The Handbook_A Contemporary Teacher Romance Page 4

The dean nodded. “Very good. I do hope you will make the right decision.” With that, he turned around and showed himself out of my office.

  SIX

  NIKKI

  It turned out that Beau wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be. Though I dreaded the coming evening, I did so secretly. I was hopeful that by going out with Dani, Craig and Beau, it would not only help me slowly move back into the dating world, but might actually turn out to be a fun night. And it was.

  It was so fun, in fact, that I actually started to let my guard down. Beau had a way about him that made it easy to focus on him entirely. Maybe it was his cool confidence or his swift sense of humor or the way his lip turned up like Elvis whenever he smiled. Whatever it was, I had to admit that I’d been missing out—my self-appointed isolation had kept me from enjoying something as simple as meeting someone new. I’d missed the shared laughter and jokes that went along with getting to know someone.

  And the few hours that allowed me to get to know Beau certainly felt good. He wasn’t so caught up in his football-team good looks that he took himself too seriously. Yes, I was impressed by our first date, enough so, that I agreed to a second one.

  Our second date actually started off well enough. We picked up right where we’d left off from the previous one and things seemed to be moving forward in natural stride. I was so impressed by his handsome face, his humble charm and the ease with which he discussed current events and other, deeper issues, that I felt like I could actually consider dating him.

  “You’re shivering,” he said as we walked down Poinsettia Lane in the moonlight. He wrapped his arm around me to help fight off the chill as I burrowed in closer to him. I couldn’t help but inhale his clean, masculine scent.

  “You’re doing a great job of keeping me warm,” I responded with a tremulous, little laugh.

  He chuckled heartily and pulled me into him even closer. “You know, I’ve seen you around campus before you and I were ever formally introduced. We actually have a class together,” he said, that Elvis smile of his pulling at his lips.

  “What class?” I asked, surprised because this was the first time he’d mentioned ever having seen me before our first date.

  “Feminism in Literature,” he answered with a little smile, no doubt fully aware of the fact that I would find it beyond strange that he would be enrolled in such a class.

  “Sonama Greco’s class?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Yep,” he answered with a quick nod.

  “You’re taking a class about women in literature?” I asked as I shook my head and laughed up at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s great, but you don’t really fit the bill.”

  He shrugged. “I figured it would be a good way to meet girls,” he answered with a roguish laugh.

  “Of course you did,” I responded as I shook my head and tried to subdue the instant jealousy that plagued me. It surprised me because I barely even knew Beau, so it wasn’t like I had any claim on him.

  “Yep, and then I saw this hot, little blond with a great ass who happened to sit in the first row, and I have to admit that all the other chicks in the class started to fade into oblivion.”

  “Nice, Beau, really good,” I chided him, but I couldn’t help but be flattered. I mean, it wasn’t like compliments were foreign to me—I knew I was a good-looking girl, but that didn’t change the fact that it felt good to hear it every now and then. “Does that line work on most girls?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes?” he asked with a smirk.

  Before I could respond, he leaned down and kissed me. Just like that. It was a tender kiss that tingled all the way down to my toes. I felt my arms instinctively wrapping around him as I opened my mouth and his tongue delved into it. The kiss deepened and before I knew it, we were en route back to his apartment. I wasn’t sure how I felt when we showed up outside of his door, but I also didn’t let myself think that much about it.

  Maybe this is exactly what I need, I rationalized. It had been years since I’d had sex with someone other than him so maybe it was time.

  So I did it. I made the decision to have sex with Beau, and that’s exactly what we did. All. Night. Long. And the sex was everything I hoped it would be—amazing, exhilarating and fantastic. In the morning, I felt like a zombie and was more than sure I also looked like one. But zombie or not, I also felt great—like I’d overcome something, moved past a huge roadblock that before now had seemed impossible to surmount.

  “I have to get going, but I’ll see you in class later today,” I whispered to Beau, who was still sound asleep and snoring. Luckily, his roommate had never showed up so it was just the two of us. He grumbled something unintelligible which made me giggle. I was careful to ease out of bed, so as not to further wake him, and then quietly pulled on my clothing from the night before. Yep, I was about to do the walk of shame back across campus, but I also couldn’t say I really felt that shameful.

  Really, there was nothing inside of me that even remotely regretted what had happened. The night of passion had been everything I hoped it would be. It had released all of the pent-up tension that was building up inside me since the semester started. It was like a rebirth, I was beginning to find myself again, and it felt wonderful.

  You’ve come a long way! I thought to myself as I marveled over these new feelings of happiness that were surging through me.

  And as far as Beau was concerned, I’d really landed a good one! He was definitely considered quite a catch, according to the candid conversations I overheard between my ZTS sisters.

  Despite how hard Dani tried to pry information out of me, I simply shrugged my shoulders and grinned ear-to-ear. I’d never really been one to kiss and tell, and besides, there was something about keeping Beau’s and my relationship to myself that felt good.

  Yes, hope was beginning to return to me. I was beyond optimistic that if things kept going the way they were, Beau and I might become an item.

