Chapter 40

Before I knew it, it was early May. Soon it would be the long Memorial Day weekend and then one more month before summer vacation. I was so looking forward to summer. I wouldn’t have school and Mr. Roman wouldn’t be teaching. All summer long, we could spend time together without the need to use Paul as a decoy. Unless, of course, Mr. Roman wanted to hook up with me at night. I still needed to pretend I was going on a date with someone other than my Band teacher. But before enjoying summer, I knew that I would first have to get through June. I would have to study for finals and then take the grueling exams in order to complete my junior year. The last thing I wanted was to fail a class and go to summer school so I knew there would be no time for Mr. Roman in June. But I still had most of the month of May to enjoy. Not that it was all with Mr. Roman. I had to keep up the facade of dating someone my own age, like now.

The weather was warming up so the windows in Wally’s father’s car were rolled down. I was in the back seat with Paul. Debbie and Wally were up front. We had gone to a movie and, as usual, went parking afterward. Paul and Wally didn’t know about Canarsie Pier so we always went to a place where there were warehouses that were closed at night. It was ugly and smelled of diesel, definitely not romantic, but it offered us the privacy we desired. Well, the privacy Wally, Paul, and Debbie desired. I was along for the ride. I had Mr. Roman. Double dating with Debbie was part of my sham.

Debbie and Wally were passionately kissing in the front seat. Paul and I were kissing too, but not as passionately. Paul kept trying, but I was playing it cool. I liked Paul, but not in that way. When Paul put his hand on my breast, I shoved it away.

“Why can’t I?” Paul whispered, almost whining.

“I’m not like that.”

That answer used to have a bite, but after my encounters with Paul in the soundproof room when the school was closed—twice now—it was a lame answer. And he knew it. Paul was inexperienced, not dumb. At the school, he had felt me up and I had even held my blouse open to show him my bra-encased tits. The first time he had asked to see them. The second time I had done it on my own. It just seemed the natural thing to do under the circumstance. And I got a little tingle doing it. It was arousing to do something naughty.

“I did it to you in the school,” Paul whispered. “What’s the difference now?”

He had me. I couldn’t tell him that the only reason I had allowed it in the soundproof room was because I was using him to be with someone I was hiding from my parents. A man almost ten years older than me. My Band teacher no less. The man I was going to marry in a little over a year.

“Debbie’s in the front seat,” I whispered.

“Wally’s doing it to her.”

“He is not.”

“He is. He says she likes it and he does it all the time.”

I strained to see what was going on in the front seat. Debbie’s back was against the door and Wally was leaning over her. They were passionately kissing. Her hand was on the back of his head, crushing his lips to hers. From the slurping sounds and the moaning, I was sure his tongue was inside her mouth. Or the way her hand frantically held onto the back of his head, maybe she was so worked up that her tongue was inside his mouth. I couldn’t see Wally’s left hand, but the way he was leaning into her it was possible that he was feeling her up. Or maybe, by the sound of her loud moaning, his hand was underneath her skirt. So my best friend was keeping secrets from me.

While I was staring at Debbie and Wally, Paul took the initiative. Maybe he thought my silence was permission. His hand returned to my breast. This time I let him squeeze it. He was right. I had allowed him to do it before. And when his hand went underneath my top, slid along my naked skin creating goose bumps in its path, and cupped my breast over my bra, I allowed that too. In fact, I kissed him more passionately. It felt good. Under my guidance in the soundproof room, he had learned a lot and was getting good at it. Thoughts about letting him go underneath the bra the next time we met at the school filled my mind as my tongue flapped against his. I probably wouldn’t have stopped him that night if he had done it, but that was as far as he went. I think he was happy with that. Or maybe he thought he had no chance going underneath my bra and didn’t want to risk losing what I was allowing.

About a week later, I was at school sitting in my last class of the day when I felt it. Every high school girl’s nightmare. I thought the earliest my period would start was in two days, but the leaking told me otherwise. And I knew it was a strong flow that probably had already stained the back of my skirt. It would show when I stood up.

I panicked. I could only think of one thing. I scribbled a note to my teacher telling her what had happened. Thankfully Mrs. Friedman was a woman. I motioned for her to come to me which she did. I passed her the note. She read it.

Mrs. Friedman leaned next to my ear and whispered, “Julie, go home and take care of it. I’ll give you a signal when to leave. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mrs. Friedman returned to the front of the classroom and kept an eye on me. When I finished stuffing my books into my bookbag, she told everyone to take out a textbook we weren’t using. There was a lot of grumbling as everyone dug through their bookbags looking for it. When Mrs. Friedman’s and my eyes met, she flicked her head toward the door. While everyone was busy, I leapt from my chair and made a dash for the door and out of the classroom. Leaning with my back against the wall in the empty hallway, my heart raced. I said a silent thank you to my teacher.