Читать книгу Falling for the Teacher - Tracy Kelleher - Страница 12

“YOU FORGOT, DIDN’T YOU?” Matt accused. “Why am I not surprised?” He turned his head away. “Some dad you turned out to be. You forgot about my mom. You forgot about m—” He bit back the final word.

The boy turned back, his scowl evident. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Ben stared. “Did you just refer to me as your dad?”

Matt straightened and faced forward. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just a figure of speech. And don’t change the subject.”

Matt had resolutely insisted on calling Ben by his first name since they’d met a month and a half ago, and Ben hadn’t tried to dissuade the boy otherwise. He figured Matt would come around and accept the relationship. Ben was still waiting.

The teacher’s voice rose higher. “Could everyone pass these around?”

Ben glimpsed up to see papers making their way back. He ignored them and bent toward Matt. “Listen, like I told you before, for whatever reasons, your mother didn’t tell me about you.”

“Maybe because you never stuck around to find out.” Matt took the assignment from the student in front of him. “Here. Have some homework.” He thrust the extras at Ben who got an additional stack from some crazy-looking woman with punk hair.

Flummoxed, Ben dropped the handouts in a rough pile on the desk. A few drifted to the floor. “Listen, we really need to talk and—”

“Mr. Brown, is there some problem?” the teacher called out from the front of the classroom.

Matt hung his head in his hands and groaned.

Ben he looked up. The teacher was frowning. “No problem,” he lied. Everybody’s a critic, he mumbled under his breath.

He angled his shoulder under the desk and stretched his arm awkwardly, managing to snag the last paper. Then he went to straighten up. And promptly clipped his head on the corner of the desk. “Holy—”

Only visions of Matt dissolving with shame kept him from finishing his thought. He gingerly straightened up, clutching the back of his head with one hand and holding the papers in the other. He looked around.

Everyone’s attention was again locked on him.

“No damage done,” he assured them, ignoring the lump forming on the back of his head.

“If you’re sure?” the teacher said. She turned sideways, and Ben saw her cover her mouth to hide her laughter.

He lowered his head and died a thousand deaths. This must be what Matt’s every waking hour is like, he thought.

The teacher spent the next thirty minutes or so talking, and Ben, who was still pondering the unfairness of fate, vaguely heard terms like pension, 401K and IRA defined and discussed. And somewhere in the mix she seemed to have mentioned something about homework until finally, miraculously, a buzzer sounded. There was a remote chance he’d survive this moment after all.

Ben looked across the aisle and found the kid’s seat empty. He checked the room. Matt had found refuge in a corner and was furiously texting, moving his fingers across the keypad with lightning speed.

Ben sighed and unfolded his legs from under the desk. “Get me out of here,” he said to no one in particular.

Rufus swiveled around from his front row seat. “Don’t worry. In four or five years he’ll actually become human again.”

The woman with the spiked hair thrust a small flat packet in his direction. Her large hoop earrings looked like they had razor-sharp points at critical junctures. “Here, crack this. It’ll help,” she said.

Ben stared at the thin plastic-covered square. “Microwave popcorn?” he asked, confused.

“God, you’re helpless. It’s a cold pack that activates when you crack it. Put it on your head where you hit it. Otherwise I can guarantee you’re going to have a nasty bump. I always carry one in my bag on account of tennis. You never know.” She tapped the oversize canvas tote.

Ben could have sworn it moved, but maybe he’d been hit on the head one too many times tonight. “Thank you, but I’m fine, really,” he said.

She patted his hand, something he couldn’t remember happening in quite some time, if ever. “No, you’re not.” One more pat, then she marched back up the aisle.

Ben closed his eyes and shook his head. He heard more footsteps coming his way. What now? he wondered. More unsolicited advice from the soft food crowd?

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. And saw the teacher. She appeared all radiant and dewy, though perhaps a more accurate appraisal was semidried out.

She stopped a few paces in front of him. “Mr. Brown.”

“Ms…ah…I’m afraid I didn’t catch the name.”

“Zemanova.”

“Zemanova.” Saying her name produced a vibration on his tongue that was mildly exhilarating. Maybe he did need that ice pack after all?

She tucked a lock of her wild red hair behind her ear. The lobe was pearly pink, the rounded edge as delicate as fine china.

