Page 10 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
She hates me. Her words cut me like a blade. I didn’t expect her to be ecstatic, but her anger surprises me.
I'm over the moon to see her again. I've never forgotten her and I've always wondered how she was. I've always hoped life turned out well for her.
My concern for a bright student led me down a path that was not of my choosing. I didn't intend for my feelings to become so intense, or for Megan to feel so much.
A casual observer might have mistaken Megan for being a teacher's pet. But to the rest of them—the Principal and the other students—it might have seemed like something else. Something wrong, and sleazy and taboo.
It was never any of those things. It was complicated, and though I’d never set out to intentionally cross a line, there were many times I knew I ought to pare back my friendship.
With her there had been no flick of the hair, no wide-eyed staring. No flirting. She barely batted an eyelash. She’d neither looked at me, nor shown any interest.
But something happened when we met in the library—which is when it really began. We changed from being just a teacher and a student to something more.
My mind is now a tangled web of memories from my the past and the young girl Megan was back then; someone I never expected to see again, even though I always hoped our paths would one day cross.
And now they have.
I start my car with the weight of misery like a boulder over my chest. The girl she used to be is gone. She’s still beautiful but the natural softness has given way to hardness.
I can’t blame her. It was cruel what I did; leaving town without telling her, and then never getting in touch to explain. There were many times, especially in the early years, that I wanted to reach out to her, to see how she was, to let her know it wasn’t because of her, but I talked myself out of it at every turn.
I had my own problems to deal with. I convinced myself that Megan was better off without me. Nothing could ever come of it the way we wanted.
But meeting her now, is it too much to hope that life could maybe give us a second chance?
The audacity to hope she might be single, when I am so clearly not.
I should leave her in peace. I should.
Chapter 5
LANCE
Eleven years ago…
I’m impressed.
There aren’t many of my students, the girls especially, who are interested in a career in physics or math or wanting to major in any of these subjects in college.
But Megan Summers does. She’s a clever girl, but she worries me because her grades have been slipping recently, and if she doesn’t get them back on track soon she’ll risk her chances of getting into college.
I don’t want to see a student with as much potential as she has, fail. “Can you come and see me at the end of the lesson?” I ask her, as I hand back last week’s homework sheets. Her cheeks turn crimson, and she looks embarrassed. I could have sworn I heard her friend, the chatty, fidgety one she’s always with, wonder out loud what I want.
I move on swiftly, hearing the snigger from her friend. I try to keep my distance, but I’m concerned. She’d started to doze off towards the end of our last lesson and I’m certain something is going on at home.
Why do these girls think that teachers are blind, dumb and stupid? That’s one reason why Megan Summers is nothing like the others. She’s sensible, hardworking and clever.
She has no interest in me. She’s not batted her eyelashes at me, not even once. She hasn’t flirted. She’s barely noticed me.
She stays behind at the end of the lesson, looking flustered. “You wanted to see me, sir?” She clutches her folder to her chest. I close the classroom door and walk back, then lean against my desk. She does the same; arms folded across her chest, hugging the folders as if they are her comfort blanket, she leans against a student desk.
“What's going on?” I ask quietly.
“What do you mean, sir?” She hugs her books even closer.
“Your grades in the last few pieces of homework have slipped. I marked the last test you all did. You got 74% but you normally average around 92%. This isn't like you, Megan.”
“It’s been a tough couple of months,” she says, finally. There’s something in her words I can’t put my finger on. Her face is tense, and her lips purse into a stiff line. I can’t pry too much. There’s a line in this student-teacher dynamic I can’t cross. The snickers in class already tell me I’m dangerously close to crossing it.
