His fingers touch her back lightly.
She pretends not to notice.
She calculates her moves, trying to get into the mind of someone who would welcome such advances. She decides that the someone would do absolutely nothing now, not wanting to risk a problem, and so she lets out a shallow breath and moves her pencil again, and then after a moment, dares a quick glance at him that tells him everything he wants to know.
“How’s that?” she asks, pointing to her work.
“It’s good, Janie. Perfect.” He lets his hand rest centrally on her back.
She smiles and looks at the paper a moment, and packs up her books slowly. “Well. Thanks, Mr. Durbin, for, uh, you know. Letting me barge in on your evening like this.”
He walks her to the door and leans against it, his hand on the handle.
“My pleasure,” he says. “I hope you come by again sometime. Just shoot me an e-mail. I’ll make it work.”
She steps toward him, goes to open the door so she can leave, but he’s still holding on to the door handle. Trapping her. “Janie,” he says.
She turns. “Yes?”
“We both know, don’t we,” he says, “why you wanted to come here this evening.”
Janie gulps. “We do?”
“Yes. And don’t feel badly about it. Because I’m attracted to you, too.” Janie blinks. Blushes.
“But,” he continues, “I can’t have a relationship with you while you’re my student. It’s not right. Even though you’re eighteen.” Janie is silent, looking at the floor.
He tips her chin up. His fingers linger on her face. “But once you graduate,” he says with a look in his eye, “well, that’s a different story.”
She can’t believe this.
And then she can.
It’s how he keeps them quiet.
Blames them.
She knows what to say.
It’s the saying it that makes her want to puke on his shoes.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” he says, and she knows he wants her to be.
She waits for it. Waits for the line she knows is coming next from this egocentric bastard. She resists the urge to say it first.
“It happens all the time,” he says.
She manages to turn her cringe into a sad smile, and leaves without another word, although she’s tempted to follow the movie ending by crying out, “I’m such a fool!”
About four seconds after she pulls out of the driveway, her cell phone rings. She waits until she’s out of view of the house before she picks it up.
“I’m fine, Cabe.”
“’Kay. Love you.”
She laughs. “Is that it?”
“I’m trying to behave like a good cop.”
“He’s tricky. I’m heading home. You wanna stop by for the details?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling Baker now, and then Captain. I’ll see you at my place.” Janie makes the calls and reports the events, and Captain makes sure she knows this is a classic case of “fucked-up authoritative egomaniac syndrome.”
She made up the term herself.
And then Captain says, “I’m not too worried about the chem fair trip since you’ll be with Mrs. Pancake all the time, but be very careful at that party, Janie. I’m guessing he gets off on getting the girls drunk, maybe taking advantage of them then, while the party’s going on.
Keep your wits about you.”
“I will, Captain.”
“And do some research on date-rape drugs. I’ve got some pamphlets on it that I want you to read.”
“Yes, sir.”
9:36 p.m.
Janie arrives home, steaming with a new hatred for Mr. Durbin. What a manipulator. She’d like to get inside his dream sometime. Turn it into a nightmare.
Ten minutes later Cabel slips in and looks at her all over. Gives her a hug. “Your shirt smells like his after-shave,” he says, eyes narrow.
“What happened?”
“I did my job,” she says.
“And what did he do?”
“Here. Sit here. Pretend you’re working on chemistry formulas.” She acts it out for him.
“Fucker.”
“And then he tried to tell me I was a bad girl to think he’d ever want to touch me. Even though he just did.”
Cabel closes his eyes. “Sure,” he says, nodding. “That’s how he keeps them quiet.”
“That’s exactly what I thought as he patronized all over me while leaning against the door so I couldn’t get out.” Cabel paces.
Janie grins. “I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out when you’re through with that.”
February 17, 2006, 7:05 p.m.
Janie sits on the living-room floor of Desiree Jackson’s house for the study date. A handful of Chem. 2 classmates surround her. They get right down to work on formulas.
Whenever anyone brings up Mr. Durbin’s name, the other girls gush over him. Janie fakes it, easing questions about Mr. Durbin into the conversation as carefully as she can. But nobody has anything bad to say about him.
10:12 p.m.
Janie packs up her books and notes, sighs, and goes home with nothing new besides rave reviews of Mr. Durbin. Everybody loves the guy.
A night of studying, wasted. She knows this stuff by heart.
ROAD TRIP
February 19, 2006, 12:05 p.m.
It’s snowing.