Ben told himself to breathe.

“Mr. Brown,” she repeated, “I wanted to talk to you. Maybe we could have a seat?”

Ben groaned inwardly.

She motioned to the empty desks.

“I’m…ah…” He caved. “After you,” he said, wondering as he lowered himself sideways if Hunt knew the name of a good chiropractor. “Actually I wanted to talk to you, too. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” He sat facing her, at right angles to the desk. He let his legs hang out in the aisle.

She scooted back in her seat. “At the risk of possibly offending you, which, believe me, is totally not my purpose, I think the misunderstanding may actually be between you and your son.” She pursed her lips.

“Listen, I’m sorry if we were disturbing the class, but you might say our relationship—” Ben nodded toward Matt who had yet to lift his head from his phone “—is a work in progress.”

She took a deep breath. It made her chest rise.

Ben tried to pretend he didn’t notice. He focused on her slender neck instead. There was a hollow indentation at the base between her collarbone. It looked like a shallow porcelain bowl.

“I wouldn’t call a steady stream of barely contained bickering progress,” she said.

He stopped looking at that mesmerizing depression. He was suddenly tired. He had been on an emotional roller coaster, and why was it that strangers felt compelled to point out how incompetent he was when he was perfectly capable of making that same judgment himself? “Ms. uh, Ms. Zemenitch,”

“Zemanova.”

“Ms. Zemanova. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but has anyone ever told you that you’ve got some nerve?”

“Actually, I don’t have any nerve. Not anymore at least. But then that’s my problem, not yours.”

It wasn’t the response Ben had expected, but, frankly, he was more focused on his own problems than trying to dissect someone else’s. “And before you launch into a lecture on proper parenting, I want you to know that I’m kind of new to this whole father thing,” he explained. “Not that I’m making excuses, mind you, but the truth of the matter is, Matt just came to live with me less than a month ago, and before that, I didn’t even know he existed.”

She frowned at the news. “I see,” she said, sounding schoolmarmish. “Well, far be it from me to lecture anyone on parenting skills, seeing as I don’t have any kids myself.” After glancing down at her watch, she looked up, the strain visible in her eyes. “It must be very difficult for both you and him. I can only imagine how hurt and abandoned he must feel, but he’s lucky he has you to turn to now.”

Ben breathed in deeply and swallowed. “I’m not sure he’d agree with that statement.”

“No teenager agrees with what an adult says.”

“I thought you said you weren’t the expert?”

“I’m not, but I remember shouting horrible things to my mother when she wouldn’t let me dye my hair blue.”

“You wanted to dye your hair blue?”

“Well, blue was the school color, and I wanted to show my rah-rah spirit. Anyway Mother said she could understand someone wanting to dye their hair, however she thought the whole blue rah-rah thing was and I quote, ‘an Orwellian sign of mindless conformity to flaunt institutional colors.’”

Ben stared at her. There were mothers in this world who said things like that? Perhaps foster care hadn’t been such a bad option after all. He cleared his throat, contemplating just how different their worlds had been…

OH, MY GOD, HE’S sitting there looking at me like I’m some kind of lunatic! Katarina thought. The seconds ticked by. It took all her willpower not to check the time again.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, her bid to assert herself and do a good deed. But there had been something about the sullen unhappiness of the boy that had struck a personal chord. She silently studied the man seated opposite her. His eyes were deep set, and with his high cheekbones his appearance was mysterious, foreign and unbelievably sexy.

She gulped. “Listen, I know that you must think I’m a complete idiot.” She splayed her hand over her collarbone and felt the rapid pulsing of a vein.

He lifted his gaze from her hand to her face. “Actually, I was trying to imagine what it would be like to have a mother who used words like Orwellian.”

Katarina detected a smile. At least one corner of his mouth was turned up, which in common parlance seemed to indicate the act of smiling. And his voice had a certain lilt that had been absent before, a sign that seemed to elicit a small flutter from the base of her sternum.

“It was different, I can tell you,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss further discussion on that subject. “Anyway, my mother and I are besides the point.”

He raised his chin and stared down at her through sooty black lashes.

