The Singer and the Teacher

I took the stairs instead of the elevator, humming "Jamie All Over" to myself, taking each step slowly. Boys were never my specialty. I've had plenty of casual dates when friends from work would set up a blind date for me, but I was never too interested. When I moved to San Francisco six months ago, I was busier searching for work than friends. Derek was the first person to pay any attention to me, but I had to be in some kind of danger even for that. I looked down at my arm and I felt my cheeks burn a little as I memorized the numbers.

When I came out of my reverie, I had walked four doors past my apartment and hurried back to my door, hoping no one saw me. Boxes still littered my living room, most things needing a place to sit. Once my salary started to come in, I would be able to buy tables and dressers for everything.

I had a cheap clock hanging above my flat screen TV, the second hand making a "tick" sound every time it moved. Normally, this didn't bother me. To be more specific, it was the numbers on my arm that bothered me. I went to my walk-in closet to change, standing in my undergarments while I picked out new clothes, throwing my wet ones in the hamper.

Once I was dressed, I sat down in my recliner, my knees pulled up to my chest as I turned on the TV to watch the History Channel. The numbers itched on my arm; not literally, but I kept fiddling with my cell phone that happened to be in my purse and not my pocket, thank God. These west coast people are bold, I thought, pulling up my sleeve and punching numbers onto my phone. Before I lost my courage, I pressed the green call button with confidence. It rang a few times, my heart racing from nervousness.

"Hey, you've reached Derek Sanders while he's on vacation, sorry I can't come to the phone, but if I care I'll call you back, thanks!" Beep.

I said something really intelligent along the lines of, "Uh, duh um...Ah!" before I hung up. I dropped my phone and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.

"That was so stupid..." I said to myself, and gasped when my phone started vibrating. I flipped it open, my eyes wide.

"Hello?" I asked quietly, my poor heart running a foot race.

"I was hoping that was you," said Derek's voice. I could hear the ocean in the background. "Football with the band. Sorry I didn't answer. We're going out tonight. What time should we pick you up?"

"Ponis nimium vates puerum," I said, which roughly translated meant, "You assume too much, singer boy," in Latin.

"Does that mean seven o'clock?"

"Um, yeah, sure," I said, my shyness back now that I was speaking English.

"I'll be--we'll be there," he said, correcting himself. We said goodbye and I spent most of the next few hours back in my closet.

* * *

"Derek, she's going to kill you," said Alex, plucking his guitar in a directionless tune.

"I was just being nice," I argued weakly, putting my vacation phone back in my pocket. "She got pushed off of the Wharf by a bunch of skater punks."

"You know her. She'll be checking the papers, and that will definitely make it," he said, putting his guitar in its stand and pocketing his pick. "This was supposed to be an escape to clear our heads for our next record."

"I didn't give her this number, relax," I reassured him, tapping the phone through my jeans. "Besides, she can't get mad at me for a heroic act."

"Oh, knock it off," Alex laughed. "Heroic act? You didn't go diving in after her. You chased down those brats, got her bag back and helped her out of the water."

"It sounds heroic to me," I mumbled, digging sand out from under my fingernails. Gross.

"You have to promise to drop this girl like dead weight once we leave," he said seriously, holding up his hands in surrender when he saw I was going to start arguing with him again. "You'll never see her again. She's a teacher, so she's probably a busy woman. Then there's Pilar."

"Alex--"

"Derek, stop," he interrupted. "I'm helping you, trust me, okay?" He looked me straight in the eye, waiting for me to agree.

"Fine," I said a few seconds later. "After we leave, I'll forget about her."

"Good."

Those hazel eyes and long brown hair were going to haunt me.

* * *

I had put on makeup and washed it off about four times, nearly a fifth if I didn't decide my skin couldn't take anymore. I changed from jeans and a t-shirt to a dress and heels to a flowing top with a skirt and sandals back to the dress and heels. I had no idea where I was going or what we were doing and I was too afraid to call Derek back and ask. I found a more casual dress, a spaghetti-strap red satin thing that came down to an inch or two above my knee. I rummaged around my shoes to find lowers heels, in case we were walking, and swore when I looked at my phone. It was seven. I grabbed my bag from a small table by my door and walked as quickly as I could in my shoes of choice.

My heart thumped when I saw Derek leaning against a pillar, wearing a button up shirt with a collar and a black vest over the top in the same jeans he was wearing earlier. He smiled and held out his arm. I took it and I could have sworn my face was as red as my dress. I thought I saw someone shake their head inside the van, but they were all so sweet to me when I got inside it must have been my imagination.

