Status: I don't think I'll continue writing this, so most likely discontinued. :/
It's a Love Story
"i like it in the city when two words collide"
Juliette's POV:
White, white, white was all I could see, in every direction I turned. Tourists all around me were snapping pictures of the famed tiered walls, each level with a different quote written on it, the beautifully sculpted fountain was burbling gently behind me, with the bronze pennies being thrown in reflecting in the water’s surface as they were momentarily suspended mid-air, before splashing down and sinking deep into the white depths, taking their tosser’s wish down with them, and the chatter of my classmates behind me grew louder as we climbed up the steps. The Guggenheim Museum, located in Manhattan on Fifth and 89th, was just so much better for a field trip than the Metropolitan Museum, in my opinion. The Met, with those security guards that eyed you like you were about to snatch something right then and there, not to mention its pretentious monthly galas where rich Upper East Siders – my grandmother included – dressed up to sip champagne and criticize everyone and everything, felt so restricting and stuffy. The Guggenheim wasn’t like that. Like dust settled for decades on an age-old antique, the Guggenheim just had this unshakeable aura of effortless cool.
But unfortunately, it wasn’t just my photo class that Wolff had taken on the trip. The other art class, the one filled with bored seniors who were just taking the class for an art credit to graduate, had also come along on Wolff’s school outing. And surprise, surprise, the other class included Vanderbilt Academy’s reigning Queen Bitch, Nicole Berg. I knew I was going to have an issue when she sat down on the bus and loudly complained to anyone who would listen that she had never taken anything but a limo into Manhattan. Cue eye rolls and suppressed, exasperated sighs.
But now, Nicole was busy criticizing the school tag the museum was making us wear in case any of us got lost – as though we couldn’t just walk up to someone and say, hey, I lost a huge crowd of kids wearing the same uniform as me, have you seen them? But Nicole was complaining for a different reason. “I mean, it’s so boxy and ugly. The pin is like jabbing into my bra. And it’s totally clashing with my uniform—”
I spun around and cut her off. “Nicole, it’s white. It can’t possibly clash with your uniform in any kind of way.”
Nicole’s jaw dropped. Behind her, I caught a swift glance of Wolff, stifling a laugh as though he had heard me. But before Nicole could toss off some depraving insult back, Conner Berg, her twin brother, the only person who could keep her in line and who also happened to be my boyfriend, slipped his arm around me and pulled me close to him. That shut her up quick enough. Nicole never dared to put me down in front of Connor. But just because I was dating her brother, didn’t mean she had to like me at all – right then, I could feel her burning holes in my back with her laser-beam eyes.
“Bloodshed on the steps of the Guggenheim would not be good for all parties involved,” Connor said by way of explanation as he lead me away.
I laughed. “Thanks, Con.”
“Hey – everyone? Over here,” Wolff called out, gesturing to us. We all gathered around him and quieted down. “Alright. So, lemme count heads first. One, two, three… Okay, whatever. If anyone’s stupid enough to get lost, that’s their fault,” he said dismissively.
A smattering of chuckles went around our group, and Wolff blushedadorably. “Um, I mean, if anyone’s lost it would be a very serious matter for the school,” he mumbled. He paused for a second, gazing around the room. His emerald eyes passed over me twice, lingering slightly the second time, and suddenly I felt uncomfortably aware of Connor’s arm still draped around my shoulders. What the fuck, Juliette? He’s your boyfriend. I shook this sudden thought off as Wolff continued, “But it looks like everyone’s here, so let’s keep going, shall we? So, here’s what’s gonna go on. We’ve got two hours to spend here. Use them wisely. Be sure to check out the two exhibits I mentioned in class. I want you not just to see, but also look, really look, and understand. And – Nicole, did you have something to tell everyone?” He glared rather pointedly at Nicole, who had been whispering conspiringly with her two minions. Probably on how to further ruin my day, I thought darkly.
Nicole straightened, tossing her shiny, well-kept hair over her shoulder. “No, sir,” she replied in that sweet tone that usually worked on all teachers. Not Wolff. I bit back a smile as he scowled and turned away from her with a very irritated look on his face.
