Chapter 3

Mike looked at the clock, realizing that in his passion he had completely forgotten it was a school day. He had barely enough time to make it to school. Cherry was happily dreaming. "Cherry, we need to get to school."

"Mike, please let me stay home. I'll do extra work or something. Please," she dreamily begged.

"But I can't write you a note. They'll notice the different handwriting," he said reasonably.

Cherry stretched languidly. Mike was entranced by her breasts now presented so enticingly for him. He quickly considered calling in sick. "Mike, the school has never seen my mom's handwriting. She didn't care about that stuff. I filled out my school paperwork since fifth grade," she said. "I write my own notes."

"Oh," he said, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Hurry," Cherry said, rolling back over and closing her eyes.

"Oh yeah," he said, the clock not giving him time to consider alternatives. He jumped into his clothes and was running out the door before he had another thought.

He had plenty of thoughts during the day. He had thoughts ranging from the pleasure of making love to Cherry to thoughts upbraiding himself as a perverted child molester and horrible teacher taking advantage of a student. He wasn't sure exactly which of those he was.

When he arrived home, Cherry was in the kitchen. "Hey," he called out. She came running from the kitchen and threw herself into his arms, kissing him passionately and fully, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. He returned the kiss as good as he got. As he pulled away from the kiss he was looking into her smiling face, "Hi."

Cherry giggled, "Hi, yourself. I'm making dinner." She jumped down and ran back into the kitchen.

Mike followed her, bemused. "Hey, you taking over here? You think you're my wife or something?"

She turned toward him, a serious look on her face. "As much as I can be, yes." She turned back to the stove.

That rocked him a little. In order to gain some time to think, he asked, "What're you cooking?"

She pointed at a cookbook open on the counter. "I used to cook at home. Mom didn't like to cook. I don't know a lot of fancy stuff, mostly what you can make cheap: stews, chili, stuff like that."

Mike looked at the book. It was a Cordon Bleu cookbook his sister had given him as a joke housewarming present. In the front she had written, "Mike, congratulations on your new house. If they ever outlaw fast foods maybe you won't starve. Love, Amy." Everyone had laughed knowing he would never pick up a cookbook like this. He had learned to keep himself from starving, but his cooking didn't go much beyond pan frying and re-heating canned goods.

"You're cooking this?" he asked.

She smiled, "Uh huh. I had to substitute a couple things. You don't have many spices."

"Yeah, I guess not. Wow," he said.

He went off to change. When he returned, Cherry was putting the dinner on the table. Mike sat down as she sat next to him in a typical little domestic scene. He was struck by how ordinary this was. He took some of the stew and took a bite. It was delicious. "This is good," he said enthusiastically.

"What, are you surprised?" Cherry asked.

"Um, no. That's not what I meant," he temporized.

Cherry smiled letting him off the hook. "I'm glad you like it."

After dinner, Mike and Cherry sat in the living room. Both looked serious as Mike started, "Cherry, I've been thinking all day about what happened." Cherry looked grim, expecting the worst. Mike continued, "I can't think what happened was bad. It wasn't. It was incredibly wonderful."

"But," Cherry said.

Mike shook his head, "No but." Cherry burst into a radiant smile. As Mike continued, "There are some things I wanted to talk to you about. Like, you have three and half more years of school. After this year, you will be in a different school, which will make it easier to hide our unconventional relationship. Can you fool people for that long?"

"Mike, I have been lying since first grade to hide the fact that my mom was a hooker. I know how to do it."

He nodded. "What about things like the Prom? I mean the usual things a teenager does."

Cherry laughed. "Mike, I've known forever I wasn't going to do all the things most kids do. The Prom? How was I ever going to go to the prom? If my mom ever had enough money to buy me a prom dress, it went into her nose. I used to look at other kids and know I could never be like them. Their parents worked, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed. I never had stuff like that and I knew I never would. If you are saying I might miss out on some things I never would have had ... It's not much of a sacrifice."