He looked up when she came in, turning his evening-blue eyes on her. He held her gaze, perhaps because she was staring at him and walking slowly over.
“Did you have trouble with the homework?” he asked.
He had told the class yesterday that he offered tutoring in the morning before school. She had considered faking confusion so she could spend extra time with him, but the assignment was just a review of the stuff she’d done last year. And besides, she wanted him to know how smart she was. Kye, she was sure, liked smart girls.
“No,” she said. “I brought something for you. An apple for the teacher.” She pulled out the bottle and handed it to him.
He smiled in happy surprise. “Your mom’s applesauce?”
“Yep. She insisted I bring it to you.”
Kye turned the bottle in his hands. “This is the best stuff. Tell her she’s completely ruined me for store-bought applesauce.”
“Well, there’s more where that came from.” The Clarks had four apple trees in their yard, which meant there was a lot more where that came from. Suddenly Elsie was glad she’d always been drafted into applesauce duty—the way to a man’s heart and all of that.
Kye put the bottle on his desk and surveyed Elsie. “I see how it is,” he said, teasing. “Your mom thinks she can bribe me into passing you. It might work. She should at least try.”
Elsie smiled back at him, more comfortable now. “I won’t need bribery to pass calculus. I learned everything I know about math from Carson.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Remind your mom I like the cinnamon kind too.”
Elsie had meant it as a compliment to Kye—he had taught Carson, Carson had taught her. Although strictly speaking, Carson hadn’t helped her that much with her math, so it was probably a convoluted attempt at a compliment to begin with. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
Kye held out his hand, palm up. “Let’s see your homework.”
She pulled it from her notebook and handed it to him, already feeling a glowing sense of pride. He glanced over it, nodded with approval, then set it down on his desk. “You obviously didn’t learn everything you know about math from Carson. I hate to disillusion you about you your big brother—especially since he’s one of my best friends—but Carson frequently couldn’t remember which order the numbers went in.”
Elsie laughed. “I don’t think he was quite that bad.”
“Seriously,” Kye said, lowering his voice because a couple more people had entered the room. “If you need help later on when things get harder, I want you to come in for tutoring.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said again. “I’m a straight-A student.”
“I know. That’s why I’d hate to be the one to ruin your GPA.”
He knew her GPA? That meant he’d checked up on her after yesterday. The thought made her feel breathless—even if he’d only done it because she was his friend’s little sister. “I can tell you’re a smart girl,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hardest for the smart kids to ask for help.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get help. I mean, I’ll ask for it. If I need it. From you.” She obviously needed help, although not in math. She needed help in knowing how to carry on a conversation with hot older men. She needed help acting like she wasn’t an immature teenager. “Um, thanks,” she finished and walked over to the nearest desk. One in the front row. It became her desk from then on.
Seeing Kye every day became a sweet sort of misery. Elsie stared at him dreamily, relentlessly. Her eyes traced the lines of his hands as they swept markers against the dry erase board. His handwriting was a swirl of passion in numbers. Sometimes it was hard to pay attention to the calculus because all the old words about marrying Kye kept stirring themselves up and inserting themselves into the integrals on the board.
Dx(uv) = u(dv/dx) + v(du/dx) = we will have children with brown hair, blue eyes, and your smile that quirks up at the side.
The other girls at school declared math was much more enjoyable with Mr. McBride teaching it, but none of them were as devoted as Elsie. All year long, she excelled in math. She got perfect scores on her homework. Aced the tests. She lived for the moments when Kye handed her papers back with a smile and a word of praise.
Every Monday she came to class early and brought him a bottle of applesauce. She didn’t even complain when her mother made her help in the applesauce canning marathon. Some of these bottles would be for Kye. That made the work delicious.
Sometimes while waiting for class to start, Elsie would talk to Kye about Carson or her family, or anything—books she’d read or things in the news. In those moments he talked to her like she was a friend. At those times she was sure he felt an attraction to her too. He always held her gaze a little longer than normal, smiled more easily.
Besides those unspoken moments, he never gave her an indication he saw her as anything else than a student. She knew there were rules about students and teachers. She didn’t want him to do anything to risk his job, but she wasn’t going to be in high school forever. She could have lived until graduation on a teaspoon of encouragement. And then after graduation, well, she and Kye would have an entire summer before she went off to college.
Summer. The warmth of it continually swirled around in her stomach.
Elsie let other boys flirt with her in class, even flirted back with them sometimes. She did this to show Kye that she could, that she was someone worthy of his attention. If he was jealous, he didn’t show it. As he told the guys to settle down and get to their seats, he only seemed annoyed they were wasting class time.
Precious math time.
Dx(u/v) = (v(du/dx) – u(dv/dx))/v2 = we will laugh about all of this on our tenth wedding anniversary.
Things probably would have gone on that way, and she would have graduated with her dignity intact, if it hadn’t been for that night at the Mathematics Decathlon.
It was a couple of weeks before graduation. Elsie was on the team and Kye was one of the advisors. They traveled to Montana State University, and it had all gone well enough—or at least as well as anyone expected. The team from Lark Field High didn’t win, but they made a decent showing. They had fun and got to joke around with other mathletes.
