Sweetest Taboo by Eva Márquez Read Free Book Online Page A

him.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I look forward to reading it. Now, you’d better get to class, I don’t want to be the reason you’re late.”
    I blushed slightly, but nodded and turned. Mr. Stevens gave me a quick smile before he walked toward his classroom at the end of the hall.
    For the rest of the morning, my friends spent their time asking me why I was walking around grinning like a fool.

Chapter Five
    Sweetest Taboo
    T he chlorinated water felt especially refreshing on my skin. It was a hot spring day, and I had been flushed with nervous energy all day. The smooth repetitive act of swimming laps lulled me into a state of relaxation, and I focused on counting the number of strokes and alternating right- and left-sided breaths. I felt the secure pressure of my swim cap and looked through my goggles at the water around me, taking in the serene blue scenery. The water was cool and smooth against my legs, and the laps came easily. Since the first day of practice, this space had become my sacred ground, where I was free to think and dream without worrying about anything at all.
    Today, though, thoughts of Mr. Stevens crept steadily into my mind as I swam. I was sure that he’d read my letter by now, and had come to his own conclusions about its content and my intentions. What had he thought? Did my letter expose too much? Was it too forward? Did I scare him off with my honesty? Why hadn’t he arrived at swim practice yet? Why hadn’t I sensed him searching for me throughout the day? I had looked for him between periods and even during lunch, but hadn’t seen him. I worried about how he may have reacted to the letter, and whether he was now avoiding me, but tried to table my thoughts and focus on swimming. What was done was done, and I couldn’t do anything about it now.
    I would just have to wait and see what happened.
    I swam nearly twenty uninterrupted laps, deep in thought, and came to the wall for one final turn. As I reached for the wall to make my turn, I was surprised to feel a strong hand grab my wrist above the water. The grip jolted me from my thoughts and back into reality, and I gasped. I peered through my foggy swim goggles, trying to figure out who had grabbed me, and realized that it was Mr. Stevens. He hunched over the edge of the pool, his brown leather Birkenstocks at eye-level.
    I quickly removed my goggles and glanced around; the other girls were at the opposite end of the pool, listening to the instructions being spouted off by the female coaches. I was alone at this end of the pool with Mr. Stevens.
    “Isabel,” he loosened his grip slightly but didn’t let go. “I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed reading your letter.” He paused, and his fingers caressed my wet wrist softly; I held my breath. “After practice, let me give you a ride home. Is Liz with you today?”
    “Yeah, she’s coming by after practice. Can you give us both a ride?”
    “Of course.” He smiled, then straightened and stepped away. I had to bite my lip to keep my excitement and jubilation in check. I took a deep breath and tried to appear normal. In my head, though, I was repeating the same mantra over and over: he liked my letter, he liked my letter, oh my God, he liked my letter!
    I began to re-read my letter to Mr. Stevens in my head, refreshing my memory in preparation for his potential reaction.
March 13, 1993
( Not quite sure how to address this letter. Should it be Mr. Stevens? Coach? Tom?-- you decide and let me know later ),
I was a bit surprised when you asked me to write you a letter. I didn’t know what you expected, but then I realized that you’d said you wanted to know what I was feeling, and if there were things that I wanted to say to you but hadn’t yet. Sure, there are many things I want to say to you. And no, I would probably never work up the courage to actually say them. Writing things down is definitely an easier way for me to express myself and be more honest…so thanks for the