Just A Calamity

6.

He is not quite sure what to say to her. She is grave as she puts books neatly into boxes, a waterfall of caramel hair obscuring her face. She looks so different now than what has become the usual: sleeves of her fleece jacket rolled up to her elbows, cheeks red and heart thrumming.

She is beautiful, and that is the problem.

He grabs his own box and slowly takes books off the shelves, starting with the short story anthologies in their tattered red sleeves. He hears the skid of cardboard across a dirty floor as she pushes a finished box out of the way.

"I have to go," she says eventually. "I promised Anne that we'd go out to lunch today."

"It's fine." He does not look away from his work. "Thanks for your help, Quinn."

She sighs and stays where she is. She is probably fingering the edge of her uniform skirt or yanking down her fleece's sleeves in order to cover her hands.

"I'm sorry," she whispers eventually. "I ruined everything. You must hate me."

He hesitates and stares at the beaten paperback in his hand. "No. It was both of us. We have summer break to get ourselves straightened out, and you won't have my class next year. We'll be fine, Quinn. I could never hate you."

He is talking more to himself than to her, and she knows this. She knows everything.

He hears the soft pad of her shoes on his dirty floor, and suddenly she is crouched down next to him, hands gripping his shoulders. She leans forward and he briefly feels something firm and slightly wet against his lips.

When he looks up, she is gone. It does not matter, though. He still loves her.

5.

"So, how were the freshies today?" Quinn is sprawled in the red armchair, which she considers to be the most comfortable chair in the universe. Ryan is at his desk grading papers, which irks her. She risks staying after school and all he does is read essays written by stupid freshmen.

Suddenly, he laughs, which makes her smile quietly to herself. "Brian," he explains.

"You're grading my class'?"

"Yes. I haven't read yours yet."

"I hate the title. I thought of so many good ones after I turned it in."

"Well, I won't be grading on that."

There are a few long moments of silence, only broken by the scratch of Ryan's pencil. Quinn's head lolls back against the chair as she stares out the window at the cars leaving the parking lot.    

"You ready for exams tomorrow?" he asks. Such a teacher-esque question makes Quinn roll her eyes.

"Of course." She pauses. "I can't believe I won't see you for two months. And then I don't even have your class next year."

She hears him inhale then exhale, as if he is teaching himself to breathe. "Quinn…"

"Yeah?" she asks tentatively, now worried.

"We can't keep on doing this. I- I have a family, and you're sixteen. It's just wrong, Quinn, and that's all there is to it. I won't take back anything I've ever said to you, but... we just can't let this go on. We can't be in love, Quinn. I'm sorry."

And maybe he looks sorry, but Quinn can hardly think or feel at the moment. She clutches her fleece to her chest and stares at the rug underneath the chair.

"Fine," she says. She is not sure whether or not she sounds accusatory. "But I don't regret it. I told you I'd never regret anything, and I'm not going back on my word." She stands and slings her backpack over one shoulder, determined to leave without breaking down.  

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? You promised to help me pack up my classroom," he says softly, more like the Ryan that Quinn is used to.

She stiffens. "Okay."

4.

Quinn is speaking at her church this morning, as a part of "Youth Sunday". Ryan can never resist when she looks truly excited, and so he told his wife part of the truth before driving to the address on the Post-It.

He slips into the back row, praying (if God will listen) that her parents will not recognize him. An old woman smiles at him and welcomes him to the church, and he smiles back as he shakes her hand. Be polite, he reminds himself. Be normal. No one but Quinn knows.

When she finally begins to speak, it is as if she belongs on the stage. She owns it. Even though she is tiny, her voice is so loud and commanding that she hardly needs a microphone. And, as always, her words are brilliant. She is brilliant.

Next, another girl speaks on love and how God is the Prince Charming that every girl wishes for. This new girl is soft-spoken, talking as if the audience is her best friend.

Ryan feels something in the bottom of his stomach – something to do with love and God, and he wonders how he ever could have let himself fall this far.

3.

"I hope it doesn't snow," Quinn says.

"Why's that?" Ryan paperclips a stack of papers together before coming to stand next to her at the window.

"It's March. It's not supposed to snow in March."

"I don't like the snow much. My boys do, though."

Quinn flinches. She hates it when he mentions his kids, who are too cute for their own good. He notices and gingerly puts an arm around her shoulders. He is still nervous about touching her, because what remains of his conscience is telling him that this is wrong.

It is worth it when Quinn looks at him with contentment in her green eyes. He loves those eyes. They distract him so much when he lectures during class and she has them trained on him, paying her fullest attention.

Her courage decreases as he stares back at her, gaze questioning. She looks at the floor and whispers, "I love you."

She wonders if he heard it, so she slips her arms around his waist and closes her eyes as she leans against him. There is a long moment before she can feel him return her embrace, but she does not mind, really.

She can wait. She can wait for declarations of love and maybe a kiss. If he needs time, she will give it. His reservations are justified, after all.

2.

Quinn has been staying after school to speak with him about a novel she wants to write, and, although Ryan is happy to help, this is odd behavior from the independent sophomore.

He wishes she would stay away, because he has been reasoning with himself for almost a year. He has to tell himself that this is a Christian school, that he should think about God and not the green-eyed girl in the front row.  

He is a heretic, a sinner, a man unfit to live. Sometimes he thinks that she, too, stares at him, cannot get him out of her head. There is something in the way she blushes when he looks her way.

He is grading an essay of hers, wishing that she is not an amazing writer so that he could take off points instead of show favoritism.

There, at the bottom of the page, is a tiny arrow indicating that he should flip it over. Scribbled in pencil with handwriting almost as bad as his own, is a note that shatters his carefully constructed conscience:

Please don't hate me, but I need to tell you something. I feel like such a freak, but I… like you. A lot. More than a normal person should. I think you probably get the picture by now, but… please talk to me next time I see you after school. You can tell me I'm evil, but I just need to know that you saw this.

Ryan is in shock, as if he just saw someone die. All he can think is, "I don't hate you, I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

1.

She is not quite sure where her best friend got the idea, but Anne likes to joke that Quinn is in love with their English teacher. This makes Quinn nervous, wondering if her secret is oh-so-obvious.

After being in his class for one and a half years, Quinn has determined that maybe Anne has made her obsessed, or maybe her friend is simply correct. Now, she can barely look at Mr. Lawson without feeling something twitch inside her ribs.

It is a good joke, but not so excellent of a reality. He is married. He has four kids. He is thirty-eight and she is barely sixteen. It is all so wrong, like a math equation that never quite adds up.

But Quinn has a new philosophy, and that is to never regret. As she sits in English and stares, she wonders if this is the kind of thing that she'll regret passing up.

0.

Ryan Lawson opens his e-mail and sees the roster for the freshman class. He smiles to himself as he opens it, since it is a hobby of his to read the names and predict what the students will be like come August.

He comes to the fifth name and stops. "Brown, Quinn," he mutters. It sounds like a boy's name, but it very well could be a girl. "Quinn." The name fits a troublemaker, the sort of boy who sits in the back of class and makes inane jokes in order to boost his low self-esteem.

For only a second, he wonders who this Quinn is and what kind of trouble he – or she – will get the both of them into.