Cracks in Anchors

Two days later and Sullivan and I had yet to utter one word to each other. I couldn't really blame her though, because in the back of my mind I was glad she hadn't tried to talk to me. Because, god, I wouldn't know what to say, not really. Every time I saw her mom-walk down the hallways when she was almost late to class, hid herself behind a veil of hair like it was a shield, pick at her nails during class, not paying attention like she always did, my stomach curled in on itself and I could feel the bile gnawing at my lips. Whenever I smelled the faint aroma of cigarette smoke wafting from her sweater it assaulted my nostrils and made me remember everything I had done - we had done. A few times I was on the verge of catching her elbow in my hands when she was shuffling out of class, ready to tell her that I didn't regret it and I wasn't repulsed and I wanted more; I wanted to feel her thin lips on mine again and again until they dissapeared, until her cheeks flared a deep vermilion and until we were both out of breath and drowning, but when neither of us would care. But I didn't and just watched with deep eyes as she left the class and let out a deep sigh when she was out in the open. I didn't know if she held her breath because she was afraid that giving proof that she was living, alive in the classroom as I taught, would offend me or make me cautious or whatever, or if she had another reason that I couldn't quite decipher.

But I didn't expect to, anyway, Sullivan was like that. Sullivan was weird and different and mature(even though I wasn't and still not using that as an excuse for our relationship), and nobody could ever understand exactly what she was thinking - it was impossible unless you were a mind-reader, of course. But I was not and neither was anyone I knew so I would have to accept the fact that I could never know her inner-workings as much as she would know mine, because I was shallow and could be read like a book. So I settled for unspoken words and shady glances as I spent the next two days wallowing in myself. I packed up my things - papers that needed to be graded, schedules that needed to be set and letters that needed to be read - hooked my windbreaker between the crook my of elbow and stuffed my wallet into my back pocket. I locked the classroom door with my over-used key and took quick steps out the metalic, red-colored door and into my car, turning on the radio to an obnoxious( to Louis at least) level and swinging out the parking lot.

It didn't take long for me to get home, parking my car in the spot besides Louis's and passing through the flat's threshold. I tossed my suit jacket haphazardly onto the worn-down couch and dropped my briefcase to the kitchen table, hearing from somewhere in the depths of the apartment a door opening and closing. Without turning around I knew it was Louis - granted it was only myself and him making this place our home - but what I didn't know was what he was about to say to me, his eyes crinkling in a making-fun-of-me manner.

"Harry, that girl - Sully or whatever - called a few minutes before asking for you."

I didn't believe him, of course I didn't because A)how could Sullivan have even gotten my phone number and B) Louis sometimes broke the barrier between being funny and being rude-ish. So I just laughed and continued unpacking my bag, grouping papers into piles of importance and chewing on my bottom lip.

"Harry I'm not joking, that wouldn't even be a funny joke."

I was tempted to say something along the lines of "you're jokes are never funny", but by the look of truthfulness in his eyes I kept my mouth shut and just nodded, silently asking for the phone. He put it in my hands like he was waiting for me and as I was about to type in her number I realized I didn't even know it and stared at the gray screen dumbfounded, my mind lost in thought.

Why would Sullivan call my house, of all places, knowing fully well that everything we had done so far was highly frowned upon and could get us(more I than her) into serious shit? How did she even know it, in the first place, and why would she even want to call me, seeing as we hadn't spoken in 48 consecutive hours? But I couldn't think of a reasonable answer to any of my questions and the next second I realized Louis had typed in the number for me and the phone rung in my hand. I placed it against my ear and waited for someone to answer, my breathing pushing against the speaker and syncing with the ringing.

"Hello?" It didn't sound like Sullivan, too high and optimistic. It sounded more like an optimistic, bubbly version of Sullivan and I decided it was her mother, sucking in my breath as I tried to come up with something to say.

"Hi, I'm in Sullivan's - er - math class and I need help with some homework stuff, could I talk with her?" I tried to disguise my voice by making it higher and more teenage-boy like and less British, hearing Louis in the background laugh into his drink.

"Yes, hold on a minute!" I cringed at loudness of the voice and turned to Louis, his eyebrows lifting as he took another sip of his drink. He mouthed to me, "You're shit at sounding American," and I sent him the middle finger, pacing into the kitchen as I heard mumbled voices on the other line.

"Hello?"

I couldn't speak for a second too long, her voice was soft and quite and it rolled into my ears like caramel. And I didn't realize how much I missed that sound; how much I missed her attitude and the way she should make me smile over the phone.

"It's Harry, my friend told me you called?"

I thought her lack of response meant she was upset - upset I called her back, thinking I would ignore her and pretend I never knew more about her than any other person in school. But it wasn't, as I heard her low chuckle and a little sigh.

"I never called, I think your friend tricked you."

Fucking Louis, I would have murdered him right then if Sullivan wouldn't have been able to hear everything and tell the cops that yes, I had gone mad and bludgeoned my best friend with the phone and tossed him into the nearest river just because he set me up. So I just laughed instead, sending a death glare to where Louis had been a few minutes ago and where he was not at the moment.

"Wow, Louis's a dick. Ha, well this is awkward now, sorry I'll just hang-"

"No!" Her voice rose like she was afraid I wouldn't hear her and then went back down as I stopped talking. "No, let's talk."

"About what?" I asked even though I knew the answer, afraid of what she would say about the situation we were stuck in.

"You know what, Harry."

That was the first time I heard the word "Harry" slip from her lips without hesitation, like she was finally able to understand that she was talking to a friend and not a teacher.

"You can go first, I s'posse." I said.

"Oh, well I'm not freaked out or anything.." She left it hanging, waiting for my input.

"Me either." I stared at the blank walls, the only adornment a small, Walmart frame encasing a picture of me and Louis from summer camp too many years ago.

"That's good. I mean, I din't regret doing it."

"Yeah me either. I..liked it?" I hesitated, not sure whether "liking" it would creep her out more or settle her thoughts.

"I.." I heard her bead creak as she sat up, opening the door and closing it, me assuming she was checking to make sure no one was listening in. "liked it too. I, oh god this is going to sound so teenage-girl of me," I could hear the exasperated sigh in her words, "I like you Harry, like..like like. And I'm only confessing to this because I know - well I think - that you like me back? Maybe?"

I smiled because she sounded cute in that moment, with the way she was curious and hoping she wasn't making a fool out of herself. I could picture her cheeks swelling with red and eyes darting across her room and fingernails scraping against one another; maybe even a cigarette making its presence known if she didn't care if she got caught.

"Yes, Sullivan, I like like you back."

I guess I was worried: I was confessing my emotions to a teenage girl who happened to be the one I had said emotions for, and I knew everything could come crashing down around us if anyone found out. I could loose my job, be sent to jail and labeled as a pedophile, which was something I completely was not. I was so close to shutting my mouth then, just letting her talk and not respond because I was too afraid, but then the little Liam in my head broke through and reiterated his faithful words; that I should just do it.

So I did, I said those words and heard as her worry lifted off her chest and I could hear the smile in her lips and eyes.

"Wow, that's good, so I din't sound like some school-girl who fell head over heels for her teacher?"

"Head over heels? I've never seen you wear heels - more like head over sneakers for you."

She chuckled and I laughed back and before I knew it she was telling me she was being called down for dinner.

"So I guess I'll see you in school then?"

I nodded my head even though she couldn't see, "Okay, don't trip over your sneakers while you're falling for me."