Strings Attached

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Zander

When I was young, school was a conflict of emotions for me. At first, I hated it. I hated it because I felt stupid, because I didn’t fit in, because kids said I was annoying when I couldn’t settle down or be quiet. On the other hand, I always liked learning. Reading was so fucking hard for me, but at the same time, I enjoyed getting transported to different worlds or different lives in a way I only could in the pages of a book.

Then Ms. Ackerman had come into my life. She’d spent more time with me than any other teacher. She was the first person other than Mom to call me smart. She was the first one to say my behavior was out of my control and that it wasn’t my fault.

It hadn’t been easy, but once I got tested, went to the doctor, and began to understand how I learned and what we could do to make things easier on me, things got better. That was when I mostly just loved school.

But today, as I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, staring at the Monday bow tie in my hand, I felt like I was going to puke.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

What if I got off schedule? What if I lost a student’s assignment? What if I talked through a whole class period without realizing it?

“Oh God.” I clutched my stomach. I couldn’t do this.

My heart raced. My stomach was doing backflips, off a building, while afraid of heights. That was how screwed up it felt.

My phone buzzed. Oh, thank God because I’d somehow misplaced it, which was pretty hard to do since I’d just had it before my shower. It was under the futon. Apparently, I’d missed other times it had gone off because there was more than one message.

Mom: Have a great day, kiddo! I guess I can’t really call you that anymore, can I? It’s hard to believe you’re so grown now. My college graduate who is about to have his first classroom. I’m so, so, so proud of you. Call me later!

Bug: Dude…I’ll still never understand why you wanna be a teacher, but I think it’s awesome you made your dreams come true or whatever. Just don’t be a dick teacher!

Harrison: You got this.

I really wished I’d called him over for a quickie this morning. Maybe that would have helped me calm down. But then if it was for a reason like that, it would seem like it was more than sex, right? And it wasn’t. It was one thing to want to get off with someone, but something else entirely to call said person over when I felt like I was spiraling out of control.

We still hadn’t fucked around again, despite the blowjob conversation that day we got the bookcase. Maybe that was better. Maybe mixing sex with our friendship would fuck with my head.

Maybe I should stop thinking about Harrison and get my ass in gear.

I tossed my cell to the bed, not having it in me to reply to anyone. They were my people. They understood how I operated. Well, Mom and Molly were my people. Harrison was my friend, and…why was I thinking about him again?

Grumbling at myself in the mirror, I put the bow tie on. I could do this. I could also wear the shit out of this outfit because it was cute as fuck. It made me feel good, confident, like maybe I did know what I was doing and could handle this.

Ross was in the kitchen when I made my way there. It was early for him, even though he worked. I had farther to drive, and there was traffic, and school started before his dealership opened. Still, he was standing at the counter, scrambling eggs, so I asked, “Wake up hungry?”

“Nope. These are for you. I had a feeling you’d be too nervous to eat much.”

“Oh God, you’re just like your dad,” I said, shooting up the awkward level in the room to unbearable. “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

“It wouldn’t be if it was coming from someone who hadn’t seen my dad naked. Jesus, I can’t believe I said that. I’m supposed to be pretending I don’t know what’s happening. Quick, take your eggs and change the subject.” Ross scooped them into a bowl and handed them over.

“Did Harrison ask you to cook for me?”

He frowned. “No. I just know you.”

“Um…thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He yawned. “I’m a fucking great friend. You can tell me that if you want.”

I chuckled. “You’re a fucking great friend.”

“And you’re going to be a fucking great teacher. You can tell yourself that too.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, my sweet, self-deprecating friend. What are we going to do with you? You need to learn to own your awesomeness.”