Under Mr Nolan's bed

“Mr. Nolan,” I said and he turned back, only halfway, his body stiff. “Erica and I need to work on our senior project this weekend. Can I stay over?”

“That’s due next week, isn’t it?” My mother put her heel up on the bottom rack of the cart. She was still in her work clothes and when she leaned forward, her blouse parted at the neck. I saw Mr. Nolan’s eyes settle there and I made a face at him, but he didn’t see it. “Maybe Erica can spend the night at our place, instead? I hardly ever see Leah anymore, it seems!”

Mr. Nolan raised his eyebrows. “That would be-”

“Oh, wait!” My mother sighed, opening her purse and glancing at me. “I forgot, your father and I are having that investment club thing at our place this weekend.”

“That’s all right.” His jaw tightened and I noticed that his hand was gripping the handle of the basket hard-his knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she apologized, flipping through her date book. “Yep, it’s this weekend.”

“So we can do it at your house, then, Mr. Nolan?” I moved to stand slightly behind my mother and winked at him from there. “Since it’s due next week and all…”

“That would be a favor to us, too.” My mother smiled at Mr. Nolan, leaning forward again, almost like she knew he was looking. “I’d appreciate it.” His eyes went from her to me and when I knew I had his attention, I put my finger to my mouth and touched my lower lip, wetting it and rubbing it there, trying to tell him with my eyes how much I wanted him. I think he got the message-his face went white and he looked quickly back to my mother. His mouth opened to speak but nothing coming out.

Finally, he pursed his lips, blinking fast, and nodded. “Sure, Patty. That’s fine.”

I smiled, trying to get his attention, but he turned away, saying, “Good to see you.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, though, and he started walking away without even looking back.

My mother started pushing our cart in the other direction, heading towards the dairy section. I followed her, my head filled with thoughts of Mr. Nolan, my chest burning with the thought of him making dinner for some woman. I knew I had foiled his plan-and then I felt a twinge of guilt.

“Oh, damn,” my mother swore, holding the salsa. “Leah, this is mild, and I know you guys like the hot. Can you run back for one?”

“Sure,” I agreed, grabbing it and heading back toward where we had last seen Mr. Nolan.

He wasn’t there and I strolled down the end aisle, looking up and down the rows. I found him in the “International” section, putting pasta in his basket.

Luckily, salsa was in the same aisle, and I replaced the mild, grabbing a jar marked “hot.”

“Hi, again,” I said, coming up behind him and tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned, glancing past me, and I knew he was looking for my mother. “She sent me for salsa.” I held up the jar as explanation. “We like the hot stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” He raised his eyebrows and I realized what I’d said, blushing.

“Are you mad at me?” I cocked my head and frowned.

He cleared his throat. “No, Leah. I just…” His eyes fell to the tile and he shifted the basket from one hand to the other. “I don’t think we should… do this.” My heart was pounding in my ears. “Talk in a supermarket aisle?”

“No, Leah.” He shook his head and sighed.

“Hey.” I touched his arm.

His eyes went to my hand and he gently took it off his forearm, and the look on his face was kind, but a little sad. “I’m sorry.” He turned and walked down the aisle and I watched him go, willing him to look back, but he didn’t. I had this awful feeling, that same sensation I got when I knew I’d done something really wrong. I fought it, but it curled up in my belly and stayed there, even after I took the salsa back to my mother and we went through the checkout lane.

I saw him again in the parking lot and waved, but he didn’t wave back, although I know he saw me. I could tell, the way he slammed the trunk closed and got quickly into his car, like something was chasing him.

I couldn’t understand it. It made no sense. The more I thought about it, the more I knew what I had to do-as much as I didn’t want to. That’s how I ended up standing in line at the confessional after mass with all the rest of the girls, waiting my turn. I didn’t even have Erica for moral support-she had skipped mass altogether to go meet Bobby.

“Come on, go already,” the girl behind me whined, a little sophomore with stringy brown hair and braces.

It was my turn. I stared at the door and started forward and then stopped.

“You go ahead.” I waved her past.

The sophomore rolled her eyes, pushing up her glasses as she swept by me. There were six more girls to go, and I slipped quietly down the line against the wall, falling in behind the last. It had been two years since I chewed my nails, but I was seriously tempted by the time the line had dwindled to me and one other girl.

“Do you want to go?” she asked me as the confessional door opened.

“You’ve been waiting the longest.”