Free Indisputable by A. M. Wilson Page B

focusing after
the emotional day I’ve been having, and after sparing a quick glance at Mr.
Ryan, I pull out my phone to text Emerson, ignoring the 3 missed texts I have
waiting for me in my inbox.
    I need girl time 2nite you avail? 
    She texts me back almost immediately.  Her phone
is like an extension of her right hand.
    Of course.  You okay?? Your place at
4? 
    Making sure I’m still in the clear, I type a quick
reply.   I’m fine just need to blow off some steam.  See ya
at 4!
    I slip my phone into my pocket, thankfully without
being noticed.  Days like this, where I’m moody and confused and lost, I
can’t help but wish I had been born into a normal family with a mom I can talk
to or even a dad who will listen.  I’m just grateful I have Emerson and
Kels, because without them, I don’t know what I would do. 
    When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I
gather my things to leave.  Turning towards the door, I find my path
blocked by Mr. Ryan.  I can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but
it’s not hard to miss the concern in his chocolate eyes.  It makes my
insides twist and slither.  
    “Do you have a minute, Miss Krause?” he asks when most
of the students have filed out.
    “I thought we were passed this ‘Miss Krause’
stuff.  My name is Tatum,” I tell him, feeling ready for this day to be
over.  “And I need to go to work.”  I’m lying, but he doesn’t need to
know that.  What does he want?  Is he going to talk about the
kiss?  Should we talk about the kiss?  It seems much easier to leave
it swept beneath the rug.  If we let it out into open air, it’ll just dirty
everything.
    He sits on the corner of the desk behind the one I was
occupying, his hands folded in his lap.  “I wanted to make sure you are
okay.  Do you often have panic attacks like that?”
    My face flames with mortification, and with my bag in
my hands, I can’t hide it.  Swallowing down the retort on the tip of my
tongue, I lie. “I’m fine.  It’s just been a long day.  My emotions
got the better of me.” 
    Truth is, I’ve had panic attacks since I was a little
girl, when I’d hide away in the corner whenever my mom would bring a John home,
or her dealer.  I remember cramming myself into the small space beneath
the staircase and hyperventilating behind my hands, praying they would leave so
I could finish coloring or playing with my doll.  Mom always told me I
must never be seen, and would scare me with horrific stories of what would
happen to me if I didn’t hide.  Now that I’m older, I realize telling your
kid fucked up shit to make them listen is just plain wrong.  Even if there
were some truth to her words.      
    “Okay.  Look,” he sighs.  “I know we got off
on the wrong foot, but I am still your teacher.  If you need someone you
can talk to me, and I promise I will keep things confidential.” 
    I snort rudely when he finishes.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, composing myself.  It really
takes a lot of effort to not be rude around him.  “Thanks for the offer,
but I’m fine.  I don’t need your charity therapy sessions.” 
    He sighs again, running a hand through his long,
shaggy hair.  “Alright, Tatum.  Just know I am here if you need
someone.  Have a good evening.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says,
dismissing me.
    Walking away from his classroom and out to my car, I
have a new sense of unease in my belly.  As much as I don’t want to, I
almost feel excited about Mr. Ryan’s offer to listen to me.  Besides the
few girlfriends I have, I’ve not once had a male friend offer to lend an ear to
listen to my petty problems.  And even though it’s highly unlikely that I
will ever act on his offer, considering our miniscule, yet complicated history,
the fact he even offered is monumental.  He must feel something for me or
he wouldn’t even acknowledge me.  Some messed up daddy complex I
have.   
     
    When I get home, I have an hour to kill