Fade by Lisa McMann Page B

enthralled by the scratching of his pencil. She takes a sip of water from the bottle he offered, and her swallow is
    the only sound in the room.
    She watches his Adam"s apple bob reflexively.
    “Okay,” he says finally. He explains the half-page-long equation from
    start to finish, and she"s turned toward him, her elbow on the table and
    fingers in her hair, nodding, thinking, waiting.
    “I think I"ve got it,” she says when he"s finished.
    “Now, you give it a try,” he says, looking at her. He takes the paper and
    slips it under her notebook, brushing her breast with his forearm. Both
    pretend not to notice.
    Janie pulls out a fresh piece of paper and begins from the initial equation.
    She leans over the paper, so her hair falls in front of her shoulder, and
    scribbles away. After a moment he draws her hair back over her shoulder. His fingers linger an extra moment on her neck. “I can"t see,”
    he explains.
    “Sorry about that.” She flips her hair to the other side of her neck, and
    she can feel him looking at her. She hesitates in the middle of the process. Mulls it over. “Hang on,” she murmurs, “don"t tell me.”
    “It"s okay,” he says quietly. He"s leaning over her, his breath on her
    shoulder. “Take your time.”
    “I"m never going to get this,” she says.
    ı
    His fingers touch her back lightly.
    She pretends not to notice.
    She calculates her moves, trying to get into the mind of someone who
    would welcome such advances. She decides that the someone would do
    absolutely nothing now, not wanting to risk a problem, and so she lets
    out a shallow breath and moves her pencil again, and then after a moment, dares a quick glance at him that tells him everything he wants
    to know.
    “How"s that?” she asks, pointing to her work.
    “It"s good, Janie. Perfect.” He lets his hand rest centrally on her back.
    She smiles and looks at the paper a moment, and packs up her books
    slowly. “Well. Thanks, Mr. Durbin, for, uh, you know. Letting me barge
    in on your evening like this.”
    He walks her to the door and leans against it, his hand on the handle.
    “My pleasure,” he says. “I hope you come by again sometime. Just shoot
    me an e-mail. I"ll make it work.”
    She steps toward him, goes to open the door so she can leave, but he"s
    still holding on to the door handle. Trapping her. “Janie,” he says. She turns. “Yes?”
    “We both know, don"t we,” he says, “why you wanted to come here this
    evening.”
    Janie gulps. “We do?”
    “Yes. And don"t feel badly about it. Because I"m attracted to you, too.”
    Janie blinks. Blushes.
    “But,” he continues, “I can"t have a relationship with you while you"re
    my student. It"s not right. Even though you"re eighteen.”
    Janie is silent, looking at the floor.
    He tips her chin up. His fingers linger on her face. “But once you graduate,” he says with a look in his eye, “well, that"s a different story.”
    She can"t believe this.
    And then she can.
    It"s how he keeps them quiet.
    Blames them.
    She knows what to say.
    It"s the saying it that makes her want to puke on his shoes.
    “I"m sorry,” she says. “I"m so embarrassed.”
    “Don"t be,” he says, and she knows he wants her to be. She waits for it. Waits for the line she knows is coming next from this
    egocentric bastard. She resists the urge to say it first.
    “It happens all the time,” he says.
    She manages to turn her cringe into a sad smile, and leaves without
    another word, although she"s tempted to follow the movie ending by
    crying out, “I"m such a fool!”
    About four seconds after she pulls out of the driveway, her cell phone
    rings. She waits until she"s out of view of the house before she picks it
    up.
    “I"m fine, Cabe.”
    “"Kay. Love you.”
    She laughs. “Is that it?”
    “I"m trying to behave like a good cop.”
    “He"s tricky. I"m heading home. You wanna stop by for the details?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I"m calling Baker now, and then Captain. I"ll see you