“Why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?”
No answer was required. A Mobius strip only has one side.
“Dear Math, Please stop making me find your X. Just get over her.”
On the last night, the students had a dance on campus. Elsie had taken extra time to make sure she was beautiful, noticeable. Here, away from the usual setting of school, it felt like anything could happen.
Kye was one of the chaperones for the dance. All night he stood in the corner of the room wearing a white, button-down shirt to indicate he was a teacher, not a student. That shirt was a Do Not Cross sign. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he looked bored. How could Elsie keep from imagining what those hands would feel like on her shoulders, on her waist, slow dancing with her? Just once, she wanted to stand slow-dance close to him.
She was eighteen. That made her an adult. In other times and places, girls were already married at eighteen. Certainly it wasn’t wrong to just dance with Kye.
After the night was nearly over, Elsie finally got the courage to go talk to him. A fast song played, not a slow one, which made her request downright innocent.
“Hey, Mr. McBride,” she said, half-laughing as though the idea had just occurred to her, “let’s dance.”
He shook his head. “I’m a chaperone.”
“So, chaperones aren’t allowed to have any fun?”
“Nope. It’s one of the chaperone bylaws. I have to be curmudgeonly, insist no one has fun, and I can’t dance.”
“Come on,” she said, sending him a come-hither smile. “Just this once. I won’t report you to the curmudgeon police.”
He gestured in the direction of a group of guys. A couple of freshmen stood nearest to the dance floor. “Try one of them. They look like they would
say yes to you.”
It was a snub and Elsie felt its sting. Still, she smiled, shrugged, and strolled over toward the group he’d pointed at. She passed up the freshmen and walked over to a tall, rebellious-looking guy standing behind them. He had long, shaggy hair, gauges in his earlobes, and a beat up T-shirt. She not only asked him to dance, she danced in a way to show Kye that math wasn’t the only thing she excelled at. Every move, every twist of her hips and flip of her hair was for Kye. I’m not a little girl any more, she thought. I’m done waiting on the stairs.
Her dance partner said his name was Bono—like the singer. She didn’t know who that was. He made small talk, which she mostly ignored. She was a dancer on a stage and this was a performance. When the song ended, Bono asked her to dance again. She said yes because it saved her the trouble of having to find a new guy to dance with. A slow song played, and she didn’t even mind Bono’s hand on her hips, because every time she glanced over at Kye, he was watching with an ever-present frown of disapproval.
It made Elsie feel powerful. For so long, she had sat in the crowd watching him. Finally their positions were reversed.
When the song ended, Bono took a step back from her. His long bangs nearly covered his eyes. “It’s hot in here. Do you want to go outside?”
Her gaze cut back over to Kye. He was still watching her, still frowning. Why shouldn’t he see her go outside with one of the guys he’d suggested? If it caused him a pang of regret for blowing her off, good. He deserved it. She smiled at Bono. “Sure.”
Bono smiled too. She hadn’t seen anything sinister in his smile. Not then. He made his way toward the door, and she threaded through the crowd after him, triumphant.
When they walked outside into the darkness of the night, her triumphant feelings drained away. She was no longer making a point to Kye; she was standing outside with a guy she had no interest in. She looked him over again. Now that they were away from the dance crowd, his rebellious-looking hair just seemed pointlessly long. The huge holes in his ears were an obvious cry for attention. His smile was too broad, his gaze too intense.
The cars in the parking lot sat in rows, their darkened headlights making them look like they were all part of the same dull stupor. A lamp in the distance cast off a feeble circle of light.
How long did Elsie have to stay outside before she could politely say she wanted to go back inside? She fidgeted with her class ring, twisting it around her finger.
Bono stepped toward her. “Are you thirsty? I know a place we can get some beer.” He took hold of her hand and pulled her toward the parking lot.
She dropped his hand and gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’ll get in trouble if I go anywhere.” She drifted back toward the door they’d come from.
Bono let out a sound that was half grunt and half laugh. “No one saw us come outside. We’ll be back before the dance is over.”
No one had seen them come outside? She had thought Kye had been watching them. His eyes had been on her throughout the dance, but maybe he’d stopped looking at her when the song ended. The thought made her feel cross inside. Had she left with Bono for nothing?
“That’s okay,” Elsie said. “I only came out here because I was hot.”
Bono waggled his eyebrows at her. “You certainly are.”
Lame. It was such an old joke she couldn’t believe he’d said it. If he asked her for her phone number, she wouldn’t give him her real one. Maybe she would give him a list of prime numbers or turn her answer into an equation. If he was smart, he’d figure it out, and if he wasn’t, then he could just figure that she didn’t want him to call her.
Bono took hold of her hand again. “Hey, I want to show you something in my car. It’s right over there.” He pointed to a black car a couple rows back and began towing her in that direction.
“What is it?” She reluctantly let him lead her across the asphalt. She didn’t care about anything he had in his car. Then again the car was in plain sight. It wasn’t as though he’d suggested they go into a darkened alley.
