She turned to her locker, bent over, and began to spin the dial of its combination lock.

Did he touch me there on purpose? she wondered. No. It was just an accident. But there was no possible way he could’ve not noticed what was against his hand.

She got the combination wrong.

She got it wrong again.

“You’re sure this is the right locker?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m just not thinking straight.”

“Rough day.”

She smiled at him. “It’s getting to be the story of my life. If I’m not falling off a stool, I’m getting attacked.”

She tried the combination again. This time it worked. She opened her locker. Mr. Kramer didn’t touch her at all when he returned the books. She put some away, kept others, struggled to concentrate on which of those in her locker she would need for homework. Finally she took out her denim book bag. When it was full, she buckled it shut and closed her locker. She lifted the bag by its shoulder straps.

“All set?” Mr. Kramer asked, picking up his briefcase.

“Yeah. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I assure you, I have nothing in my immediate future more important or enjoyable than the task of escorting a beautiful young lady to her car.”

Lane felt herself blush and smile. “I bet you do,” she said, and started walking beside him.

“To be honest, I don’t have much of a social life.”

“Oh, sure.”

“It’s true, I’m afraid.”

“Well... what do you do with your spare time?”

“I read. I go to movies and plays.”

“Don’t you... see anyone?” Lane grimaced. She couldn’t believe she had asked that.

“No,” he said. He glanced at her, then looked quickly away. “I was engaged to be married. Her name was Lonnie. She was a lot like you, Lane: lovely, intelligent, cheerful, quick to poke fun at things, including herself. But...” He shook his head sharply. “Anyway, I guess I’m still not over her.”

“I’m sorry.”

She wanted to ask what happened to Lonnie, but didn’t dare. Already her probing may have opened a wound.

“Well,” he said, “I guess we all have our crosses to bear.” He pushed open the heavy exit door and followed Lane outside.

The sun was warm on her face. A stiff autumn wind was blowing. It tossed her hair, fluttered her blouse, pressed her skirt against her legs, caressed her. She took a deep breath, savoring the fine feel of walking with Mr. Kramer on such an afternoon.

He thinks I’m just like Lonnie, she told herself. The woman he loved.

“It’s the red Mustang, isn’t it?” he asked as they entered the parking lot.

She turned to him, smiling, and the wind flung wisps of hair across her face. “How did you know?”

“I notice things,” he told her.

The way he said it, Lane knew he had more in mind than her car. Did he want her to realize that he’d noticed the feel of her breast when he took the books from her? Or maybe that he was aware of her feelings for him? Could he sense that she’d fallen in love with him?

I’m not in love with him, she told herself. Good God, he’s a teacher. He’s probably ten years older than me.

Ten years isn’t such a big deal, she thought. And he won’t be my teacher after I graduate.

Dream on, stupid. Don’t kid yourself. He’s not interested.

She stopped beside her car and took out the keys.

“Well,” Mr. Kramer said, “I guess you didn’t need a bodyguard, after all.”

“I’m glad you walked me out, anyway. Thanks.” She opened the door, swung her book bag onto the passenger seat and climbed in. While she folded the sun shade, she said, “You won’t be in trouble for hitting Riley, will you?”

“I doubt it. He had it coming.”

She twisted around and tossed the cardboard shade onto the backseat. Then she smiled out the open door at Mr. Kramer. “You know, you’ll be a legend around here once it gets around that you cleaned his clock.”

“Well, that would be unfortunate. It’s a shame when people are admired for acts of violence. I’d much rather be known as someone who is caring and sensitive.”

“You already are that,” Lane said. “At least as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you, Lane.” For long moments he stared into her eyes. Then he swung the door shut.

She cranked the window down. “Do you need a ride or anything?”

“My car’s just in the other lot.”

“I could give you a ride over to it.”

Dumb! Can’t you be a littlemore obvious?

“That’s all right. Take it easy, now. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Okay. Bye, Mr. Kramer.”

Lane watched him walk away, the wind mussing his dark hair and making his shirt cling to his back. She gazed at his broad shoulders, the curves of his shoulder blades, the way his shirt tapered down to his waist. Today he didn’t have the wallet in the back pocket of his slacks. The fabric was tight against his rear. The mounds of his buttocks took turns flexing as he walked.

I notice things, too, she thought.

Then Mr. Kramer stepped behind a parked car.

Lane slid her key into the ignition.

Thirty-one

Lane knocked, opened the door, and leaned into her father’s office. “Jim’ll be here any minute,” she said. “Do you want to come out and harass him?”

“I’ll give the kid a break tonight,” he said, pushing a key to make his computer screen go blank as she stepped into the room.

“Writing more dirty stuff?”

“Yep.”

Lane lowered a finger toward the “page down” button on his keyboard.

“Ah-ah!” He swatted her hand away.

“Aw, come on. I’m a big girl.”

He looked up at her, smiling. Then his smile slipped away. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I mean it. I’m not at all sure you should be going out tonight, what with this Benson character and everything.”

“This isn’t one of your books, you know.”

“I know. It’s real life, and that’s worse. Look what happened to that Jessica girl.”

“Riley Benson didn’t do that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, the cops let him go.”

“Cops have been known to make mistakes, honey. And even if he had nothing to do with it, he showed himself to be violent in class today. And he threatened you. So don’t pretend there’s nothing wrong. I want you to be very careful.”

“I will be. And it’s not as if I’ll be alone. Nobody is going to attack me with Betty around.”

Dad laughed. “Nasty.”

“Inherited it from you, along with my allergies.”

She heard the door bell ring. “He’s here,” she said. Bending down, she kissed her father. “See you later.”

“Have fun. And I mean it, keep your eyes open.”

“Righto,” she said, turning away. “Adios.”

She pulled the door shut and hurried into the living room. Jim was talking to her mother. He smiled at her. He looked handsome in his tan chamois shirt, corduroy pants, and sneakers. She realized she was glad to see him in spite of their frequent quarrels.

“Hi ho,” she said.

“Lane,” he said. A red hue colored his face. She wondered what had brought that on. Jim wasn’t a guy who often blushed. “You look very nice,” he said.

She said, “Thanks.” If he was disappointed, it didn’t show. But Lane knew he couldn’t be very happy that she’d worn tight blue jeans instead of a skirt, and a thick vee-neck sweater over her blouse.

She kissed her mother.

“Have a good time, you two,” Mom said. “And don’t stay out too late.”

“We will and we won’t,” Lane told her.

Mom shook her head, rolled her eyes upward.

“Have a nice evening, Mrs. Dunbar,” Jim said.

She thanked him. As they walked across the yard, Lane heard the front door bump shut. She glanced back. The porch light came on, lighting the entrance with a yellow glow.

Jim’s car was parked at the curb. He opened its passenger door for Lane, then strode around the front of the car and climbed in behind the steering wheel. He inserted the ignition key but didn’t start the engine. He turned to Lane. “You really do look terrific,” he said.