“Great, then. Well, by tomorrow, guys, I want you all to type me up two solid pages on two pieces you liked and why. Tyler, don’t you dare try and do that margins trick again, I did that all through college and got away with it every single year, so I’ll be able to tell. And Nicole, you can type up three pages, since you’ve just got so much to say.” He smirked, and now I really couldn’t resist a triumphant smile, especially when I caught Nicole’s horrified expression.
“Wait, guys,” Wolff called out as our chatter began resuming. He waited a second until we had more or less silenced ourselves. “Before you guys run off to smoke joints in the back and pay someone else to do your papers, I have to give you all my number in case someone actually does get lost. School protocol,” he added, sounding bored. I pulled out my Blackberry and saved the number he read out to us. Then I turned to Connor. “Wanna head up to the first floor?”
“Actually, I told Jeremy I’d go up to the fourth floor with him. He says there’s a nude section that’s practically porn,” he informed me, sounding way too excited for a guy who has a girlfriend. Um, hello? “I’ll catch you later, babe.” He gave me a swift kiss on the cheek before hurrying off with his loser friends who so obviously needed to get laid.
I turned around me. Everyone was drifting off in groups of three and four, leaving me pretty much on my own. Awesome. I inwardly rolled my eyes, cursing my best friend Sophie in my head for not taking art this year.
About an hour and a half later, I’m still wandering around the museum on my own, taking bites from a street pretzel I left momentarily to buy from across the street. I paused in front of a collection of Cindy Sherman self-portraits and chewed thoughtfully as I gazed at a still life.
“Cindy Sherman, huh?”
I jumped. “Oh – oh, hey Wolff.” I scowled slightly at him. “You need to stop creeping up behind me.”
He gives me a crooked smile, his green eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” he said, thoroughly unapologetic. “So, why by yourself?”
I shrugged, turning my attention back to the picture, and didn’t answer. “You’re pretty antisocial, I get it,” he remarked.
“Not true!” I defended myself. “I just don’t like…” I turned to see him grinning playfully.
“Joking,” he assured me. “You’re quite the bamf, though,” he added, gesturing to my pretzel. “Not joking about that one. Didn’t I say to stay in the museum?”
I looked at his stern expression and raised an eyebrow lightly. “It’s okay, I guess.” He shrugged. “If you give me a piece.”
I rolled my eyes. “Here, take it.” I tear off a piece and hand it to him. He pops it in his mouth.
“Mmm, nothing like a New York City pretzel,” he sighed, chewing contently. “Man, I miss this stuff.”
I looked at him, trying to figure out how much I could ask and when I would be crossing the line. “How long did you live in the city?” I ended up saying cautiously.
“Couple of years,” he replied, licking salt off his fingers. “Came here to go to NYU. Studied art, that whole stuff. Then worked as art director in this place, which is why we got free tickets here.”
“So you must know your way around the city pretty well,” I said distractedly, unconsciously watching him lick his fingers. I suddenly noticed how close were walking – close enough to see the dark undertones in his dirty blonde hair, close enough to see the gold glimmers in his bright green eyes, close enough to get a faint whiff of his woodsy aroma. Without even meaning to, I began racking my brain to try and recognize the exact name of his cologne, calling up familiar names from the perfume counter at Barney’s. I came up with nothing. His particular scent was utterly unique. And I liked that. And then, his fingers brushed mine accidentally – or maybe on purpose? – and my heart pounded at least twice as fast, inducing a tingly feeling somewhere deep in my stomach.
He turned and gave me a quick smile that made me instinctively smile back. “Yeah, of course,” he answered my previous question. “Not so much in the beginning, though.” He grinned slightly to himself, as though recalling a joke that only he was in on. "Me and my best friend, we – ” And all of the sudden, his smile was wiped off his face, and his expression darkened immediately. He looked troubled, now, as though he had stumbled across a memory he had tried hard to forget. He rubbed his face tiredly, suddenly seeming older.
“You and your friend…?” I prompted, looking at him worriedly, thrown off by his sudden change in manner.
He looked at me as though he had forgotten I was even there. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Me and my friend, on our first day in New York, we got seriously lost and were completely stranded. We spent the entire afternoon trying to find our way back and we missed our NYU orientation. But after that day, I never got lost again.”
“Impressive,” I joked, hoping to ease the sudden tension I felt.