“So what does L. C. stand for?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“L. C.?” she repeated.
“Your name,” he said. “What do the L and the C stand for?”
“It’s not L. C.” They were close enough to his car now that she didn’t bother protesting that she didn’t want to go there. It was better to see whatever he wanted to show her and then go back inside. “It’s E-L-S-I-E.”
“Oh,” he said, understanding. “I’ve never heard of that name before. It sorta sounds like a question. L, see?”
This from a guy whose name was Bono? She never should have said yes about coming outside in the first place. Making Kye jealous had been a stupid plan to begin with. He was never going to be jealous, and she ought to realize that by now.
They arrived at Bono’s car. He took out his keychain and pushed the unlock button. He opened the door and waited for her to get in.
She didn’t. “What did you want to show me?”
He pulled her closer and lowered his voice in an attempt to sound alluring. “I want to show you how my seats recline.”
Beyond lame. She wasn’t even going to give him a fake phone number. She jerked her hand away from his. “I’m going back inside.”
She turned, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to face him. “We’ll go back inside in a few minutes.”
She laughed even though her stomach clenched in fear. If she treated this like a joke, he would let her go. Nothing bad would happen. She tried to pull her wrist away from him. “I think I’ve already seen enough reclining seats.” It was the wrong thing to say. It made her sound like she’d spent a lot of time making out with guys in their cars.
His grip on her wrist tightened. “What’s one more then?”
She grabbed his fingers, only managing to pry one off her. “Let me go or I’ll scream.”
He laughed and she caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. “No one will hear you.”
She kicked him in the shin, hard. She’d been aiming for his knee. A kick there could have disabled him. Kicking him in the shin just made him mad. He swore and shoved her hard toward the open car door.
As she fell, her head smacked against the car’s metal edge. She screamed, but he was right. The sound wavered, too weak to carry through the building. Her scream was only a noise of frustration and anger. How had she gotten herself into this situation? How had this guy gone from asking about her name to hurting her? These things only happened in the news, in movies, in warnings given to naive young girls. Not to smart girls like her.
Panic twined through her. She kicked at Bono again, connected with some part of his body, she wasn’t sure what. She was laying half in, half out of the front seat. Instead of screaming again, she turned and pressed the horn. A loud blare sounded from the car. Maybe someone would hear it. Maybe someone would come out to see what was wrong.
Maybe was such a precarious word.
Still she clung to it and kept fighting.
Chapter 3
Elsie kicked at Bono again. This time he expected it. He grabbed hold of her leg, shoved it against the door, and drew his hand back to hit her. She braced herself and lifted one hand to protect her face.
The hit never came. Instead Bono was yanked backward so fast it looked like he’d been sucked into something. Another figure stood behind him. Kye. Elsie recognized his white shirt. His beautiful, wonderful, chaperone white shirt.
Kye slammed Bono into the side of the car so forcefully, the thud vibrated through the vehicle. Bono swore, swinging wildly at Kye. He must have missed, because Kye didn’t even flinch. Elsie dragged herself out of the car in time to see Kye swing his fist into Bono’s stomach.
Bono crumpled over and let out a groan that sounded like a punctured tire.
Rage was etched across Kye’s face. He held onto Bono’s shirt with one hand, keeping him pinned against the car. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “What do you think you’re do
ing, punk?”
Bono didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t fight back as Kye reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys and wallet. Kye flipped open the wallet, read the name on the license, then dropped it on the ground. He let go of Bono’s shirt, but held onto the keys. “I’ll keep these so you don’t drive off before the police get here.”
The word police seemed to bring Bono to life. He coughed out, “Sorry, man. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”
“Shut up,” Kye said.
Bono shot a last look at Elsie, then darted away from Kye and sprinted through the parking lot.
For a moment Kye looked as though he would go after him, but instead he surveyed Elsie. Only a little of the anger faded from his expression. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, even though she wasn’t okay at all. She was shaking. Cold. She wrapped her arms around herself. It didn’t help.
“Did he hurt you?” Kye asked. He already had his cell phone out and was calling someone.
She touched the side of her head. A lump had formed there. A patch of moisture told her it was bleeding. “He pushed me, and I hit my head.”
Kye swore and gazed across the parking lot where Bono had run. He was gone, had disappeared into the darkness.
Kye bent down, picked up the wallet, then took hold of Elsie’s arm. Gently, he led her back toward the building. Everything had happened so fast she’d barely had time to think about it, but now the last few moments were repeating in her mind in slow motion. A guy had attacked her. Attacked her. Tried to . . . what would have happened if Kye hadn’t come? Would she have been able to fight Bono off? Or would he have . . . right now, she could be back in that car, with Bono hitting her—or worse. Even thinking about it made her stomach turn.
Kye was talking on the phone, relating what had just happened. Elsie didn’t know who he was speaking to. The police? One of the other chaperones? Her parents?
That’s when she started crying—not when she’d been attacked, not when she’d been rescued; she cried at the thought of telling her parents. Elsie wanted her mother, wanted her mother’s comforting arms around her. But how could she tell her the rest? She felt so stupid, so helpless.