Gasoline (Feat. Taylor Swift) – HAIM
coffee.
Running him over in the parking lot.
Luring him into a classroom with a complex, unsolvable math equation, sealing the door and removing all the oxygen and watching his pretty boy face turn blue.
These were just some of the ways I imagined murdering Ben as I stormed to our emergency lunch meeting in Rob’s office.
That bastard had done it for the last time. He’d pushed me too far. Now, it would be my hands around his neck, squeezing tightly. He’d probably just smirk and ask me if I had a choking kink, but that wouldn’t take the pleasure away from standing over his dead body with the extra-curricular class schedule in hand where it would clearly read:
EXTRA-CURRICULAR ART WITH MS DAVIS, 3:30pm, Room 4B
Not Room 3A, or 6C.
4B.
With its perfect view of the garden, generous room size, and most importantly, the gorgeous mid-afternoon glow, the room was perfect for painting. The light was unlike anywhere else in the depressing building, and it was the only actual option of location to host my after school class.
Unfortunately, it was also home to the most reliable projector. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that Ben’s stupid Mathlete Club ran at the same time as mine, and he’d decided he needed nothing but the best for his precious nerd group.
I’d begged Rob to change the slot, to make my class any other day. I’d alter my schedule around the club being run on a different day, but he’d gone on about something to do with unions and janitors and budget and told me the time couldn’t be changed under any circumstances.
His raised brows said enough after I asked if that included murder.
All this was to say that ever since we’d both discovered the gem that was 4B, there had been a weekly race to see who would book it via our school’s ancient online booking system that was almost impossible to navigate. Of course, given my luck, it was always Ben that won the race. I did not know how he’d managed it week after week, but finally, I’d beat him – permanently. Not as permanent as death, mind you, but permanent in the way of figuring out if I supplied Patricia in the front office with a box of rosé first thing on a Tuesday morning, she’d enter my booking into the system before Ben would ever have the chance.
I had been so convinced of my plan. Patricia had promised me that very morning when I dropped off her payment, that victory would be mine. So why, pray tell, did the timetable block appear completely blank when I searched for it on the school site to confirm my success?
That was the question I’d been planning on asking her when I got a call directly to my classroom. Rob was requesting my attendance at a meeting to discuss the clubs, leaving me with no time to book the room manually.
I opened the door, only to reveal Ben and Rob sitting at opposite sides of the large wooden desk that stood in the middle of the private office.
“Whatever he’s told you, I swear it’s not true,” I instantly exploded at the sight of him, both sets of eyebrows shooting up in surprise as I interrupted their conversation. The win had been so close, I had only just begun to taste the delicious flavor of success. I refused to let it be snatched from me so unfairly.
“And what exactly would I have told him?” An evil smile twisted onto Ben’s lips, an eyebrow inching upward as he looked me up and down. Across the desk, I could see Rob scrub his hands over his face.
I simply glared at him in response. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Olive, please take a seat so we can begin,” Rob instructed, motioning to the empty seat in front of him–and beside Ben. Ben, who was wearing a dove gray shirt that clung to his body so perfectly it was almost successful in distracting me from thinking up other ways I could be rid of him.
Coat his classroom with some sort of toxic paint.
Lure him into a tunnel. Collapse the tunnel at both ends. Watch him remotely from a safe location as he slowly starves to death.
A good ol’ stabbing.
I could have been free of him so easily.
“So, I’m sure you both are aware I’ve had to make various cuts to the budgets this semester,” Rob began, the salt in his salt and pepper hair a little more evident since the summer. Ben and I both sat up in our chairs, my body tightening up as I prepared myself for what he was about to say. “And I’m very sorry, but with the upgrades to the air conditioning we need to make, there’s no more room in the budget for any extracurricular classes.”
“I don’t understand, these classes are important,” I started, my hands shaking in my lap. “I’ve found some of my best students in these classes, and they barely cost anything extra. We just use classroom supplies.”
How much more of this could I take?
“What about the football team? The basketball team? What sports will be cut if the Mathletes are expendable?” Ben’s face was flushed red, his tone challenging Rob as he spoke through gritted teeth. It was a valid question, but we both knew the answer before Rob even spoke.
“That’s different. They have funding.”
