Oh, I Never Meant to Cause You Trouble

Trying to focus in AP Literature was hard, which sucked because we were discussing Jane Austen’s novel ‘Emma’, so unfair. Accounting was a bore, my Dad is a big name in the business, so he made me take it. I personally have no intention of being an accountant, but it’s a math credit, so might as well.

I shakily entered the combination for my locker and threw my books in to retrieve what I needed for English- a notebook, a few pencils and.. a copy of ‘A Portrait of Dorian Gray’, I mentally hit my head against my locker. How could I be so stupid? There were so many signs that Asher was going to be my teacher.

It was like I was blinded, by love? I shook off that thought and slammed the locker shut. I saw Grant walking the same direction as me, a few steps ahead.

“Grant!” I yelled, he turned and a half smile covered his face. I caught up and noticed what he was holding, “you have AP English 8th, too?”

“Aw nice! We have it together!” I laughed lightly, I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Mostly bad, this whole situation was bad. I didn’t notice but I apparently was walking much slower. “Uh Gem? Hurry up.” I looked at Grant who was farther ahead then I was.

I blushed, “right, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be faster.” Grant literally had to hold onto my arm the rest of the way, I felt like an uncooperative five year old. Swallowing hard when we got to the class, I looked around- he wasn’t here.

Grant and I were a little late due to the fact that I didn’t really want to be here. There were two seats left, one in the front row, right in the middle. And then the seat behind it. We glared at each other and then both lunged at the seat in the second row. I got to it first.

“Damn you and your small body.” Grant mumbled, sitting in front of me. At least now I can hide behind him, he was made of muscle after all.

I heard the door shut, “Alright, everyone in their seats.” I kept my head down, focusing on my book. The sound of chalk meeting the green board met my ears. Looking up, I saw that his back was turned as he wrote his name. “I am Mr. Bates, and I will be your AP English teacher for your senior year.”

As he turned, a small gasp escaped my lips, Grant almost turned to give me a look, but I stooped down even lower. It was Asher, now Asher Bates- or Mr. Bates. He was just as I had remembered him, tall and skinny with tousled brown hair- and those gray eyes.

“How old are you?” I heard a girl ask from the back.

Asher- Mr. Bates chuckled lightly, “I’m twenty two.” I turned just as I saw Remy Digger- the idiot who asked the question- count the years apart they were on her fingers.

He looked around to see if there were any other questions, but everyone was quiet, the girls smiling at him and the boys- not too excited about the prospect of ten girls obsessing over Mr. Bates all year.
I would join the latter category.

“Alright, well this year as a safety and precaution, we have to take attendance in 8th period. You know, to make sure none of you skip my class.” All the girls laughed loudly, he looked up in slight annoyance, then back to his clipboard.

“Derek Aberly.”

“Here.”

“Jocelyn Deux.”

“Here.”

“Remy Digger.”

“Right here, Mr. Bates.” I closed my eyes, at least he won’t have to call my name until dead last, maybe we won’t even get down that far.

Turning my attention back, he checked off someone’s name, “Grant Woodridge.”

“Here!”

Mr. Bate’s looked up at Grant and smiled. Looking back down, he turned a little white, and so did I.
“G- Gemma, Gemma Young?” Everyone looked at me when he stumbled over my name. Grant even turned, so I had nothing to hide behind.

Clearing my throat, I looked up at him, “here.” He stared at me for another two seconds before snapping out of it and crossing off my name.

“Alright.. Now we can get on with class.” I sunk lower in my chair, I could transfer out of the class, but I actually really wanted to take it, besides, everyone would get suspicious. Why would any normal girl want to transfer out of Mr. Bate’s class?

‘Apparently he’s a real dreamboat..’ Lilly’s words playing on repeat in my mind. Oh, you have no idea.

“So I assigned Dorian Gray as your summer reading, what’d you think of it?”

“I thought it was wild! Man, like a painting growing old. Its so crazy!” Lance the football player yelled from the back. I honestly don’t know why people like Val and Lance are here.

“Yeah- it was pretty wild,” Mr. Bates furrowed his brow, “now what else?”

“I thought Dorian Gray sounded really hot,” Remy giggled.

“Alright, well- how about Oscar Wilde’s writing style, what did you guys think about that?” Most of the girls exchanged a look, like who is that?

It was silent for a while, as he waited for an answer. I slowly raised my hand.

“Uh- yes, Gemma.”

“Well I thought it was the best work of the aesthetic movement,” I tried to read his face, as his lips turned into a slight smile, “.. I felt that Wilde, almost challenged what we thought of as right.” I looked down at the book for a second, “and no one really understood him, kind of labeling him as inappropriate. But if they just gave him a chance, they would see his true colors.” I sat up a little straighter, did I really just say that last sentence? According to the blush in Asher- urgh, Mr. Bate’s face, I did.

