Finally, with five minutes left of school, she heads back to the library.
Cabel gives her a questioning look. She shakes her head to say everything’s cool.
He glances around. Slides into the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just having a shitty day.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I guess.”
“When can you come?”
She thinks. “I dunno. I’ve got some shit to take care of. Like five, maybe?”
“Feel like working out?”
Janie smiles. “Yeah.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
The bell rings. Janie finishes up her English homework, gathers up her backpack and coat, and heads over to Mr. Durbin’s room. She already knows why her beaker exploded, and she doesn’t feel like telling him what happened.
She opens the door. Mr. Durbin’s feet are propped up on the desk. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt is undone. His hair is standing up a bit, like he’s run his fingers through it. He’s grading papers on a clipboard in his lap. He looks up. “Hi, Janie. I’ll be just a second here.” He scribbles something.
She stands waiting, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She has cramps. And a headache.
Mr. Durbin scribbles a few more notes, then sets his pen down and looks at Janie. “So. Rough day?”
She grins, despite herself. “How can you tell?”
“Just a hunch,” he says. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to say next, and finally he says, “Why the cake and frosting?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why did you put back the cake and frosting, out of all the other things you had in your cart?”
“I didn’t have enough cash on me.”
“I understand that. Hate when that happens. But why didn’t you put back the grapes or carrots or something?”
Janie narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Is it your birthday? Don’t lie, because I checked your records.” Janie shrugs and looks away. “Who needs a cake, anyway,” she says.
Her voice is thin, and she fights off the tears.
He regards her thoughtfully. She can’t read his expression. And then he changes the subject. “So. Tell me about your little explosion.” She cringes.
Sighs.
Points at the chalkboard.
“I’m having some trouble reading the board,” she says.
Mr. Durbin taps his chin. “Well, that’ll do it.” He smiles and slides his chair back. “Have you been to the eye doctor yet?” She hesitates. “Not yet.” She looks down.
“When’s your appointment?” he asks pointedly. He stands up, gathers a beaker and the components for the formula, and sets them at her lab table. Waves her over.
“I don’t have one yet.”
“Do you need some financial help, Janie?” His voice is kind.
“No…,” she says. “I have some money.” She blushes. She’s not a charity case.
Mr. Durbin looks down at the formula. “Sorry, Janie. I’m just trying to help. You’re a terrific student. I want you to be able to see.” She is silent.
“Shall we try this experiment again?” He pushes the beaker toward her.
Janie puts on her safety glasses, and lights the burner.
Squints at the instructions and measures carefully.
“That’s one quarter, not one half,” he says, pointing.
“Thanks,” she mutters, concentrating.
She’s not going to fuck this up again.
Mixes it up. Stirs evenly for two minutes.
Lets it come to a boil.
Times it perfectly.
Cuts the heat.
Waits.
It turns a glorious purple.
Smells like cough syrup.
It’s perfect.
Mr. Durbin pats her on the shoulder. “Nicely done, Janie.” She grins. Takes off her safety glasses.
And his hand is still on her shoulder.
Caressing it now.
Janie’s stomach churns. Oh god, she thinks. She wants to get away.
He’s smiling proudly at her. His hand slides down her back just a little, so lightly she can hardly feel it, and then to the small of her back. She’s uncomfortable.
“Happy birthday, Janie,” he says in a low voice, too close to her ear.
Janie fights back a shudder. Tries to breathe normally. Handle it, Hannagan, she tells herself.
He steps away and begins to help her clean up the lab table.
Janie wants to run. Knows she needs to keep her cool, but instead she escapes at the first reasonable opportunity. It was one thing talking about what might happen, and it was an entirely different thing to actually experience it. Janie shudders and forces herself to walk calmly.
Get her thoughts together.
She heads outside for the parking lot. And then she remembers she left her goddamned backpack on the goddamned lab table.
Her keys are in that bag.
The office is closed by now.
And she doesn’t have a fucking cell phone. Hi, this is 2006, calling to tell you you’re a loser.
She goes back anyway, feeling like a dork, and meets Mr. Durbin halfway. He’s carrying it. “Thought I might find you on your way back for this,” he says.
Janie thinks fast. Knows what she needs to do. She struggles to get over the creep factor. “Thanks, Mr. Durbin,” she says. “You’re the best.” She gives his arm a quick squeeze, and flashes a coy smile. And then she turns and heads down the hallway, taking long, loose strides.