Page 6 of Claimed by the Fallen
My heart thumps in my chest, and I think it might explode when I feel Mr. Cohen place his hand on my lower back. I swallow the lump in mythroat.
How often have I daydreamed about being this close to Mr.Cohen?
Now that it is happening, I worry my brain might short-circuit. I can feel his breath disturb the air by my ear, and the sensation is doing crazy things to my stomach. I feel my muscles tighten and twist with nervoushappiness.
“Smile, everyone.” I’m shaking like a leaf, and I pray Mr. Cohen doesn’t notice. I try to hold still as Mrs. Lee snaps apicture.
One minute later, Mrs. Lee is finished. She’s a more efficient photographer than my mother. Our group separates. I’m about to rush off, back to the safety of my parents, when I hear Mr. Cohen say, “I hope you all have a greatsummer.”
“You too, Mr. Cohen,” Annie repliespolitely.
“Thanks, Mr. C,” Joeysays.
I lift my gaze and see Mr. Cohen looking at me expectantly. I force myself to smile. I’m sure my lips are trembling when his eyes land onthem.
“I hope you have a good summer, too,” I’m finally able to say. “Thanks for everything thisyear.”
Not only was Mr. Cohen one of my best teachers, but he turned out to be a valuable mentor. When I finally gathered the courage to ask for his help, Mr. Cohen advised me to apply to colleges with good science programs, and he even wrote letters of recommendation for me. I’d been lucky to have him as ateacher.
“You’re very welcome, Messenger.” His eyes shine. “I’m sure I’ll see you aroundtown.”
Oh, I hopeso.
I nod and murmur some non-committal response. Then, my friends and I venture off to find Joey’s family. The Lees come with us so we can all get group photos at the sametime.
As I walk away, I swear I feel Mr. Cohen’s eyes on my back, but I avoid turning to see. Though, the thought does make me walk a little bittaller.
Three
The tight,leather skirt and shimmering, sleeveless shirt stare back at me from my bed. I eye the revealing clothing, wondering why, on God’s green earth, my mom would buy such an outfit forme.
“I can’t,” I tell her. I can only imagine how lanky and ridiculous the ensemble would look on me. “No way. I won’t wearthat.”
My mom shakes her head. She moves toward my bed and lifts the form-fitting top. “But look how pretty it is! Trust me, you’ll look great.” She approaches and holds the top up against me. “See? The sequins make your eyespop.”
I cringe. That is the last thing Iwant.
“They’re too small, Mom,” I attempt to dissuade her hopes about the outfit. “Plus, they’re too fancy to wear todinner.”
“Annie told me about the concert tonight,” she reveals, undeterred. “You’ll look great inthis.”
I close my eyes, silently wishing my best friend had kept her mouth shut. “Mom, I’m just going to a concert. It’s not a bigdeal.”
“This isn’t just any concert,” she counters, finally lowering the top, “It’s yourfirstconcert. I want you to have fun with yourfriends.”
I don’t see what wearing the outfit has to do with me havingfun.
My mom tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ears and sighs. “Ronnie, just… humor me. Okay?” She peers at me with pleading baby blue eyes, looking more than a decade younger than her forty-nine years. This is totally not fair. My mom and I are close, and she knows I give in when she puts on her puppy-dog eyes. I can’t think of anything I’ve denied her when she looks at me likethat.
“Ugh. Fine!” I throw my hands in the air. “You win. I’ll wear theoutfit.”
Mom squeals happily. I swear, sometimes I think she’s theteenager.
She places the shirt on the bed and rushes to the door. “Go ahead and change, honey. I can’t wait to see you in the skirt.” She closes my bedroom door, rushing to leave before I can change mymind.
I sigh and change out of my oversized t-shirt and leggings. I avoid looking in the mirror as I shimmy into the black skirt. I already know it leaves nothing to theimagination.
I glance at the cream-colored top, deciding to change out of my bright blue bra into something not as easily seen through the lightfabric.
