Things I’ll Never Say by Ann Angel Read Free Book Online Page A

underage kids into this place,” Mr. P. said to his friend.
    â€œYou forgot?” I asked.
    He turned so he was mostly facing his friend and leaned on the bar. “One of my students,” Mr. P. said.
    â€œOh, man,” his friend said and laughed. “That’s unfortunate.”
    A few moments passed. I crossed my arms over my chest. Then Mr. P. said, “Why are you still standing here?”
    My face grew warm, and I feared they could see it growing red. Mr. P. turned so his back was to me. I felt sick, unreal. What could I do but go back to the table? My friends squealed.
    â€œWhat did you say to him?”
    â€œOh, my God, you are my hero!”
    â€œDude, you have balls!”
    I tried to laugh. “I think I made him uncomfortable.”
    They all giggled. I tried not to let them see what I was really feeling.
    â€œHe’s scared he’ll wind up in bed with all four of us,” I said, and they squealed again.
    When I walked into his class on Monday, he stood facing the board, scratching out dates with chalk. He didn’t turn around, and when he did finally, he avoided my eyes. He walked back and forth with his hands in his pockets.
    â€œWhat was the significance of the Battle of the Bulge?”
    A few hands shot up, but Mr. P. passed by them and looked right at me. “Kerry?”
    I widened my eyes, sat up a little straighter.
    â€œI don’t know, Mr. P.,” I said. “What
is
the significance of the Battle of the Bulge?” A few students snickered. I hadn’t done the reading, hadn’t done much regarding school at all lately.
    â€œYou don’t know.”
    â€œNo.”
    We stared at each other a moment, the tension thick. Then he walked right over to my desk so only I and perhaps a few others could hear what he was about to say.
    â€œYou know, Miss Cohen,” he said quietly, “you might consider someday focusing on school instead of boys. That might serve you better in life.”
    My breath caught. The room was silent. I didn’t dare look at my friends in the class, one of whom had been at the bar that night. I thought about the fact that he’d asked me whether I gave blow jobs, considered briefly that I could fling that back at him. Considered that I could even tell on him. I could get him fired. I sat red faced, furious, but I could also feel the tears pressing at my eyes. I got up and left the room before they came. He didn’t watch me go, but I could feel his awareness of me.
    I had to keep going to his class, of course, if I was to pass the year. And I would pass, always slipping by under the radar so nobody would ever see that there might be something wrong.
    In his class I tried to pay attention to his lectures, but mostly I spent the period glaring at him, hating him, wishing him the worst things that could befall him — disease and loss and abandonment. I wished most for him to feel like he’d made me feel, as though I were worthless, needy, as though all the things I most feared about myself were true. All the things I feared made me undesirable.
    When I walked through Dorrian’s doors now, the pressure to matter there was like a heavy cloak I couldn’t pull off. My friends and I sat as we had before, smiling and conversing, sea breezes sweating on the table. I couldn’t keep my eyes steady. I scanned the room each night, searching, my desperation unmoored. I was surer than ever that there was a rule to this game, that if I were just more beautiful, simply said the exact right thing or wore the right outfit, I would get what I wanted. The stakes were higher now. If I didn’t find a boy tonight, if a boy didn’t acknowledge me, I would cease to exist. Meanwhile, my friends spotted hot boys from boarding schools in the city and said, “That one is so fine” and “I dare you to smile at him.” For them, this was still just for fun.
    The outcome remained unknowable.