.
“We’ll complete the exam in there…since we were so rudely interrupted back at school.”
“She’s been studying hard, professor,” mom blurts out. “She needs a good grade to go to college and make us a lot of money.”