  The crash that followed my soaring bliss came a few days later. That was when I realized Beau was not only ignoring my calls, but he also had no intention of calling me back at all. Maybe the first hint was when Beau never showed up to class. I just figured he was tired and overslept. In response, I made sure to take really good notes so I could photocopy them for him later. But after no communication for a few days, I realized our relationship was over before it ever began.

  When the crash came, it hit me hard. Dani was still occupied with Craig, so I tried to avoid drawing her into my drama. Instead, I kept my chin up and simply sloughed it off whenever my BFF asked me about what was going on with us.

  “I just think we aren’t good for each other,” I answered, trying to maintain my cool. The truth was that I didn’t want to relive the last few days by discussing them. I figured it was better to sweep everything under the proverbial rug and pretend like it never happened. Not to mention that I was also pretty humiliated and embarrassed that I’d conducted myself the way that I had. I mean, sleeping with Beau on our second date? That was just so unlike me. I was normally the girl who waited at least a month to give that part of me away to someone. I couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for my self-esteem that I was willing to sleep with the first guy who said nice things to me. Yes, I was definitely in a state of complete self-introspection, and I didn’t want to share that with anyone else, Dani included.

  “You seemed like you were into him?” she asked as she frowned at me, clearly not buying my explanation.

  “I’m still not in a place to consider dating anyone,” I responded and then returned my attention to the book in my lap to signify that I didn’t want to continue the conversation.

  Eventually Dani got the point and left the topic alone, thank God. Meanwhile, I put on a fake smile whenever I was out in public, only to collapse into a self-loathing despair when I was alone. I hated myself for getting hurt again and I blamed myself entirely for the whole Beau situation. After Brandon, I should have known better. I should have never trusted anot
her man again. And from this point forward, I wouldn’t.

  I slowly began to withdraw from many of the activities I was previously involved in with ZTS. My excuse was that my semester load had suddenly increased and I needed more time to concentrate on my studies. As a means of keeping up the ruse, I hustled off to the library on any occasion that might place me in an uncomfortable social situation or create the opportunity for someone to see through my mask.

  It wasn’t a total lie; I was studying more. But studying became just another means of escape and allowed me to continue to live in the self-created bubble of safety I was currently housed within. I buried myself in my schoolwork and it did help to keep my mind off everything.

  And then I started to get angry. And in getting angry, I made a promise to myself.

  I’d been hurt for the last time. There was no way in hell that I would ever grant another man the ability to break my heart in two. From here on out, I was no longer going to be the lovesick, sappy, innocent and naive Nikki. That part of me had been trodden and killed, replaced with the cold, hardened and realistic Nikki.

  My only problem now, however, was that I didn’t know what to do moving forward. I couldn’t isolate myself forever because I was a social being and there was only so much of my own company I could manage before I felt like I might lose my mind.

  I also felt distance beginning to grow between Dani and me. Sure, I expected some naturally occurring distance between us since things between Dani and Craig had become so much more serious, and I, meanwhile, had become a man-hating harpy.

  In short, I was at a point where I figured I’d either lose my sanity completely and go postal on the next unfortunate man I encountered, or maybe I could convince myself to become a lesbian. Was that even possible? The more I pondered that route, the more I realized it just wasn’t in the cards for me. No matter how much I hated men, I couldn’t imagine being intimate with a woman. It just grossed me out. So, I was to become asexual. If I were religious, I probably would have joined a convent. Either way, I was now destined to fade into a distant memory, choosing to live alone for all eternity in a house cluttered with junk and rampant with cats.

  SEVEN

  DEREK

  “Hello, everyone,” I greeted Sonama’s class as I stood in front of them, with my butt pressed up against the tabletop and my arms crossed against my chest. “I’m Professor Anderson, but I prefer to go by Derek,” I announced, not missing the surprised expressions on many of their faces as they were, no doubt, expecting to see Sonama. Or maybe it was because I didn’t exactly look like a professor. The truth was that I looked young enough that I could pass for a student, at least a postgraduate one. “Unfortunately for you, I will be taking over this class for the remainder of the semester.”

  No one laughed. I wasn’t sure if they were still surprised by my announcement that I was now their professor in Sonama’s absence, or maybe my joke just hadn’t been very funny. Regardless, I watched them take their seats before I glanced up at the clock and decided we’d better get started.

  “Jane Eyre and Feminism,” I read from the top of the notes Sonama had scribbled out and given the dean to give to me. After scanning the remaining hastily jotted words, I put the three-page document down on top of the desk and decided to adlib the next hour.

  Glancing up at the class, I found it comprised mostly women, something which didn’t surprise me. As a man, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the subject of feminism and literature, maybe because I couldn’t relate to the topic. And, in my general experience, the feminists (Sonama included) that I’d come across at the university were of the man-hating variety, and that did nothing for me.

  There were a few men sprinkled throughout the audience, most probably having taken the class because they figured it would be a good way to meet girls. It looked like at least two of them were already asleep.

  There were probably forty or forty-five students total. Not a very big one as classes at Hamilton State went. Half the chairs in the room were empty as well. If I had to guess, this class wasn’t a very popular one.

