The First Lie

Chapter 7

The wait for eighth period seemed an eternity. She had told her father she would speak to the counselor about changing to another class, but she had no intention of doing so. Art was her favorite subject and she wasn't going to give it up just because her father had gone haywire. She normally would have taken his word as gold and done whatever he asked, but as she got older she found more and more of his rules to be utter crap.

Tyler was a pretty awesome dad. He let Monica do just about anything she wanted within reason. But there were a few things, small things really, that he was a stickler about. He would not let her answer the door by herself for instance. She argued with him endlessly about it, telling him he was being utterly ridiculous. He would offer no explanation other than saying it was a rule and she had to follow it.

Sometimes Tyler's thoughts were just beyond her understanding.

She was early to eighth period, not even taking the time to meet up with Jasmine and JJ between periods. She wanted to see Brock, had an inexplicable desire to just lay eyes on him that she was unable to fight. Her dreams had been filled with his kohl laced eyes.

When the final bell rang and the seat next to her was still empty she felt her heart fall. Mrs. Jackson didn't appear to notice, and when she went through the list of names of her students, Monica never heard her call for him.

'What the hell?' She thought.

When Mrs. Jackson told them about their project for the day she could barely concentrate on what she was saying.

It was stupid really, to be so caught off track by Brock's absence, but it really threw her. He had, after all, said he would see her in eighth period yesterday.

Suddenly a loud crash from the art supply closet in the back of the room caused everyone to jump and Mrs. Jackson hurriedly raced back there.

"Brock?" She called. "Are you okay?"

Monica looked towards the supply closet in surprise, having never expected Brock to make it to the classroom before her, or to remain out of sight for so long.

"Uh yeah. I'm all right." He answered. He poked his head out of the closet and everyone in the class giggled. He had an apron over one shoulder, and another dangling from his arm like they had just fallen on him, but what was making everyone laugh was the chalky powder that seemed to have blown up in his face. "I just dropped some of this clay mix. Um, I'll clean it up." He added.

Mrs. Jackson had a smile on her face, though she was trying to hide it. "Why don't you get someone to help you?" She suggested.

Monica lifted her hand in the air, and then cursed herself, knowing she looked all too eager. Mrs. Jackson simply nodded at her, indicating that she could help Brock.

Monica slid her chair back and walked to the back of the room. She was trying to gather her calm, aware that laughing at Brock too much might bruise the tender male ego.

She failed miserably. When she finally made it to the door and saw the full extent of the mess she burst into laughter. Grayish powder covered Brock almost from head to toe. The closet had a fine layer on almost every object. It would take the whole period if not longer to clean it up.

"Thanks for your support." He mumbled and pouted.

"Aw. I'm sorry." She put a hand over her mouth. "But you gotta admit it's pretty funny."

He rolled his eyes, but a smile curved his lips. "Yeah, it's hilarious. Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Yes. Let's go outside first. You can't clean this up if you're covered in it." She took a step towards him and lifted the apron off his shoulder and bent down to set it on the ground. As she moved to rise she realized just how close to his body she was and the jolt of attraction she felt nearly left her breathless. When she was standing again and she met his eyes he looked just as surprised, as though something electric had just passed through them both. "Come on." She said, but it took her a moment to actually break his gaze and move towards the door.

Everyone watched them go outside, most giggling behind their hands.

"I'm gonna be called powder for the rest of the year." He said when they made it outside.

"Yeah, probably." Monica agreed. "Turn around." She said and when he did she began dusting off his shirt and pants, sneezing when too much of the powder got in her face. He dusted off his front and within a moment he was free of most of the powder. He turned back to her and bent forward, running his hands through his hair to get out what remained. When he stood again she noticed a streak on his face and as she touched his cheek to brush it away she felt it again, that electric jolt of attraction. It was like nothing she had ever felt before.

Brock obviously felt the same way, and when he covered her hand with his, then used his other hand to grab on to a loop in her jeans and pull her towards him she didn't resist. His lips crashed into hers and she felt a shiver clear down to her toes as he tasted her lower lip. He brought it gently between his teeth and her knees went weak as he drew his tongue along it.

She was moaning and realized suddenly that she hardly knew this boy, and at the same time that there was nothing chaste about this kiss. It was heady and deep and outright sexual even though their bodies were barely touching. She knew she had to push him away, but at first all she could do was bunch her fingers in his shirt, feeling his strong chest beneath her fingers.

This is so wrong. My father doesn't even want me to talk to him.

That finally broke the spell for her. She flatted her hands on his chest and gently pushed him away, gasping for breath.

She put a hand to her lips because they were tingling and she knew they were red and swollen. He had not been kissing her gently, though every millisecond of it had been complete pleasure. "Where did that come from?" She asked, not really expecting an answer.

"I don't know, but where it's leading kind of scares me." He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a few deep breaths.

She realized he was trying to hide what the kiss had done to him. She let it go, knowing that her own body was reacting in the same way to it, that the throbbing that had begun deep within her the moment he had put his hand over hers was only just ebbing.

"I'm only sixteen." She felt obligated to point out.

"I'm sorry Monica. I don't know what came over me."

"No. It's okay. I mean I'm not going to turn you in or anything." She gave a nervous laugh. "You are eighteen though, aren't you?"

"Yeah, and you're total jail bait." He took a hand from one pocket and nervously rubbed his jaw. "But I'll be damned if you didn't feel the same thing I did. I saw it in your eyes. And you're not a fucking child."

"I won't deny it. I just thought you should know. I mean, my father told me I can't see you."

At the mention of her father his face hardened. Suddenly the nervousness went out of his body and he just looked tense and rigid, like a live wire. "I'm sorry to say this Monica, but you're dad can screw off. You're old enough to make your own decisions. This world puts too much weight on the number 18. It's bullshit. You're old enough when you're old enough. I will respect your dad for everything he does, but you're mature enough to decide if you want to see me or not, and I can't respect him for trying to control you like that."

In any other situation, with any other person, she would have balked at someone saying her dad could screw off. For some reason, when Brock said it she felt he was justified. She felt excited that he apparently wanted her, and after her earlier lie to her father about switching her class, this only seemed to harden her resolve. Her father was being ridiculous.

"Well that was completely amazing." She said finally. "I mean, I've never been kissed like that."

"Oh yeah?" He asked, moving closer to her again.

"Yeah." She answered, breathless at how close he was. He was radiating heat like a damn furnace and she couldn't believe it when her arms broke out in gooseflesh. "I dreamed about your eyes last night." She admitted candidly. "Tonight I think it will be about your lips."

"You're so brazen." He whispered and she could feel his breath on her face.

"Just wait." She said, but as she leaned forward to kiss him again the sound of the classroom door opening next to them caused them to jump apart like kids caught with their hands in the candy drawer. It was as sobering as a cold splash of water and Monica suddenly thought that they were lucky the classroom windows were covered in artwork so no one had seen their encounter.

"That closet isn't going to clean itself." Mrs. Jackson said.

They shared a sly glance and went back inside.