No man deserved to have those.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose it’s always about our mothers on some level, but let’s not go there. Let’s get to fathers, and not in the abstract.” She gripped the edge of the desk and chose her words carefully. “As a teacher, what matters to me most right now is the proper functioning of this class, and that proper functioning seems to have gotten tied up with the relationship between you and your son. Listen, I know Matt is worried about funding his college education, and that’s why I’m encouraging you to take this class along with him. I mean, technically, he’s too young to be in the class, but with you involved, I think we can bend the rules a bit. Besides, working together on this project—” she tapped her index finger up and down on the sheaf of papers she held “—might be a great opportunity to bond, not to mention solve the college tuition problem.”

She looked over at Ben’s desk and saw that except for the motorcycle helmet, he didn’t have anything else at the ready. “Perhaps you didn’t get one for yourself?” She peeled off the top sheet and handed it over.

He skimmed the assignment. “An investment simulation game?”

She nodded, clasping her hands atop the pile in front of her. “That’s right. You see, everyone in the class will set up a mini portfolio, and together we’ll all chart our progress. Naturally, I’ll explain strategies for picking stocks and other investments, as well as the elements of buying and selling.”

She saw him consider the document carefully. Perhaps the assignment seemed all a bit too overwhelming for him? “Don’t be worried. It’s not as complicated as it seems.”

“That’s what you think,” he replied.

Katarina opened her hands and begged, or at least beseeched. “I’m not saying you have to perform like our no-show guest lecturer. Besides, the idea is to work in groups, so you won’t be in this alone. You’ll have a partner. Naturally, I was thinking you and Matt could work together, and that way you could bounce ideas off each other, spend time working things out.”

“That’s if we don’t kill each other first.”

“Well, there is that possibility, I grant you.”

He smiled at her words.

Katarina felt her face go red. It was the curse of being a redhead. She looked sideways and fanned herself with the top few papers. “Hot in here, don’t you think?”

“There’s just one thing,” he said.

She returned his gaze in all earnestness. “I know, I know. You’re worried that you’re not signed up for the course. I can take care of that.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s more about…about…who I am.”

She dismissed his objection with a shake of her head. “I know, I mean, think I understand. It’s all new to you, this investing thing, and no doubt you’re concerned that you won’t look good in Matt’s eyes.”

At his startled expression, the answer suddenly became clear to her. “Wait, no, hear me out. How about I work with the two of you. After class even, if it’s all right with you?” She narrowed her eyes in a demonstration of earnest commitment. She even pumped her fist. “I really want to make this work, for the class, but mostly for Matt and you.”

And for me, a little voice inside her head added. I need to make something work for me. To be able to move forward and accomplish something instead of merely marking time.

He looked completely befuddled. “That’s very kind of you. But what I really wanted to talk about was the guest lecturer you mentioned. The one who didn’t show?”

“Please, can we forget about him? It wasn’t my idea anyway, something Iris dreamed up. Can you believe it?”

“Somehow I can.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Only Iris would ask some megamogul to speak at a night school class.” She watched his thick black curls tumble over his long fingers. Nice.

“About the speaker…I really think you should know—”

“The case is closed on the speaker.” She held up her hand to make a stop sign before glancing down at her watch. “Look, break’s almost over, Mr. Brown. So, what do you say? Will you do it?”

He hesitated, sizing her up and down twice.

Katarina felt as if he was measuring her mettle. She sat up straighter.

“You’re determined to help us out, even after class?” He looked at her askance, one eyebrow raised.

She nodded encouragingly. She would not go down without a fight. “It’ll be good for me, too. Promise.”

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of break. She stood, wincing as she put weight on her leg. “Do we have a deal then, Mr. Brown?”

He carefully levered himself from the tight desk to an upright position.

Once more Katarina was struck by his size and strength.

“All right, Ms. Zemanova. I’ll do it. But only if you call me Ben.” He tilted his head and waited for a reply.

She breathed in slowly. You can do this, girl. No sweat. And then she held out her hand to secure the deal, all business, just like she used to do in her old life. “All right, Ben. And you must call me Katarina.”

He clasped his hand in hers. Firm, warm and masculine. “Katarina.” This time there was no mistake. “But one thing?”

“Yes?”

“You have to promise to protect me from my son.”

Katarina ended the handshake and clutched the papers to her chest. The real question, she realized, was who was going to protect her from the father?