The Truth About You & Me by Amanda Grace

December 13th, we could be together and you wouldn’t be in trouble.
    But then it all crashed down as I read the next few lines: Except when the older person is in a position of power (teacher, coach, etc).
    Teacher.
    Surely they meant a high school teacher, right? You were a college professor.
    But no matter how many times I read it—over and over and over—it still came back the same. I was sixteen, the age of consent, but you were in a position of power. Of influence.
    For a moment I felt my heart being pulled into a dark blender, realizing that the possibilities that had danced before me had disappeared. But then I sat upright.
    You didn’t want to kiss me until December 13th anyway. When the quarter was over. When you’d no longer be my professor.
    Then you wouldn’t be in trouble professionally or legally, because you would no longer be in a position of power in relation to me, and I was old enough to consent to our relationship.
    We really could be together. Soon. In December. I wouldn’t have to wait two years for it to all be okay.
    And suddenly those two years—those almost- ten years—they didn’t matter anymore, not in the strictest way.
    I didn’t know what you’d think, how you’d handle it, once you knew I was sixteen. That’s what terrified me most. I could wait weeks to be with you, could wait until December 13th. And then it would only be a few months until my seventeenth birthday anyway, and seventeen sounded so much older.
    But I’d have to tell you, that day in December—before we became something more, something tangible—because it had to be both of us making that leap.
    Making the decision.
    But if you didn’t turn away that day, December 13th … we could be together with nothing to stop us.

    I hung out in the library for another forty minutes, until my English class was over and it was time for Biology, because I was too hyped up to concentrate on anything but seeing you. I left for the classroom a little early, wanting a moment to catch you alone.
    But when I stepped through the door, you weren’t alone. Another staff member was standing beside you. A pretty brunette with thick, curly hair and a sophisticated pencil skirt paired with vibrant heels. As I made my way to my desk, my eyes still trained on you and the back of her head, you glanced up.
    But when your eyes met mine you promptly turned away, like you weren’t willing to be caught looking at me. I ignored that little needling feeling. I knew why you had to pretend not to see me, but some part of me wanted to march right over and stake my claim somehow, talk about that fantastic view we’d seen at High Rock. Something, anything, to prove to her that I was something to you.
    Instead I sat and watched you nod, and as she turned her body slightly I got a better view of her pretty, pastel-pink lipstick as she spoke. She was so elegant, so pulled together, so mature.
    I don’t know what you were talking about, but moments later she jokingly punched your arm and you laughed, and then she was leaving. You finally glanced at me again and I raised an eyebrow, as if to say what was that? Before I realized I was acting stupid.
    She was your colleague, and I was acting like some weirdly jealous girlfriend.
    And then other students were arriving, filling the room with shuffling and talking, and there was no room for another moment between us. After the last student plunked into the last empty chair, you stood and walked to the front of the room.
    â€œRight, then. Before we start on today’s test, let’s do a quick review session.”
    Test.
    The word rang in my ears, over and over, as panic rose.
    I’d spent all weekend thinking about today, about class, about seeing you. And not a single ounce of the weekend studying. Not a single moment. There were three tests in the quarter—two midterms and a final. Cumulatively, they were worth half our