WET

Will Johnson laid his entire classroom with candles. Sweet vanilla and lavender scents swirling through the air.

He'd grown accustomed to taking off his buttoned collar shirt after hours. He'd open the windows to cool the rom, switch to a deep red sweater, and change out of his pants to switch into sweats.

But because Ali occupied his room after hours every day for the last three weeks, he kept the windows closed to keep her warm. And so he'd stay in a loose tank top, which exposed his broad shoulders and strong biceps.

Against his anticipation, these distracted Ali.

How often did he go to the gym? Everyday? He was single. But did he ever go out on dates? He must. For goodness sakes, look at him.

He didn't notice how she'd peek over her computer at him every chance she got, when his eyes would fall onto his desk, where he graded students essays, read Plato's The Republic, or read Joseph Heller's Catch-22.

She dropped her eyes when he looked up.

"Ali-- is this enough light? Or are the candles putting you to sleep?"

Ali's fingers raced across the keyboard again. College essays don't write themselves. But she stopped for a millisecond to say "The lighting's fine. Thanks, Mr. Johnson."

Will peered out the windows, which revealed a dark blue sky. The wind howled, and light water droplets sprinkled against the windows.

"It's sprinkling out there. Are you going to need a ride from me?"

Ali looked up from her screen. She still needed to get home to finish her quarter portfolio for English, and submit her primary and supplementary essays to colleges. This had to happen before midnight before she misses the deadlines.

She shook her head. She couldn't stop typing for a second. She was on the edge of an important deadline. Make it ten important deadlines (all the ten colleges she was applying to.)

"You want me to poor you some tea?"

Mr. Johnson's hot-water-maker clicked before he poured two mugs with chamomile teabags.

Ali pulled at her hair and shook with the adrenaline of fighting the clock. It was eight thirty pm, so she had only three and a half hours to finish.

Of course she wanted some chamomile, just to relax.

He read her mind and passed her some tea; she drank the tea.

For half an hour, Ali typed wildly, at first, but as the minutes progressed her sleep-deficiency took its toll. The long nights without sleep returned to her mind while she struggled to keep her eyes open.

It was no use. The sleepiness overpowered her will to work.

She dropped her head to her desk.

Will saw this, and Ali could hear his footsteps. "Don't sleep Ali, you're almost there."

No she wasn't. She had to submit all her college apps with her essays, then she had to spend all night preparing her English portfolio which she shouldn't have procrastinated on. Then she needs to study for her next two finals tomorrow, then spend all tomorrow night studying for the next finals, then spend all the next night studying for the next finals—and only that afternoon could she sleep. . .

Was it all even possible? She needed to get A's in all her classes to remain valedictorian—or risk falling in second behind Abbey Gunning's grade point average. God, what students do to prove they are intelligent and hardworking.

Will sat in another chair. He shook her arm.

"You need another coffee?"

"No, more caffeine won't help." She lifted her head to the computer. For some strange reason, in her delirious, tired state, the sensation of his hand touching her bare shoulder made her. . . feel more awake.

He told her to try some chair pushups- where she's supposed to slide of the edge of her chair and do lifts with her arms behind her and her hands gripping the sides of the chair.

She did this, but this ended up just making her more tired than excited. Her frenzied adrenaline, which she'd had to motivate her, the past few nights seemed to have drained from her at these last few moments. Her disappointment in herself hit hard.

She cried. And in front of her teacher too. She'd never thought she could cry in front of him since before and after he became the nice teacher.

She wondered how he'd react but lost her breath once his tug on her arm pulled her out of her seat. Next thing she knew, she was in his arms. His toned muscles wrapped around her, and it was then when she realized how much taller he was than her.

This hug he'd pulled her into, definitely made her more awake.

He kept her in the embrace for a while.

"Human contact is known to relieve the stresses and sharpen the mind."

She hugged him tighter then, because she needed it. But after twenty seconds, she knew from psychology, she'd gain a strong connection with him. . . or something like that. She'd never taken the class. Someone had said something about how girls release some sort of hormone that makes them like the male more after she engages in a twenty second hug. . . so she pulled away and wiped her wet nose. She sniffled.

"Thanks. Mr. Johnson."

He gave her a look that was much different than usual. His pupils dilated, this she knew, meant a spark of interest, admiration. . . attraction.

He just stood there as she did, paralyzed.

"You're welcome."

Ali felt her breathing grow, and her chest fluxed.

"Will. . ." She was surprised to refer to him so informally. But she meant to. Because she wanted at that moment to see her not as her student, but instead as just a female, in his room.

He blinked, as though confused. His eyes panned from one of her eyes to the next. He maneuvered into a triangular search across her eyes and then her lips. He licked his own, softly.

A hint of mint escaped his lips when surveyed down her neck. . . then her chest. . .

