Being Seventeen

“Hey Andie,” he said . “Hi,” I replied. “Now.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “What happened.” “My grandparents are….gone,” I said, whispering by the time I was done. “Oh, sweetie,” Mason said as he scooted his chair closer to mine. He wrapped his hands around mine. Before I could speak, he leaned in and kissed me. I blinked a few times, confused. “Mason-,” I started. “Don’t tell me I read the signs wrong,” he pleaded. “You didn’t,” I assured him. “But it’s...different.” “I know,” Mason said. “I can help you.” I bit my lip. “Do you have anywhere to be,” Mason asked.
“No,” I said. “Why don’t you came home with me,” he asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not going to try anything,” he swore. “O...kay,” I said. Mason locked up the room, and we left the building. He picked me up a block or two from the school, so we wouldn’t be caught. Hopefully. Mason had a really nice truck, in my opinion. It was a lifted, black F250 Super Duty crew cab. I got in and stared blankly at the radio. “You listen to Skillet,” I asked dumbly. “Who doesn’t,” he replied. “I knew you were cool,” I laughed. He gave me a disapproving look.
“What,” I asked. “All teachers are cool,” Mason said. I looked at him in disbelief. His gaze dared me to challenge him. I held my hands up. “Hey, I’m not here to argue.” By then, we were at his house. Mason came around and opened my door. “So chivalry isn’t dead,” I said, slightly amused. “Nope,” he agreed. As we walked up the steps, he took my hand in his. He unlocked the door and led my to the living room.
“Food,” Mason asked. “Sure,” I said. He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard dishware rattle, the all was quiet. There was a half wall separating the kitchen and living room, and I watched him as he cooked. He looked totally at ease. Mason grabbed a remote off the ledge and pointed it at the stereo. Smooth jazz poured out of the speakers. “Nice choice,” I approved. Mason smiled. A few minutes later, he came in with two plates of stir fry. “This smells really good,” I said. “It’s Cajun,” he said. “Mmm, spicy,” I said after taking a bite.
“Is it good,” he asked watching me. “Very,” I replied. He leaned over and took my hand. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For what,” he asked. “For letting me come here, instead of going home,” I explained. “You’re welcome,” Mason said. A little while later, we were snuggled on the couch. He had his arms around me, while I laid my head on the couch. I must have fallen asleep because a while later Mason was shaking me awake. I woke up slowly, confusing as to where I was. It all came rushing back. The phone call, the kiss, everything. He rubbed my back when I started shaking.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, brushing my hair back. A few minutes passed like that, then I looked outside. “I should get home,” I said, my voice full of regret. I grabbed my bag and walked out to the car. I checked my phone. I had a bunch of messages from Mom, Damon, and Christie. I sighed. When I got home, Mason kissed my forehead and said goodnight. I said goodnight and walked into the house. As I walked to my room, Damon’s door opened. “Where have you been,” Damon demanded, following me. “With a friend,” I said vaguely. “You weren’t with Christie.” “I can have more friends than just Christie,” I said. Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Mom’s pissed,” he informed me. “Mom’s always pissed,” I said.
I unlocked my door and went inside. “You’re not allowed in here,” I said. Damon ignored me, and I blocked the door to stop him from entering. “Damon,” I pleaded, “Can we please do this tomorrow? I need sleep.” Before he could respond, I shut and locked the door. I slowly undressed and crawled under the covers. I turned off the bedside lamp and closed my eyes. I drifted to sleep not long after. Beep. Beep. I reached across the table and turned the alarm clock off. I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, pushed the covers off, and got out of bed. For the first time in a few months, I threw on workout clothes, grabbed my phone, and went downstairs.
I clicked my workout playlist as I walked out the door. I ran through my neighborhood and circled the park before headed back home. I checked the time as I jogged up the stairs. 6:17. I jumped in the shower. Once I got out, I searched for clothes. I put on a tank top and jeans and grabbed my Metal Mulisha jacket as I left my room. In the kitchen, I scarfed down a bowl of cereal. I grabbed my bag from the chair in the living room and left the house. I was planning on walking the mile and a half to school, but Mason’s truck was sitting at the curb. I smiled politely as I got in. “About last night…,” I hedged.
“That can’t happen again,” I went on peeking at him through my eyelashes. Mason glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road. “I can’t get involved with a teacher,” I explained further. “I could go on our records AND you could lose your job.” “Okay,” he said calmly. “Okay,” I repeated, wishing I had an ounce of that calmness. Mason pulled into the faculty and staff parking lot. I looked to make sure no one was around before getting out of the car. I quickly walked into Smith High without looking back. I went straight to first period, Creative Writing. I loved Creative Writing. It was an outlet, an escape. Whatever I was thinking or feeling just flowed onto the paper.
I decided to get started on my writing portfolio for college. One of the items was a paper on a significant event in my life. I planned to write about what it was like losing both of my grandparents within 24-hours. I lowered my head and started to write. Brrring! Brrring! I looked up, slightly startled. The wall clock read 7:50. I had been writing for almost an hour and a half. I scanned what I had written. It was well over a page, which was the minimum. It was, also, one of my best, in my opinion. The door opened and people filed in. No one seemed surprised to see me. The writers/book readers in my school are regarded as….well, hermits, loners. We mostly keep to ourselves. It’s not shocking to see us scribbling ideas in our notebooks.