He chuckled, his mood turning around again. Weird. “I have a stellar memory.” We arrived back at the main entrance. Everyone was already milling around, ready to leave. Wolff checked his watch. “Exactly on time. You kids are nothing if not punctual.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “‘You kids’? Don’t act like you’re so much older than us,” I teased.
“It helps my morale,” he shot back with. “So I don’t feel too inadequate.”
“You’re not inadequate at all, Wolff,” I told him honestly.
He looked at me. “Thanks,” he said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave my face, and once again I felt my heart quicken. For a second, the whole world stopped for me, the chatter of my classmates faded into the background, the comforting splashes of the fountain reduced to a quiet hush, and my breathing felt shallow and haphazard, as though I couldn’t even focus on the simple task of drawing in the necessary oxygen to fill my lungs. Unexpectedly, he reached his hand over and slowly, very slowly, brushed my loose blonde bangs away from my face tucked the strands delicately behind my ear. His fingers felt like they left burning mark on my face where he touched me, and I’m sure I was blushing. “There,” he said softly. “Now I can see your face better.”
He then broke eye contact, and as he looked away I was sure I could see a tinge of pink appearing on the apples of his cheeks. “I should go round them up,” he muttered, and he stalked off without a second glance back.
I stared after him, unsure of what had just happened. I knew how crazy it sounded, but was it possible that I was attracted to my teacher? No way, I convinced myself. That’s insane. That’s not even allowed. He’s completely off-limits.
But there was one thought that kept reappearing, even after I followed my class out of the museum and onto the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue, even after we all boarded the bus and began our quick trip back to the sprawling mansions and wide streets of Hewlett Bay Park, even after I took out my iPod and plugged in my headphones to help my mind go completely blank. Even after all that, I couldn’t help but think this: Is it possible that he’s attracted to me?
And that was something I just couldn’t answer.
White, white, white was all I could see, in every direction I turned. Tourists all around me were snapping pictures of the famed tiered walls, each level with a different quote written on it, the beautifully sculpted fountain was burbling gently behind me, with the bronze pennies being thrown in reflecting in the water’s surface as they were momentarily suspended mid-air, before splashing down and sinking deep into the white depths, taking their tosser’s wish down with them, and the chatter of my classmates behind me grew louder as we climbed up the steps. The Guggenheim Museum, located in Manhattan on Fifth and 89th, was just so much better for a field trip than the Metropolitan Museum, in my opinion. The Met, with those security guards that eyed you like you were about to snatch something right then and there, not to mention its pretentious monthly galas where rich Upper East Siders – my grandmother included – dressed up to sip champagne and criticize everyone and everything, felt so restricting and stuffy. The Guggenheim wasn’t like that. Like dust settled for decades on an age-old antique, the Guggenheim just had this unshakeable aura of effortless cool.
But unfortunately, it wasn’t just my photo class that Wolff had taken on the trip. The other art class, the one filled with bored seniors who were just taking the class for an art credit to graduate, had also come along on Wolff’s school outing. And surprise, surprise, the other class included Vanderbilt Academy’s reigning Queen Bitch, Nicole Berg. I knew I was going to have an issue when she sat down on the bus and loudly complained to anyone who would listen that she had never taken anything but a limo into Manhattan. Cue eye rolls and suppressed, exasperated sighs.
But now, Nicole was busy criticizing the school tag the museum was making us wear in case any of us got lost – as though we couldn’t just walk up to someone and say, hey, I lost a huge crowd of kids wearing the same uniform as me, have you seen them? But Nicole was complaining for a different reason. “I mean, it’s so boxy and ugly. The pin is like jabbing into my bra. And it’s totally clashing with my uniform—”
I spun around and cut her off. “Nicole, it’s white. It can’t possibly clash with your uniform in any kind of way.”
Nicole’s jaw dropped. Behind her, I caught a swift glance of Wolff, stifling a laugh as though he had heard me. But before Nicole could toss off some depraving insult back, Conner Berg, her twin brother, the only person who could keep her in line and who also happened to be my boyfriend, slipped his arm around me and pulled me close to him. That shut her up quick enough. Nicole never dared to put me down in front of Connor. But just because I was dating her brother, didn’t mean she had to like me at all – right then, I could feel her burning holes in my back with her laser-beam eyes.
