Chapter 1: Meeting Cassie

I was two years out of college when I began to realize what a huge mistake I had made by getting my degree in Education. My parents were both teachers, my older sister was already in her second year of teaching, and I had an uncle who was a middle school principal. Two of my grandparents had been teachers. So, it was generally accepted in my family that I would become a teacher. While I was pursuing my degree, it seemed like a good idea to me, too. But after I actually started teaching, I discovered that being in a classroom of teens and tweens revealed a dark side of my psyche that I had previously suppressed. I had always suspected that I had what most people might call an unhealthy attraction to young girls, but I had assumed that in a working environment, I could keep it in check.

The only teaching job I could get my first year out of college was working as a substitute, which is awful, especially when you have a babyface like mine. I had a lot of trouble with discipline, especially with bratty middle school kids, but it did put food on the table - not good food, and a card table, but still, it was a start. The following year, I landed a full-time position teaching math to ninth- and tenth-grade students, where my problems worsened. Seeing the same kids every day led me to develop inappropriate feelings for some of them. It became increasingly difficult to resist the urge to gently touch a young girl on her shoulder as a way of congratulating her for doing well, or god forbid, even hugging her.

While I was struggling with my feelings, another teacher in our school got into big trouble for touching one of his students. When she complained to the administration, other students came forward with similar experiences. Seeing pictures of Jerry on the six o’clock news was a real wake-up call for me. The worst part was that he wasn’t just a coworker; he was my roommate, which only drew unwanted attention to me. Some not very friendly sheriff deputies seized my phone and computer and took them to be examined for any inappropriate content, including pictures, emails, or text messages sent to students. I think they were disappointed not to find anything, and a few days later, I had my equipment back. Even showing up at school was weird. I was caught up in the whole guilt-through-association effect, so I started looking for another job. Eventually, I was hired by a company that specialized in online tutoring. I was still a teacher, but my only contact with students would be on a screen. It didn’t pay as much as my former job, but it seemed a lot safer.

I also had to find somewhere else to live, because without Jerry’s share of the rent, I couldn’t afford the apartment we had been living in. That’s how I ended up at Brentwood Village, a mobile home park that had seen better days. My new ‘home’ was a two-bedroom, one-bath trailer that looked to be about 10-15 years old. It was small, but it had everything I needed, including good wi-fi.

I met Cassie Grainger the day I moved into Brentwood. I was unloading my few belongings out of the pickup I had borrowed from a friend when I saw a young girl watching me from across the street. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen, just the age I was trying to avoid. She didn’t say anything, but did wave once. I returned the gesture and went back to unloading.

The next day, I made a big grocery run to fill up my almost-empty refrigerator and cupboard. When I got back, I popped the trunk on my Corolla and started bringing bags inside. When I went back for a second load, my new neighbor was standing by the open trunk. “Need some help?” she asked.

I started to tell her I was okay, not wanting to encourage any further contact, but something about her cute smile and willingness to help appealed to me. Plus, I was still tired from all the moving I had done the previous day, so I started handing her some of the gazillion small bags that the grocery store had packed my groceries in, and she followed me back inside. Two more trips were all it took to get everything inside.

It turned out not only was my new friend eager to help, she was also a motormouth. “I’m Cassie,” she said, after we brought that last load in, “that’s short for Cassandra, but nobody calls me that. My dad and I live in the green trailer down the street, so you’ll probably see me around a lot.”

That almost seemed like an ominous warning. After what had happened to Jerry, I was feeling more than a little paranoid. “I’m Gary,” I told her.

“Not married?”

“Nope.”

“So, no kids?”

I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was hoping I would say yes. “Nope, sorry. Are you looking for new playmates?”

That was the wrong thing to say, and I could tell that I had insulted her. I had been around girls her age long enough to recognize the dour expression on her face. “I’m not a kid,” she huffed, “Don’t be fooled just because I’m kinda small. I’m fourteen, and I’ll be fifteen in September. I make extra money by babysitting, so I was hoping to find some new clients.”

Her appearance had fooled me. She was barely five feet tall, and her short brunette hair hung around her face in a simple pageboy, the kind that a lot of schoolkids wore maybe thirty years ago, but it still looked good surrounding her face. If I were asked to describe Cassie in one word, it would be ‘elfin.’ All she needed were pointy ears to complete the look.