“But they still receive funding from the school. I bet that wasn’t reduced.” He was being as much of a hard ass with Rob as he usually was with me. For a moment, I could have sworn I almost liked him.
“They have also had to trim their budgets.”
“So what, they hire four football coaches instead of five this year?” Rob was silent as Ben’s question hung in the air. “Meanwhile, Mrs. White and I are filling in for the missing Biology teacher the department can’t afford to replace, and using textbooks that still talk about the Higgs Boson like it’s undiscovered. What if I was just to run the Mathletes on my own? Would we have funding for that?”
“Hey!” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why am I the only one being cut? It’s like you forget we all carry mini calculators around in our pockets all day.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the budget for either of your classes!” Rob cried, breaking up the fight that was surely about to kick off between us. “I wish it could be different, and I know it’s difficult for you both, but I know you’ll find a way to work.”
“If we find another source, can we keep it going?” I asked, my voice now low and quiet.
Ben laughed sharply. “And who’s going to fund an after-school art class?”
“Probably the same person who’s going to remove the stick from your ass,” I shot back without a moment’s thought. He waved a hand at me dismissively just as Rob spoke, cutting off whatever asshole remark he had lined up.
“Yes, but it can’t come from your department budgets. You’ll have to find somebody outside the school to sponsor you.”
I felt tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. My chest tightened at the thought of the massive task that would be. Of course, I knew working in a public school would be tough. They warn you about the budget cuts, the unruly kids, and the unforgiving amount of work. But the constant uphill fight where every inch of ground gained took too much in return was leaving me completely and utterly wrecked. We weren’t even one week in, and I was already running on empty.
It was only minutes later, and Ben and I were shuffling out of the office, neither of us having much more to say to Rob. The door clicked closed behind us and the band that had been squeezing around my stomach since he’d broken the news tightened at the noise.
“There’s something different about you,” Ben spoke, catching me off guard.
I looked over at him, finding those hazel eyes of his stuck on me. His nose wrinkled as his gaze narrowed on me. Besides a messy trim of my bangs over the bathroom sink that morning, there had been little change. “You’re… different.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes right back at him.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Bennett,” I lied, my hand curled into a tight fist, short sharp nails digging into the palm of my hand. The pain was just enough for me to manage and keep some control of my emotions and the tears that were welling again.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard those words from him. His eyes widened. Something new taking over. Had that been concern? Ben Bennett showing an emotion that wasn’t total smugness towards me? Had aliens replaced him?
“Just fine. Don’t you think it’s your club you should be worried about?” I remarked, rolling my eyes at him before turning and making my escape.
I had to get out of there, as far from him as I could–and fast. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest as I stormed down the hallway, my sight turning blurrier with each step. Spotting the staff toilets in the corner of my eye, my pace quickened before I pushed inside, locking myself safely in a stall. Sitting down on the lid, I leaned forward so I could rest my spinning head in my hands, trying to fight through the weariness. I felt it right down to my bones, the heaviness in my limbs becoming unbearable to fight.
Mom wouldn’t have let this happen.
She would have found a way.
She wouldn’t have failed.
She wouldn’t be locked in the bathroom, crying at twenty-seven.
Sticky, heavy tears rolled down my cheeks, nails digging into my skin as the room continued to tilt on its axis.
I wanted to call her, wanted to hear her voice. She would have been able to calm me down. She would have the solution that would seem so simple that I’d feel stupid, like all moms always do, like she always did. Last year, when my budget was completely slashed and I couldn’t afford the canvases I’d planned to use for my advanced class, she showed up at the school with all the materials and helped me make canvases by hand. She even managed to sweet talk the workshop teacher, Mr. Hillson, into donating the frames.
That was who she was, an unstoppable force. She had been a teacher herself. From nine in the morning until nine at night, our home had been filled with various levels of piano expertise. It was nearly impossible to be in the house in the early morning, hearing the same simple piano tune being butchered by children. But as the day rolled out, the music got better, more advanced, and eventually it faded into the background.
I missed that noise.