  “So, how many of you actually read the book?” I asked as I scanned the mostly alert faces. About three quarters of the hands went up, and I laughed. “Okay, I’m going to ask the question again and this time, I want the honest truth. By the way, reading the Cliff’s Notes doesn’t count.” I took a breath. “Let’s try this again: Who actually read the book?”

  A quarter of the students extended their hands this time, and I nodded because it was just as I’d known it would be. “Okay, that’s better,” I said. “As an aside, do any of you know what Mark Twain had to say about lying?” I continued. There were a few smiles and a bunch of shaking heads before me. “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” Laughter echoed through the room, which was a good sign because it ensured me that the students were at least awake. Well, most of them anyway. “So thank you to those of you who told the truth; Mr. Twain would be proud.” I took another breath before continuing. “Jane Eyre is considered to be one of the first feminist novels,” I started as I eyed the pupils before me. I couldn’t help but notice a few of the girls whispering to each other from the front row as they eyed me with unconcealed admiration. This wasn’t anything new. It seemed every class I taught, I had at least a few admirers. I did my best to let it go unnoticed. “What do you think about the idea that Jane Eyre is a feminist novel?”

  There were no responses right away. No hands in the air. I figured either my question was too broad, or the class was still in a food coma from lunch. I cleared my throat. “For those of you who read the book, did Jane strike you as a feminist?” Again, nothing. This was going to be a long and grueling hour. “Bueller? Bueller?” I asked as I shook my head, hoping someone would jump in and at least show some interest in the discussion topic. But all I got were a few laughs.

  “No,” a voice suddenly piped up from the back of the room.

  “Yay, someone actually has something to say in this class!” I replied as relief suffused me. “Who was it that spoke up?” I asked as I scanned the back row, not exactly sure where I should be looking.

  “Me,” she answered. She was sitting in the last row at the right side of the class, an area usually reserved for those who would rather sleep than pay attention during class time. She leaned forward as she inhaled deeply and a scowl marred her otherwise very attractive face. Even with her blond hair pulled into a messy bun, her oversized sweatshirt and the lack of any makeup, she was a looker and then some. Yes, I wasn’t supposed to notice these things, but I was, after all, just a man, and I had decided a long time ago that it was a very tall order to try and fight your instincts.

  “Is Me your first name?” I asked, surprised by my own jovial mood.

  “Obviously not,” she answered with a huff. Apparently someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

  “Then?” I started with a shrug.

  “My name is Nikki,” she interrupted quickly.

  “Very good. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, Nikki, please inform all of us as to why you don’t consider Jane to be a good example of a feminist,” I finished as I glanced up at the clock and noted that ten minutes had already gone by since I’d introduced myself.

  “It’s ridiculous and stupid for anyone to consider Jane Eyre to be a feminist novel or for Jane to be considered a feminist,” she answered, her eyebrows furrowing in the center of her forehead as she glared at me, as if I were the offending party to have even construed the idea in the first place. Undergraduates …

  “I’m supposing you did actually read the book,” I started, wanting to ensure that I was about to embark on a learned conversation rather than one based on fluff and ill-informed opinion, even if she was easy on the eyes.

  “I’ve read the book three times,” she responded in an icy tone, as if my question irritated her. At this point, I didn’t imagine that there was very much that wouldn’t irritate her. And for some reason, her argumen
tative flare appealed to me. Before I could stop it, an image of her naked and squirming underneath me dropped into my head and it was all I could do to shake it back out again. After my conversation with the dean about Rebecca, the last thing I should have been doing was imagining what this little minx would feel like from the inside.

  “I would give you a gold star if I possessed one,” I answered with a small smile, relieved that I was no longer picturing her sans clothing. “So, Nikki, enlighten us as to why you think it’s ridiculous and stupid for anyone to consider Jane a feminist,” I demanded, suddenly feeling the need to see her argument and take the position of devil’s advocate. It had been suggested to me before that I was argumentative by nature. Perhaps it was true.

  “First of all, Jane’s a governess which means she’s basically Mr. Rochester’s servant which doesn’t exactly allow her very much freedom of choice or expression to begin with,” she started as I nodded, thinking it a fair point. “But, beyond that, she’s also completely obsessed with Mr. Rochester. Everything she thinks about revolves around him and that doesn’t strike me as very strong of her.”

  “Examples,” I ordered.

  “If you look at the chapters in the middle of the book, almost every single one starts with ‘Mr. Rochester,’” she finished and nodded as if impressed with her own point. “Throughout the course of the book,” she continued, “Jane comes off as completely obsessed with Rochester because nearly every sentence has something to do with Rochester or Jane’s feelings towards him. To me, that isn’t an example of feminist strength.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Is there more?”

  “Then after the wedding is called off because Mr. Rochester’s real, insane wife is living in the attic, Bronte describes Jane’s prospects as ‘desolate.’”

  “And why does that prove your point?” I asked, secretly loving the way she was glaring at me. What I wouldn’t do to be given the opportunity to watch that expression melt right off her face, and to, instead, watch her eyes roll back into her head as I shoved myself all the way into her.