“Bloodshed on the steps of the Guggenheim would not be good for all parties involved,” Connor said by way of explanation as he lead me away.
I laughed. “Thanks, Con.”
“Hey – everyone? Over here,” Wolff called out, gesturing to us. We all gathered around him and quieted down. “Alright. So, lemme count heads first. One, two, three… Okay, whatever. If anyone’s stupid enough to get lost, that’s their fault,” he said dismissively.
A smattering of chuckles went around our group, and Wolff blushedadorably. “Um, I mean, if anyone’s lost it would be a very serious matter for the school,” he mumbled. He paused for a second, gazing around the room. His emerald eyes passed over me twice, lingering slightly the second time, and suddenly I felt uncomfortably aware of Connor’s arm still draped around my shoulders. What the fuck, Juliette? He’s your boyfriend. I shook this sudden thought off as Wolff continued, “But it looks like everyone’s here, so let’s keep going, shall we? So, here’s what’s gonna go on. We’ve got two hours to spend here. Use them wisely. Be sure to check out the two exhibits I mentioned in class. I want you not just to see, but also look, really look, and understand. And – Nicole, did you have something to tell everyone?” He glared rather pointedly at Nicole, who had been whispering conspiringly with her two minions. Probably on how to further ruin my day, I thought darkly.
Nicole straightened, tossing her shiny, well-kept hair over her shoulder. “No, sir,” she replied in that sweet tone that usually worked on all teachers. Not Wolff. I bit back a smile as he scowled and turned away from her with a very irritated look on his face.
“Great, then. Well, by tomorrow, guys, I want you all to type me up two solid pages on two pieces you liked and why. Tyler, don’t you dare try and do that margins trick again, I did that all through college and got away with it every single year, so I’ll be able to tell. And Nicole, you can type up three pages, since you’ve just got so much to say.” He smirked, and now I really couldn’t resist a triumphant smile, especially when I caught Nicole’s horrified expression.
“Wait, guys,” Wolff called out as our chatter began resuming. He waited a second until we had more or less silenced ourselves. “Before you guys run off to smoke joints in the back and pay someone else to do your papers, I have to give you all my number in case someone actually does get lost. School protocol,” he added, sounding bored. I pulled out my Blackberry and saved the number he read out to us. Then I turned to Connor. “Wanna head up to the first floor?”
“Actually, I told Jeremy I’d go up to the fourth floor with him. He says there’s a nude section that’s practically porn,” he informed me, sounding way too excited for a guy who has a girlfriend. Um, hello? “I’ll catch you later, babe.” He gave me a swift kiss on the cheek before hurrying off with his loser friends who so obviously needed to get laid.
I turned around me. Everyone was drifting off in groups of three and four, leaving me pretty much on my own. Awesome. I inwardly rolled my eyes, cursing my best friend Sophie in my head for not taking art this year.
About an hour and a half later, I’m still wandering around the museum on my own, taking bites from a street pretzel I left momentarily to buy from across the street. I paused in front of a collection of Cindy Sherman self-portraits and chewed thoughtfully as I gazed at a still life.
“Cindy Sherman, huh?”
I jumped. “Oh – oh, hey Wolff.” I scowled slightly at him. “You need to stop creeping up behind me.”
He gives me a crooked smile, his green eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” he said, thoroughly unapologetic. “So, why by yourself?”
I shrugged, turning my attention back to the picture, and didn’t answer. “You’re pretty antisocial, I get it,” he remarked.
“Not true!” I defended myself. “I just don’t like…” I turned to see him grinning playfully.
“Joking,” he assured me. “You’re quite the bamf, though,” he added, gesturing to my pretzel. “Not joking about that one. Didn’t I say to stay in the museum?”
I looked at his stern expression and raised an eyebrow lightly. “It’s okay, I guess.” He shrugged. “If you give me a piece.”
I rolled my eyes. “Here, take it.” I tear off a piece and hand it to him. He pops it in his mouth.
“Mmm, nothing like a New York City pretzel,” he sighed, chewing contently. “Man, I miss this stuff.”
I looked at him, trying to figure out how much I could ask and when I would be crossing the line. “How long did you live in the city?” I ended up saying cautiously.
“Couple of years,” he replied, licking salt off his fingers. “Came here to go to NYU. Studied art, that whole stuff. Then worked as art director in this place, which is why we got free tickets here.”