Deeper and deeper I fell, each breath feeling harder to grab hold of as the sobs shook my body. She would have scolded me if she’d found me like this. She would have pulled me up, given me a quick hug and told me to get a hold of myself. I took a deep breath in and squeezed my eyes shut, and everything slowed down again. It slowed down enough for me to regain control. My head pulsed uncomfortably, but I could push it away as I stood up, wobbling on my feet as I unlocked the stall and went to examine myself in the mirror.
My skin was pale. Too pale, but my basic make-up had survived the ordeal. Taking in a deep breath, I counted to eight in my head. I exhaled, trying to let the cloud of emotions go.
As I finally washed my hands, I tried to think back to this morning. Had I taken my pill? I visualized it, sitting beside my bathroom sink: the little orange bottle I’d reluctantly picked up last week. I was sure I had, and the heaviness lost its grip as I reassured myself again as I walked out of the bathroom–and crashed right into the hard body of Ben Bennett.
It was like walking into a wall of muscle, my body making full contact with him momentarily before we both took a step back. A cloud of pine and musk flew around me for a moment, and for a second, there was something comforting about the smell before I remembered who it was.
“Jesus, what are you doing?” I asked, my brows furrowing as I looked up at the towering man before me. He looked at me funny, eyes focused on me, but there was a softness I’d never seen before. I wasn’t sure I liked it very much.
“I was waiting for you,” he responded almost quietly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
I’d never seen him look so awkward. Usually, he was six feet of stony arrogance, with a grin hanging on his lips and an eyebrow twitched up in a way that made me feel like an idiot. Yet there he was, the unflappable Ben Bennett clearly flapped, with his voice wavering, his hand still on his neck like he couldn’t help the motion.
“Why?” I spluttered, still trying to find my feet again, trying not to think so much about how good he smelled or how nice his body had felt–even if it was a fleeting moment. He was just attractive. But no matter how good his outside was, he was all garbage on the inside.
“You looked upset after the meeting. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I told you I’m fine,”
“Yes, but are you sure?” he pushed, lips pressing into a firm line and his defined jaw set.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you always have to be so annoying?”
He shrugged. “I just seem to have that effect on you.”
“Well, go have an effect on somebody else.”
He smirked, but I was done with entertaining him for the day. I passed him, making my way up the hallway but much to my annoyance, he shouted after me and appeared by my side.
“What are we going to do?” he asked as my brows furrowed in question.
“About what?”
“The after-school clubs.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, somehow keeping the wince from showing on my face. “Why are you asking me?”
“I thought you’d have a solution.”
“You thought wrong. I have nothing. No bright ideas, no hope. Nothing.”
“So, what? You’re just going to let them cut the budget?” His words felt like salt on an open wound. I’d never been able to stop them from cutting the budget, but instead I’d just found new ways to make things happen. I adjusted what I could teach and what supplies I could offer and which ones I couldn’t. Slowly, it had all been stripped from me. First it was sculpture, then it was the watercolors and those canvases I suddenly couldn’t afford. Piece by piece, they’d dismantled my department.
My gaze dips to the floor as I shrug nonchalantly. What else could I do? Give more of myself when I barely felt like I had anything more to give?
“Guess I had you marked wrong then,” he said, his voice changing, drawing me back in.
“What do you mean by that?” I questioned before I could even think about it. If I had thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have taken the clear bait he had lain at my feet.
“I thought you’d do anything for these kids. But it looks like you are giving up pretty easily for somebody who would do anything.”
Who exactly did he think he was to say something like that to me? Did he think this was easy? But there wasn’t another solution. There wasn’t anything more I could cut or trim or adjust. It was done.
I was done.
“What do you want, Ben?” If the question caught him off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked at me with the same stony expression, a flare of determination in those golden eyes.
“I want my club,” he said slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I let out a single laugh at his response, rolling my eyes as I replied.
“Get in line because everyone here wants something that will never happen.” My own words struck me as cold and hopeless. So infinitely hopeless that I felt that dark void crack open once more and threaten to swallow me up.
“You never used to say things like that. You’d always have a solution,” he said. His defiance wasn’t easing up even for a moment.
With a small, careless shrug, I finally looked up at him, those eyes locked on me.
“Consider me out of solutions. It’s over, Ben. I suggest you let it go.”
And with that, I made my escape, heading down the hall and disappearing into my classroom, praying he would move on and annoy somebody who still had the energy to care.
