I took a step back, bothered by this. “You really don’t want me?” My voice had gone hard. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”
Bradley sighed. “Wantdoesn’t matter. I am your teacher.”
I rolled my eyes at this and crossed my arms. “So what?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said, So what? I’m an adult. Who is attracted to you and wants to have sex with you. You’re … what? Eight years older than me? If we had met anywhere else, no one would care.”
Bradley looked conflicted. “Rose …”
I jutted out my lower lip, furious. I wanted him. Ineededhim. I couldn’t go back to having sex with asinine eighteen-year-olds.
“Would you rather I go find someone else?” I asked curiously. “Because I will. You know I will. I’ll find someone who doesn’t care about me at all. Someone who will tell everyone what a bitch and a slut I am two days later. Is that what you want?”
Bradley shook his head. “Of course not. I would never want that for you.”
“So don’t make me do that,” I said, my fingers finding his belt loop. “Show me how it should feel. Show me how it feels when someone actually cares about me.”
He moaned and his fingers found mine. I moved closer to him, my breath hot on his neck. He sighed, looking resigned.
“We can’t do this here,” he said firmly, and I nodded in agreement.
“Leave through the back entrance of the school, by the track,” he said. “Near the orange groves. I’ll come pick you up. I have a Camry. It’s black.”
“Okay.” I didn’t hesitate. I made my way to the exit he was talking about and stood waiting until his black sedan pulled up. He didn’t say anything when I got in the car, just took off toward the other side of town. There was tons of empty land out there. Bradley kept driving until we reached an abandoned lot, acres away from the nearest house. He turned off the engine and looked at me.
“We can’t tell anyone,” he told me sternly. “If we do this.”
“Who am I going to tell?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re the only person who talks to me.”
He rested his head on the steering wheel for a few seconds before leaning over and kissing me. It was more passionate than it had been in his classroom. He slipped his tongue into my mouth as his hands gripped the back of my head. He had handfuls of my thick black hair, gripping it to keep me pressed tightly to him. He pulled himself over the center console so that he was on top of me, putting one leg between mine. His knee grazed my underwear. He moaned into my mouth as his hands moved to my hips. I felt him reach behind me and push my seat so that we were horizontal. Bradley was perfectly on top of me. I loved the weight of it.
We made out for a long time, while his fingers explored my thighs, hips, and waist. When he finally got the courage to reach for the top of my dress, I slipped my arms out of it and undid my bra, tossing it into the back seat. He groaned again at the sight of my breasts, perky and too large for my frame.
By then, he seemed to have no more reservations. His pants were around his ankles seconds later. Neither of us had brought any kind of birth control and didn’t discuss it. I wasn’t going to ruin the mood. He fucked exactly like I thought he would, in strong, confident strokes, telling me how good I felt.
After that, we had sex several times a week for months. It was usually in his car. Or a on blanket on the ground in some remote part of the woods. Bradley lived with roommates and was paranoid someone was going to report him if I came over. I didn’t care where we did it. Having sex with Bradley was the best distraction. I didn’t think about Will or Alexandria or Cassandra or Victoria when I was with him. I just feltgood.
But eventually, the temptation wore off. By April, the act of sleeping with him no longer felt as exciting as it had before. I liked doing it, and I likedhim, but it didn’t give me the same overwhelming sense of pleasure. We had gotten too comfortable with each other. I spent more and more time after our encounters complaining about the town and the Hopelys.
“I wish they’d just move,” I said bitterly one afternoon a few weeks before graduation. I was lying topless on the blanket. Bradley had come only moments before and already my mind was back on them. I had beaten Cassandra as salutatorian and Mrs. Hopely had started an online petition to get it changed. It had already received over five hundred signatures. People didn’t understand how it was possible that it could be me: murderer Will Dearling’s slutty little sister.
I didn’t know why they were so shocked. I had always been smart, and schoolwork was one of the other distractions I poured my energy into. I had indeed gotten into Dartmouth. My life made one hell of an admissions essay; Bradley had seen to that.
“Well, they probably wish your family would move away too,” he said, turning on his side to look at me. His hand was still stroking my chest.
I ignored him. “I mean, who stays in the same house where their daughter was killed?”
“Who stays in the same house where their brotherkilled a girl?” Bradley countered.
My stomach dropped—I guessed I wasn’t the only one getting too comfortable. I narrowed my eyes at him. “He didn’t kill her.”
“I’m sure you believe that.”
“You aren’t helping,” I said.
Bradley shrugged. “You don’t want help, Rose. You just want someone to agree with you.”