"I had no idea where we were going," I babbled, scratching my nose nervously. "I changed like, eight times, and--"

"Shh," he said, putting a finger to my lips, making my eyes bigger than tea cups. "You're beautiful." His band members sniggered, but there was one who just stared straight forward. I no longer doubted that I saw the motion in the van before. I was very conscious of how close he was sitting next me, and gave me one of those small smiles as he hooked his thumb around my pinky. This can't be happening to me, I thought, smiling back. This nice, handsome, successful man was not only paying attention to me, but he seemed to like me. A lot.

The driver dropped us off on a street full of bars and dimly lit restaurants. We were all standing by a bland stretch of wall that was covered in graffiti, and I waited for any of them to start walking somewhere.

"So, Adriene," said the dark haired guy who was most likely shaking his head in the van. He was all smiles now, even eyeing my dress. "Were you really in mortal danger, or is Derek getting carried away with this damsel in distress stuff?" I looked up at Derek, who at least had the dignity to blush.

"I was afraid of the sea lions more than anything, di immortales," I admitted, so nervous I started slipping into Greek. "Sorry. I slipped on the rocks, and if he hadn't caught me, I would've hit my head and fallen back in the water."

"See? I told you," he said. "Come on. We'll catch up with you guys later."

"Derek, can I talk to you for a second?" I watched the dark haired young man take him aside. They argued animatedly, but he kept looking back at me.

"Alex, knock it off," he said, and turned towards me, holding out his hand as his bandmates left. "Come on."

He took me in the opposite direction and pulled me into the nearest restaurant. It was mostly empty and lit with candles, which I thought was a fire hazard, but no one else seemed to mind.

"Now you're dressed for the occasion," he said, acting as if missing out on whatever it was his friends were going to do didn't bother him at all. "Anything you want. The guy that owns this place owes me a favor."

"Oh," I said, opening up the menu, getting the sudden urge to hide now that the option was available. We ordered, and he had gotten an entire bottle of wine and poured me a glass.

"I need to tell you something," he said, setting down his glass and the low lighting must have been messing with my vision, because I wasn't sure how to interpret his face. "Alex is just looking out for me, and I know I'm only here for a week, but if you wouldn't mind, I want to make this the best seven days of your life."

"Why?" I blurted. "If I hadn't been some random victim of those kids, we could have stood on that pier all day and you would have never noticed me."

"You're probably right," he admitted, raking his bangs out of his face. "We're here to clear our heads for the next album, but it's hard to have a clear head--" he cleared his throat, coughed twice and apologized.

"It's okay," I said. That wine was starting to look pretty good. "I'm not really anyone's type."

"We should dance."

"What? No!"

"Sorry, this isn't coffee, this is album inspiration," he said, pulling me toward the empty dance floor in the middle of the restaurant. He put one of his hands on my waist and held mine in the other, humming along to the slow music in the background. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you." Once I realized no one was going to point and laugh or snicker at us behind our backs, I very slowly let my head lay on his chest. He didn't move it, so I let him lead me in circles and I was content to feel the vibrations of his humming.

When we went back to the table to eat, I felt something I hadn't felt since high school: peace. High school was so easy for me, but I had taken college so seriously I almost forgot what it was like to be homework free, exam free. Now I was a teacher, and it was summer time.

"Derek, I..." I started after we'd finished our meal and I was a few glasses of wine down. "I don't know what to say. I can honestly say you're succeeding in this best week of my life thing."

"At least you aren't swearing in Greek anymore," he said, and I laughed.

"I'm sorry," I said, my ability to be embarrassed not dulled by the wine. "I start speaking in Greek and Latin when I'm nervous or shy so you can't tell what I'm saying." For the next minute or more, he just stared at me. Not the creeped out stare or lost in thought stare; the stare that makes you feel like the only thing that will make them happy is to memorize every part of your face, the colors in your eyes and the way your hair frames your face. The stare you give someone you think you're never going to see again.

"I think I'm in love with you," he said, still staring.

"That's ridiculous, you don't know me," I laughed, but he wasn't joking. "How is that possible? There is absolutely nothing special about me."

"Come back to the beach house with me," he asked, getting out of his side of the booth to sit next to me and hold my hands. "Please?"

"You're being serious, aren't you?"

"This...happens to me a lot," he said, moving from his side of the booth to sit next to me. "You're different, though. No one's turned me down so many times."

"Well, I hate to be predictable, but I can't," I said, draining my last glass. "I'm meeting my summer school students tomorrow morning."

"I see," he said, lacing his hands together. "Which school is it?"

"South Bay Prep." I tried to hide a yawn as best as I could, but as you can imagine, I've had a busy day.

"Let's take you home," he said, nodding at the waiter before leaving.