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“Of having people read the salacious details of his life and death? Of course he’d mind, you moron.” She stopped. There really wasn’t any point in continuing their conversation.
Sam seemed to have reached the same decision. He turned crisply and headed for the door. She wasn’t going to try and stop him.
“Make sure you lock this door behind me,” he said tersely. And then he was gone, the sound of the front door slam echoing through the house. She swallowed, despite the swelling lump in her throat.
Wow. Maybe she hadn’t known Sam, after all.
…
“I’m sure all of you read the next three chapters of A Room With A View per the assignment,” Allie said to her senior lit class on Monday morning. “And you’re ready to discuss your impressions of the contrasting personalities in the book. Who wants to begin? What was Forster trying to portray with Charlotte’s character in comparison to Lucy’s?”
The usual group lingered in the back of the room, including Bryce Bauer, Clarissa Furan, and a few of their friends. They were the most boisterous of the group. Of course, with one being captain of the football team—regardless of how abysmal the team played—they didn’t see why they should rob the world of any of their witty and clever thoughts.
One pair of eyes blinked nervously up at Allie, then flitted back down to the desk. She hesitated, knowing that calling on Darcy Sanders would cause the girl further mortification at having to speak in front of the class. Especially since she knew Darcy’s young heart ached over one boy in particular—Bryce, the captain of the football team, no less.
She could fully appreciate Darcy’s hesitation and angst—boy could she ever. But she also knew the girl was a very gifted student, her writing far more insightful and complex than one would expect for someone so young. Darcy just had to learn to believe in herself—something Allie also knew all too well was easier said than done.
Darcy’s hand reluctantly went halfway up and quickly went down again. That was enough for Allie. “Darcy?”
A hot flush spread from Darcy’s pale, freckled cheeks to the rest of her face, and her brown eyes widened. Her tumbleweed mass of dirty-blond hair tied back with whatever sturdy elastic could manage the thickness. She looked as though she wanted to melt into the floor.
“Actually, I’m not sure if I thought they were so different.” Allie strained to hear Darcy’s soft voice. She paused, and Allie worried she had forgotten what she was going to say.
“Okay, that’s interesting,” she prompted.
“I think maybe Charlotte saw a little of herself in Lucy. Lucy seemed kind of…naïve. Wanting to see the best in everyone.” Darcy paused again and studied a spot on her desk, evading Allie’s eyes as her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Even if the people around her, in her social group, told her to think otherwise. Charlotte may have had a choice once, in picking the right man. Listened to what people told her was right, instead of following her own heart. And Lucy had to make the same choice. So they’d been the same, but different, because of the choices they made.”
“I don’t know why Lucy would choose either of those guys,” Clarissa interrupted. “A poor clerk or a know-it-all nerd? What kind of lame choice is that?” Her comment earned a round of chuckles from the class.
Allie sighed. Inwardly, of course.
She glanced up just as a figure passed by the classroom door. Sam’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, and her heart jolted. Damn. She had been so successful in not letting him interfere in her thoughts—much. But he didn’t stop walking. And he disappeared. Leaving Allie completely off her game.
What had they been talking about?
This was going to be a really, really long quarter if one glance from the jerk could disrupt her thoughts so completely.
She rallied. “We have about twenty more minutes left. I’d like you to split into small groups and put together a list of social parallels from Lucy’s time to today.”
The class slid their desks into smaller semi-circles consisting of four students, based on groups she’d set up the first day. They started their chatter while she collected herself.
After Sam had left Saturday night, she’d jumped on the treadmill, determined to put him out of her mind. Running usually helped push all the stress out of her life. But it hadn’t helped that night, nor had the hot, steamy shower she’d taken afterward. Because all she could think about, even now—despite the fact Sam had the moral compass of a snail—was what it would have felt like if he’d kissed her. And what would come next.
Because she definitely would have kissed him back.
Sunday hadn’t been much better, besieged by calls from Peg and Laney who both chastised her for even thinking of associating with that horrible man. Questions she was starting to ask herself, as well. Lord. What if he did throw in some lurid stories of her family in his next book? She’d never hear the end of it. Ever. She’d have to move away. Maybe even change her name.
She wandered through the classroom, listening to the discussions she was certain were quickly tailored to more appropriate on-topic discussion the closer she came to each group. And as soon as she moved on, likely returned to other, more scintillating—at least to seventeen-year olds—non-literary discussions.
Kind of like her…
When the bell finally rang, she followed the students out of the room, in search of much-needed caffeine. And some juicy gossip, to get Sam Fratto off her mind.
She wasn’t surprised when she entered the faculty lounge and found him sitting at a table already enjoying a cup. Wh
at she was surprised about was who he was sitting with.
Meredith Sanders. Her arch nemesis. Someone, long ago, Allie had considered a dear friend.
