Page 179 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

They had to push me back a year. I was, and still am, mortified.

Outcast. Freak. Everyone sees me, but no one sees me. I just want to be left alone, sit with a thermos of hot chocolate, a book, and let the cool mind of nature calm my racing thoughts.

As soon as the bell rings, I dart up, throw the math book, pen, and paper into my dark green Fjallraven backpack, and make a beeline for the exit. My braids whip around my head, and right outside the door I stop for a moment to collect them and wrap a scrunchie around them, then I run. Fast. My sneaker-clad feet make no noise against the stone floor.

Once outside, I dash to my rusty old bike, hop on it, and head for the outskirts of the vast national park. There’s no need to lock the bike. No one would dream of being seen with it, and still, I prefer it to our car, which is in even worse shape. Of course, it is. Mom and I. Dirt poor, living hand to mouth. That’s us.

I pedal fast. The chain rattles ominously. One day it’ll hop off on a downward slope somewhere, and I’ll catapult to my death.

Across the street, where I take a sharp turn right, by a little clearing at the edge of the forest, I see him again. I never get a clear sight, but something about him draws me in mercilessly. He rides a Harley, has light brown unkempt hair that rests on his shoulders, a black leather jacket, worn, dirty blue jeans, and cowboy boots.

Sometimes, I see him in town. From the way he composes himself, that languid, controlled posture, how he moves and dresses, I’m guessing he’s in his early thirties.

He always manages to hide most of his face with his hair. It’s infuriating because he’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen in my whole life, and a huge pull in me grows with each day.

He’s new around here. Showed up a few weeks after Mom and I moved here. The whole town was abuzz for a month, rumors flying. Grateful to have the townspeople off our backs so soon, I listened with great interest, sneaking among the shelves of the supermarket, until I realized no one knew anything.

I don’t think he’s a biker. Not like being associated with a chapter. Mom used to hang in those. I recognize the type. He’s a loner. Like me.

It makes the pull even worse.

I don’t know where he lives. Not exactly. I’ve tailed him, but with him riding a motorcycle, and me a bike, I always lose him.

School’s finally over. For real. I’ll never sit in a classroom again for as long as I live.

The first few weeks I feel free, as if the world lies by my feet, ready for me to explore. I spend all day, early morning until late evening, in the forest. I have a few sandwiches and a bottle of water. I bring books. We can’t afford them, but we have several awesome neighbors who lend them to me. I read all genres: romance, sci-fi, thrillers, the classics. Old books. New books. It doesn’t matter. I have a vivid imagination, and for a few hours every day, I experience adventures way beyond what I’ll ever see myself. Mid-day, I go to my favorite clearing with a view over the valley, smoke a joint out of Mom’s stash, and allow myself to become one with nature. One day, I want to work out here as a ranger. That’s my grown-up plan for later. My only plan now is to chill.

Chill, and stalk the alluring male specimen with the motorcycle. He doesn’t fit in and like with any strange creature that passes my way, I’m dying to learn more. I am so close to cracking the mystery of where he lives, and one day I’ll find out.

One day I hope is today.

He’s cruising down the main street, and the sight makes my heart jolt. I haven’t seen him since I quit school. It’s early morning and barely anyone else is in sight. I have a loaf of bread and some juice in a bag, and I am heading home. I curse the fact that I can’t tag him. Disappointment courses through me, but it is what it is. Some other day. It will happen.

It happens the next morning. It’s as if fate has finally had it with me and my mopey self.

He blazes past me faster than any speed limit. No helmet on. Jeans and T-shirt. If he crashes, he’ll be a pile of minced meat. Crazy mad. It awakens that thrill in me that’s reserved for him, and him alone.

I don’t know if he’s leaving for some errand or if he’s on his way home, but I pedal faster to the woods, to the road I know leads to wherever he disappears. I hope he’s coming home soon, but in either case, I’ve got everything I need. I can wait. Hiding my bike and myself behind some bushes by the side of the road, I sit on a small rock, pull up a smashed ham-and-cheese sandwich, unwrap it, and dig in.

I haven’t read more than ten pages when I hear the roar of an engine, a loud murmur I know oh so well. I drop the sandwich and throw myself on the damp ferns, trying to quell my gasps even though he can hardly hear them above his motorcycle’s roar.

One moment he’s approaching, the next all I’m left with is a cloud of dust. Now! I throw myself on my bike, and I ride.

The road splits in two, but the trace of dust in the still air betrays him. My insides jitter with the anticipation of looming victory. The road splits again. The engine noise is long gone, but not the stirred dirt.

I skid to a halt when I reach a cabin almost hidden in the foliage. I must look closely to make sure I’m not dreaming it up. Bike tossed by the side of the road, hidden of course, I take the route through the trees, making sure to stay low. Something glimmers. Chrome. Yes, yes, yes. Gotcha.

I can’t tell if my heart is beating when I sneak up close, making sure to stay out of sight from any windows. A loud clack makes me freeze, then another, and another. It echoes in the vast forest. It seems to come from the other side of the house, and it certainly sounds like someone chopping wood. I have to see this. I have to see him!

Still no chance to see his freaking face. It’s infuriating, but my god! The rest… Man, he looks good. Throwing thick log after thick log on the chopping block cut from a tree trunk, he then splits them in one powerful arc with his ax. From my hiding spot I, at least, get a clear view of everything else. He’s naked from the waist up, lean, but his muscles play beneath his skin as he moves. His dirty blue jeans hang low, and an alluring V-shape formed by strong hips disappears beneath the waistline. My mind nearly flips when my starved teen hormones wreak havoc with my nether regions. Those strong, capable hands roving my flesh, holding me tightly, holding me down and… My imagination always ends there, because I’m not entirely sure what happens after.

Disappointment courses through me as he buries the ax blade in the block, wipes sweat off his forehead, and throws back his long hair before he disappears inside the house. After a few moments, when nothing else happens, I leave. Now that I know his secret place, I can come here and get better views later, figure him out. See his damn face.

On elbows and knees, I back through the underbrush until I’m sure he won’t see me. I’m just about to stand when the front door slams. A few moments later, his bike roars to life. I’m on the wrong side of the house, but it’s obvious he’s leaving. My heart slams as I listen to the fading engine sound, I don’t even have to think it over. Of course, I’m going to check out his place more… thoroughly.

Chapter Two

Stephan

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