Chapter 1: The Impulsive Kiss

Elara 

I had no idea my life was about to end. 

Not literally, though some days later, it felt close enough, but the interpretation of my life that I trusted, believed in, and planned my future around was already unraveling by the time I walked into Crestwood High that morning. I just did n’t know it yet. 

The halls were loud, packed with bodies and voices and the smell of cheap incense and bottom cleaner. Lockers slammed. Somebody laughed too loud near the stairwell. A group of freshers ran past me like they were late to something important, and I smiled despite all that.  I was late too. But I didn’t care. 

My heart was light, expectant, like it was carrying a secret all its own. Mark had a game this weekend, scouts were rumored to be coming, and I’d spent half the night sketching a little surprise for him, something special, something that said I see you. He’d been distant lately, but I told myself it was presumably stress. College operations, football, life. 

We were solid. We had to be. 

I shaped the belt of my bag and wove through the crowd, already rehearsing what I’d say when I saw him. maybe I’d tease him for not texting back. maybe I’d just kiss him and forget the vexation altogether. 

That was when I felt it. An impropriety. 

It slid down my spine like ice water, sharp and unlooked-for, stealing the air from my lungs. My way slowed without my authorization. My body shivered. 

I knew Mark was closeby, not because I saw him but because something inside me felt his presence, the way you smell a storm before the sky darkens. I turned the corner by the lockers and there he was. 

Mark Harrison. My love. Star quarterback. Golden boy of Crestwood High. 

His back was against a locker. His arm was wrapped around a girl in a short cheer skirt, her fingers fisted in his jersey. She laughed vocally, tilting her head up toward him like she already belonged there. 

Bethany. My mind rejected it at first. This could n’t be happening. Not him. Not us. 

“ You’re a bad boy, ” she murmured, her voice sweet and low. 

“ Only for you, ” Mark replied. 

Then he kissed her. It was n’t a mistake, nor a blench or a slip. 

A kiss. The world went silent. 

My stomach dropped so violently I allowed

I might throw up right there on the polished bottoms. My cognizance chimed. The air smelled awry, too sweet, too sharp, like something rotten hiding beneath incense. 

“ Oh, Mark, ” Bethany laughed when they broke the piecemeal. “ Stop it. You know we can’t be seen together. What if your gal finds us? ” 

“ She’s in class, ” he said easily. “ She’s never late. You do n’t need to worry. ” 

I made a sound. It was n’t loud. It was n’t dramatic. But it was enough. 

Mark’s head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and the color drained from his face. 

“ Elara? ” he breathed. “ What are you — ” I did n’t let him finish. 

I refused to stand there and shatter while everyone watched. I refused to cry, to supplicate, to give him the satisfaction of my pain. 

Then something hot and reckless surged through me, drowning out the stitch in my chest. My face danced sideways and landed on an outsider. 

He was very tall, broad- shouldered, dressed in dark britches and a fitted shirt, and progressed than most scholars, but not by much. He walked with purpose, like he belonged anywhere he stepped. 

Before I could suppose, I moved. 

I seized his shoulders and pulled him toward me. 

His eyes slate, sharp, startled — met mine just long enough for distrustfulness to flicker. 

Then I kissed him. It was n’t gentle. 

It was furious. hopeless. A kiss made of shattered pride and raw defiance. My lips pressed to his, my hands pulsing as I adhered to him like the ground was falling down. 

And then everything changed. 

A jolt tore through me, bright and inviting. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading presto, begirding around my heart like it had always belonged there. The noise of the hallway faded. The pain dulled. 

For one suspended, breathless second, there was only him. 

When I pulled down, my legs felt weak. 

Mark was gaping at us like his world had collapsed. Good. 

I did n’t look back. I ran. 

later, much later — I walked into English class with my head down and my heart still pounding. 

I slightly glanced around the room until the voice in front spoke. 

“ Take your seats. ” I looked up. 

And alas. It was him. 

The man I had kissed in the hallway. 

The man whose lips had burned like a brand. 

Standing at the front of the classroom. 

“ My name is Mr. Thorne, ” he said calmly, his blue eyes locking onto mine. “ And I’ll be your English teacher. ” 

The room shook. 

The man I had given my first kiss to 

Was my professor.