“So you must know your way around the city pretty well,” I said distractedly, unconsciously watching him lick his fingers. I suddenly noticed how close were walking – close enough to see the dark undertones in his dirty blonde hair, close enough to see the gold glimmers in his bright green eyes, close enough to get a faint whiff of his woodsy aroma. Without even meaning to, I began racking my brain to try and recognize the exact name of his cologne, calling up familiar names from the perfume counter at Barney’s. I came up with nothing. His particular scent was utterly unique. And I liked that. And then, his fingers brushed mine accidentally – or maybe on purpose? – and my heart pounded at least twice as fast, inducing a tingly feeling somewhere deep in my stomach.
He turned and gave me a quick smile that made me instinctively smile back. “Yeah, of course,” he answered my previous question. “Not so much in the beginning, though.” He grinned slightly to himself, as though recalling a joke that only he was in on. "Me and my best friend, we – ” And all of the sudden, his smile was wiped off his face, and his expression darkened immediately. He looked troubled, now, as though he had stumbled across a memory he had tried hard to forget. He rubbed his face tiredly, suddenly seeming older.
“You and your friend…?” I prompted, looking at him worriedly, thrown off by his sudden change in manner.
He looked at me as though he had forgotten I was even there. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Me and my friend, on our first day in New York, we got seriously lost and were completely stranded. We spent the entire afternoon trying to find our way back and we missed our NYU orientation. But after that day, I never got lost again.”
“Impressive,” I joked, hoping to ease the sudden tension I felt.
He chuckled, his mood turning around again. Weird. “I have a stellar memory.” We arrived back at the main entrance. Everyone was already milling around, ready to leave. Wolff checked his watch. “Exactly on time. You kids are nothing if not punctual.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “‘You kids’? Don’t act like you’re so much older than us,” I teased.
“It helps my morale,” he shot back with. “So I don’t feel too inadequate.”
“You’re not inadequate at all, Wolff,” I told him honestly.
He looked at me. “Thanks,” he said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave my face, and once again I felt my heart quicken. For a second, the whole world stopped for me, the chatter of my classmates faded into the background, the comforting splashes of the fountain reduced to a quiet hush, and my breathing felt shallow and haphazard, as though I couldn’t even focus on the simple task of drawing in the necessary oxygen to fill my lungs. Unexpectedly, he reached his hand over and slowly, very slowly, brushed my loose blonde bangs away from my face tucked the strands delicately behind my ear. His fingers felt like they left burning mark on my face where he touched me, and I’m sure I was blushing. “There,” he said softly. “Now I can see your face better.”
He then broke eye contact, and as he looked away I was sure I could see a tinge of pink appearing on the apples of his cheeks. “I should go round them up,” he muttered, and he stalked off without a second glance back.
I stared after him, unsure of what had just happened. I knew how crazy it sounded, but was it possible that I was attracted to my teacher? No way, I convinced myself. That’s insane. That’s not even allowed. He’s completely off-limits.
But there was one thought that kept reappearing, even after I followed my class out of the museum and onto the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue, even after we all boarded the bus and began our quick trip back to the sprawling mansions and wide streets of Hewlett Bay Park, even after I took out my iPod and plugged in my headphones to help my mind go completely blank. Even after all that, I couldn’t help but think this: Is it possible that he’s attracted to me?
And that was something I just couldn’t answer.
♠ ♠ ♠
Oh man, I just realized how long it's been since I last updated this.I really hope you didn't forget about it. :s I meant to put some action in this chapter, but I ended up pushing it back. I promise you, though, something really intense will be happening in the next two chapters.
Here's a picture of the Guggenheim Museum, in case anyone was curious. It makes me really dizzy to look down from that angle. I've been there a couple times before though, it's cool.
So yeah, seriously, I would love some comments. I really wanna know if I'm moving this too slow or what. I have the majority of the story planned it; it will definitely speed up soon. And I seriously hate silent readers, if you're subscribed and you don't comment I would much prefer it if you don't even subscribe in the first place. I feel like it's a waste of time and a complete letdown to me when people don't comment.
P.S. Check this out, please. It's a short one-shot I wrote that I want feedback on.
P.P.S. Thank you as always for reading! :D