Robin Wasserman: Lust

This guy was hot.

Seriously hot.

Just like a movie star, Beth sighed to herself as he grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote his name on the board in quick, loping script.

Jack Powell. “Hola! Me llamo Jack Powell. Como esta?” he asked, as the class stared blankly back at him. “Okay, and if you understood any of that, you’re probably in the wrong place and you should get out. As for the rest of you, bienvenue and welcome to French 4.”

Hot and British, Harper mused. Tasty-Hugh Grant meets Clive Owen. So what the hell is he doing here?

“As you probably know, I’m new around here,” Powell admitted, taking off his sports jacket and perching casually on the edge of his desk. “So I’m sure this class is going to have some surprises to offer all of us.”

You have no idea, Kaia thought. She had never expected to find someone like him-so handsome, so charming, so cosmopolitan, so her -in this shitty town. But now that opportunity had knocked, it seemed only polite to open the door and invite him in.

“Adam, I told you. Not yet.” Beth reached out a hand toward him, but he pulled away, rolling over on his side. It was still strange for her to see him there, in the bed she’d slept in since she was a child. It was still a child’s room, really-ruffled bedspread, white wooden furniture with light blue trim, so much pink that it was embarrassing. If she’d had her way, the room would be sophisticated and sparse, with only a dark mahogany desk, some Ansel Adams prints on the wall, and a crowded bookshelf in the corner. But these days her parents had neither the money nor the patience for interior decorating, so her seventeen-year-old self was forever trapped in the pink pleated land of her eight-year-old self’s dreams. There was even a stuffed animal, the only thing in the room she didn’t hate-though at the moment, poor Snuffy the Turtle was crushed beneath Adam’s half-naked body. One of these things is not like the other , she thought crazily, the Sesame Street lyric wandering through her mind as she sought frantically for something to say that would make Adam understand. Was this really her life? “I’m just not ready.”

“I know, and I’m not trying to rush you,” he said with his back to her, a petulant tone creeping into his voice. “I’m not -it’s just that…”

Beth sat up and pulled on her pale pink bra, struggling to fasten the clasp behind her. It was past five and her mother would be home soon. Now was not the time for this conversation-couldn’t he see that?

“Look, Adam, you know it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s not that I don’t want to…” God, how she wanted to!

“What, then?” He rolled back to face her, clasping her hands and pulling her close. “What’s stopping us? I know you wanted to wait… but… what are we waiting for?”

If only she knew the answer. If only she could put into words the heart-stopping terror she felt when she let her fantasies get away from her and imagined throwing herself at him, losing herself to the moment, and-but her imagination took her only so far. That’s when the terror set in. And however handsome he looked lying there, one arm stretched out over his head and a lock of hair falling over his deep, dark eyes, however much she may have wanted him-all of him-she just couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not like this.

It hadn’t always been like this, the pressure, the silent give-and-take, worrying about what she wanted and what he wanted and what happened next. No, in the beginning, it had been simple. She had hated him.

Totally hated him, and everything he stood for-which as far as she was concerned, was sports, sex, and beer. She’d hated the way the whole school thought he walked on water, just because he could swim quickly across a pool every fall, could drop a ball into a hoop every winter, just because he was tall, and chiseled, and had a smile that warmed you like the sun. She’d hated his stupid jock clothes, his stupid jock jokes-most of all, his stupid jock friends, and the girls who hung all over them. The guys were all so arrogant, acting like they governed the school, like Beth and her friends were expected to bow and curtsy every time they swept down the hall-and the girls were even worse, simpering and giggling, desperately trying to keep their jock’s attention, or at least to win favor with Harper and her gang, the female counterpart to all this athletic royalty.

When she’d been stuck with Adam as a lab partner last year in bio, all her friends had been jealous-but Beth had just sighed in exhaustion, already figuring that she’d have to do all the work. And she’d been right-put a scalpel in his hands and a pickled frog on a slab in front of him, and Adam was as incompetent and helpless as she would be if plopped down in the middle of a basketball court, facing down the WNBA all-star team. She’d been right about that-but not much else.

He wasn’t arrogant, he wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t an asshole or a dumb jock. By October he was just… Adam. Sweet, funny, adorable-and, for whatever reason, he would stop at nothing until she went out with him. And, for whatever reason-well, basically for the reason that it seemed he’d flirted with or dated half the school, and she didn’t particularly want to be his next randomly selected conquest-she refused. And refused again. How many times had she said no?

Too many-but it hadn’t stopped him. He’d started slipping notes in her locker, leaving flowers for her at her seat in lab-he wouldn’t give up. And then came the day he’d waited for her at her locker after school, greeting her with a giddy smile and a goofy wave. Before she knew it, he was down on one knee.

“Marry me?” he’d asked, pulling a giant plastic ring out of his pocket. It was a bright blue flower, about the size of her palm. It was ludicrous-and irresistible.

“Get up!” she’d urged him through her giggles, blushing furiously as a crowd began to gather.

“Not until you give me a chance,” he had sworn, seemingly oblivious to the curiosity-seekers. Or maybe he was just used to being the center of attention.

“I’m not marrying you, idiot,” she’d laughed, tugging at his arm. “Come on, get up!”

But he had stayed in position. “Okay then, we’ll start slow. One date-one chance. Then I’ll never bother you again.”

How could she say no?

He’d been her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first love, her first-everything. He’d been so patient, so tender, so gentle, and everything had been wonderful. Perfect. Until now-when she wanted him more than ever, and it only made things worse. And suddenly everything that had been easy between them, all the effortless conversation, the casual kisses, the laughter-it was all weighed down by the silence of what they never said, what they couldn’t talk about. Everything on the surface was still so right-but beneath that, Beth feared, there was something brittle, something fragile. Something wrong.

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead and once on the lips, then hopped out of bed to gather up the clothes they’d strewn haphazardly across her bedroom.

“Up ‘n’ Adam,” she chirped, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. She tossed a balled-up T-shirt toward him. “You know my mother will be home any minute, and if she finds us up here…”

Silently, Adam got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. The quiet minutes dragged on for an eternity, until Beth was afraid he would leave without saying another word. But before he did, he came up and put his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Beth buried her head in his chest, reveling in the soft, familiar scent of his cologne and trying her best to fight back the tears.