He cleared his throat, “very good, great insight from Ms. Young.” He grabbed a stack of papers from his desk. ”Your assignment for today’s class, is to write me two paragraphs, relating Oscar Wilde’s last 1800’s work to today’s writing style.”

Everyone groaned as he counted four papers for each row to pass back. I stole a quick glance at him as he handed papers to Grant, as if to say sorry. But he didn’t really take it, as he neglected to even look at me.

Shaking myself of this sudden feeling of regret and guiltiness, I focused on my paper, finishing a few minutes before anyone else. I looked around the room, posters of great writers and inspirational quotes covered the walls. If it wasn’t for the uncomfortable circumstances, I would really love this class.

Through my peripherals I could feel him looking at me, I turned to see Mr. Bates sitting at the desk, sipping his cup of coffee. Unsure what to do, I turned back to my paper and pretended to make some changes.

And as a gift from god- the bell rang.

He stood, “Alright, everyone hand in your papers at my desk on your way out. And I will see you tomorrow!” Trying to stand up quickly, I tripped on the leg of my desk and my stuff fell to the ground. Half the class was already out the door, some girls lingering around before Mr. Bates answered whatever question they had dismissively. Once I picked up all my things, I noticed I was the only one left, besides him. Gee thanks, Grant. He watched me as I walked over to his desk, and held out my paper. Which he didn’t take.

Asher looked to the door, everyone was too busy talking to each other about their first day. He leaned in a little, “You told me- that you were in college.” he hissed.

“I never said that. I said I wanted to major in English.”

He snatched my paper angrily from my outstretched hand, pretending to read it over, “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled.

I couldn’t help but be a little hurt. Yeah, so I lied. But if he felt what I felt that night two months ago, he would be hurting too. Maybe he was- it was hard to tell.

My eyes went watery and I slowly made my way to the door. “Sorry.” I murmured quietly, falling into the rush of students in the hallway.

I really was sorry.

---------

I missed the bus- due to the distraction of my heart breaking. Was it broken? Clutching my books to my chest tightly, felt like it was. The walk home wasn’t too bad. Lilly texted me, worried something had happened that I had missed our end of the day talk we had everyday. I made up a lame excuse that my locker was jammed.

The warm breeze hit my face as a way of comfort. My flip flops made a funny smacking sound against the pavement as put in my earphones. Settling on an Alexi Murdoch song, Orange Sky, I begrudgingly made my way home.

Using my key, I unlocked the door to my dark house. My Dad was an accountant and worked late hours and my Mom was busy with her interior design company she started last year. My older brother, Jake, was at Dartmouth in his second year, and Elle, my 14 year old sister was off with her friends, as she had been all summer. So home was always sort of a lonely place to be. Throwing my keys on the table near the door, I kicked off my shoes and grabbed an afternoon snack.

As a way to not think about what I want to think about, I whipped out my homework and absentmindedly watched Masterpiece Mystery on BBC. Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christie’s fictional character was solving a mystery, which I always enjoyed.

Just as I finished my accounting homework, I heard the door open then close.

“Hello?” I yelled.

Elle came into view, “It’s me!” My sister has always been extremely pretty. Her blonde hair, which she had gotten from Mom, was always in little curls and her plump round face was like an alabaster doll.

“How was the first day at St. Ann’s, my little freshman,” I cooed, as she dropped her backpack off where she was standing and popped a strawberry in her mouth as she sat down in a chair.

“Pretty good. The teachers suck and I have all this homework I probably won’t do.. But I made some new friends. They’re sophomores.” She smiled to herself.

I raised an eyebrow, “Boys?” She nodded ferociously.

“I can handle myself just fine.”

“If you say so. So what will it be for dinner? I was thinking Chinese, since Mom and Dad are working-”

“Hold that thought,” Elle held up a finger and answered her cell phone. “Yeah?- Oh my god no way! Okay I’ll meet you there in twenty.” She snapped it shut and turned back to me. “You were saying..”

I gave her a quizzical look, “Uh, I said we could order Chinese.” waiting for her to respond, she sent a quick text. “Elle?”

“Oh yeah, well I’m meeting Erika at Aladdin’s- Dylan’s going to be there!” She smiled, but then it faltered, “is that okay?”

I turned my attention back to my French worksheet, “well I guess so, but-”

“Thanks!” she yelled as she bounded up the stairs.

“-you might want to do your homework.” I finished quietly. In five minutes, she was out the door again.

Whoever said that solitude helped stimulate the mind has never been this truly alone.