Beneath the Boardwalk (Alex Turner) COMPLETE

10 {twirling a pen in his teeth}

I understood now. What captivated me most was the way Dr. Turner spoke. It was fluent and melodic like the soulful dips in lounge music, as sharp as the black keys on a piano. You couldn't tune out his voice. It made heads turn. 

Time went on; classes passed. Jamie was doing well at the Boardwalk, Matt consistently asked me about Turner, and I hadn't gotten any more notes from N. I needed time to decide my answer. Turner was being polite while he waited, but I could tell he was anxious when he was lecturing. His gaze on me was as tense as a tightly wound elastic. 

I knew that if it was somebody else, they couldn't pull this mysterious behaviour off. I'd want to switch classes. But it was something about him. Was it his confusing words, the ones that made me feel like I was the crazy one here?

Maybe I was going a bit crazy. It was not okay for me to be thinking about my English teacher like this. Come on, he's my teacher. Just a teacher. All he's saying is one small favour. And he's only thinking professionally.

He did say, strictly professional. He thinks nothing more. 

When lecture ended, Turner was sitting on the edge of the stage with his dress shoes cracking against the wood. He was expecting me to stay after class and accept or decline his offer. I could feel the expectancy in the stare, but I wasn't sure I could. There was something predatory in his gaze as he twirled that pen between his teeth.  He watched me, very carefully, as I walked down the steps and out the door.

* * *

I redid the old paper of mine in the spare time I had at the Boardwalk, until I could read it at least three times and still be interested. Nowhere near hundred, but it was a start. Despite all of Turner's madness, I could understand what he was getting at--my arguments were more thought-provoking in this version when my arguments and facts were strengthened. Still wasn't completely happy with it but maybe he wasn't insane.

"Schoolwork?" 

Jamie had an oversized jean jacket on today, his shoulders hunched. I put my pencil down. "Crap. You scared me. Yes."

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking around the Boardwalk. It was a gorgeous place to be in, making my heart warm every time I stepped inside. There were a lot of windows that let light flood in and onto the hardwood. Shelves with lined up ink bottles, cupboards filled with needles and guns and plastic gloves. There were walls entirely filled with art, tiny symbols of example pictures we were able to tattoo. Of course, we did requests, but it was beautiful seeing the array of colours melt along the lining of the walls. "Can I ask you a question?"

I nodded, putting my schoolwork back in my bag. I had an hour until class. 

"Can I lock up tonight?"

My hands paused in my bag. 

"The rest of the staff gets to, but never me. I just didn't want to be left out, that's all," Jamie said. 

I eyed him while he stood. He was new. That's why I didn't give him the responsibility. I didn't understand the reason, considering I'd much prefer not to have the responsibility, but if he wants it... I nodded to my right. "Keys are in the lowest drawer."

There was something odd in Jamie's eye. His pupils were contracted as if they were hiding something behind his blue irises, and he gave a weak smile. It seemed robotic and mechanical. "Thanks."

* * *

I scrubbed at my face, taking way too long to apply makeup for today's class. I shouldn't care this much about my appearance, but now I did. The red lipstick was darker than I meant to apply it today. My black tee cropped and exposed the jewellery on my stomach. Taking a little extra time did wonders for the self-esteem. 

Turner was twenty minutes late. The people in the back were fooling around when he walked in, and for some reason he looked pissed.

His heels clacked on the floor, and he was smoking indoors. Isn't that illegal? I don't know much about law, but I'm pretty sure you couldn't smoke in a public space. But nobody called him on it, because you could sense it when he walked in the room. Turner was a wild card, hiding behind that bed hair of his, shoulders as rigid as a plank. 

He took a long drag and blew it out slowly. "I can't fucking teach today, I sincerely apologize."

The sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice. But nobody dared say anything.

"You can all leave, I don't care. Read that Shakespeare book. You should have it finished by Monday." Turner took a long drag, twisting to look at me from the stage. "Except you, Greene. I need to talk to you. Now."