Easy A+

Chapter 3

Decisions are made and not bought
But I thought this wouldn't hurt a lot
I guess not

- MGMT, Kids

. . . .

I meet Harry at our designated parking spot at the old gazebo. The sky is dark blue as if it was midnight when it's only 6:30 at night. Everyone had left early this morning and only a few had stayed back because of travel issues.

The outline of his black sedan is hard to make out, but the glowing red taillights give it away beneath the canopy of trees overhead. I knock on the dark window then finally hear the click. I sit in the comfortable, dark leather seat and toss my bag in the back.

"Hi."

"Hi," I respond.

"Ready?" His dark gaze meets mine in an anticipating way. After getting a response, he shifts the car into drive then continues down the bumpy dirt path to the street behind the school.

I take a free moment to take in his appearance. He's wearing jeans and a white t-shirt since it was everyone's day off. His coat hangs over the back of his seat, giving me the opportunity to look at the dark tattoos on his arms, which is rare since he's always wearing long-sleeved dress shirts.

It seems as if the trip to his house goes by in a flash. We arrive at a small one-story house in a quiet neighborhood about fifteen minutes away from the school. There's a short driveway and a sloping yard out front. The snow adds a bright glow to everything as it sparkles underneath the street lamp placed at the edge of his yard right by the sidewalk.

"Put your hood up," he says before getting out and opening the backseat door to retrieve my bag. I put my hood up before walking inside behind him.

His house is like any normal house. Furniture, a TV, pictures—mainly of his daughter.

He leads me into the bedroom and switches on the light. He sits my bag on the floor beside one of the legs of the bed. Opening the door to his closet, he pulls out a pair of joggers. I turn away when he starts to unbuckle his belt.

"What would you like for dinner?" He asks me.

"I don't care. You can pick."

I hear the rustle of material and then the gentle thump of his jeans being tossed into the hamper. He tells me he's dressed and I turn back to him.

"You're difficult, you know that?"

I only shrug, shying away from his steady stare at me as he slides a jumper over his head.

"You really are nervous around me," he points out, like the idea never occurred to him prior to this moment. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"I guess I'm just nervous about...this situation. I've never done anything this outlandish in my life." 

"And you think I have?" he asks rhetorically. 

"No," I answer anyway. "You just seemed kind of confident when you proposed the idea."

"Believe me, I was sweating bullets." 

"Then why did you ask me?" I ask, more in a curious tone than an accusing one. 

"As I said," he responds, picking up his phone from the edge of his dresser under the tv on the wall. "I think you're an attractive girl, Violet. Plus, a little extra credit wouldn't hurt." 

I stand in my place off to the side in front of the glass sliding door, my arms wrapped around myself. He takes a step closer, cautiously. Closing the gap between us, he stares down at his hand brushing down over my right arm. I feel a jolt of something in my upper chest when his eyes dart up to look into mine. That same hand lifts to delicately caress my neck.