-- but then shot his bright blue eyes up into hers and stepped back.

"I'm sorry—"

Ali stepped toward him, and grabbed his hand in reassurance. "No, it's okay." Her eyes lit up in his. She was awake now. But she'd totally forgotten what she'd needed to be awake for. . .

"You look-- just like. . ."

Just like who?

He didn't finish his sentence, and instead jumped out of his trans and flew to his desk. He clicked on his computer and suddenly a song played.

"Maybe music will wake you up."

Ali smiled. She could feel her cheeks blush bright red. "I am awake." She stepped toward him.

He likes me. My grown up teacher actually finds me desirable. I've spent all this time with him and I never knew how he felt.

Will accidentally knocked over a stapler as Ali approached him.

"Oh good, the caffeine worked?"

Ali shook her head with a slight smile.

"No, I think it was that hug."

He eluded her down the aisle to the side of the classroom where a snake tank and a soft red couch sat against the wall, for Friday casual days.

"Oh good, I knew that'd help."

When he came to the couch, he pretended to tend to the snake, when Ali came behind him and tapped his back. He turned slowly, and Ali knew he spotted the wet of her eyes. She was scared. Good thing men react to feminine wounds.

He lifted her chin; he gave her a disciplinary look. You're stronger than this. You must keep going. You haven't much left to do. Don't give up now. Something along those lines. That is, unless this was another look: a deep struggle within himself. . .

He sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next him as though summoning her for a pep talk. She sat as he wished.

He told her she needed to be strong. That giving up now would ruin all her hard work since freshman year. She was sure to get into the iv leagues and scholarships for them too. And even if she didn't turn them in on time, in reality, she was sure to get an extension. So don't fret about the minute mark. "If you have to send in a request for extension by email an hour after the deadline, with your essays and supplemental essays attached, they'll take you in." Ali was so overstressed from the past three weeks of nonstop cramming, and writing and isolation and sleep-deprivation, she cried buckets. Nicest of all-- he pulled her and all her tears into his chest. He stroked her hair, and hummed to the music.

The ugly choking sounds she wished she wasn't making as she cried didn't affect him like she feared. He just rocked her as she curled up to him on the couch. After a moment the ugly choking sounds she hated so much quieted down, and the music and his cool tenor voice was all that sounded. . . those and the howl of the wind and therein on the roof.

The music rose. . .

♪♫TALL. . . and TAN. . . and YOUNG and LOVELY. . .♪♫

Her eyelashes unlaced. Colors appeared.

♪♫. . . The GIRL from IPANEMA Goes WALKING. . . ♪♫

She felt his kiss on her forehead. She lifted her lips, and lets his fall on them.

♪♫. . . And WHEN she PASSES, each ONE she PASSES goes- AH. . . ♪♫

His lips were soft, his face was shaven, his cologne like a cool water fall, and her friend Eric's men's shampoo. She crawled atop his lap, and laid her hand on his chest, before heading lower, to his six-pack, then lower. . .

♪♫. . . WHEN SHE WALKS, SHE'S LIKE a SAMBA that SWINGS so COOL and SWAYS so GENTLE. . . ♪♫

Before she knew it, he'd lifted her off his lap-- and onto her back. Next thing he was on top of her, and the kisses came deeper. His breath was soft, and tongue tasted like her favorite candy, and she felt a warm breeze brush her chest as she, voluntarily, pulled her shirt over her head.

♪♫. . . That WHEN she PASSES, each ONE she PASSES goes-OOH. . . ♪♫

Will froze for a moment. either feasting on the sight of her young body, or anticipating she'd continue where she was going with taking off her shirt-- or maybe he'd realized they'd gone to far?

She almost said something before he sat up. . .

She sat up too, to pull him back so she could apologize before he got to his feet.

But her worries shattered once he pulled his shirt over his head, and revealed a man's body. He had some hair on his chest, and as he came down and the smooth flesh of their stomachs touched, she shivered. She felt him between her legs.

♪♫. . . each DAY, when SHE WALKS to the SEA. . . ♪♫

His hand felt the up the smoothness of her ribs, and then, so powerful was he, like she was a toothpick, he pulled her into a bridge so his fingers could unhinge her bra. The straps snapped in unison and flew over her. The bra immediately shifted, and he slowly felt his hands underneath it.

Her soft clouds melted in his hands, as the points pointed hard between his index and middle finger. When she wondered where his other hand went, she suddenly felt it right where it'd been heading up her legs, and it unbuttoned the buttons beneath her bellybutton. and unzipped to reveal pink victoria's secret underwear which she'd gotten with Anna at the mall.

His lips fell to her lower tummy, and he pulled off her pants--

♪♫. . . She LOOKS straight AHEAD, NOT at ME. . . ♪♫

She almost said Mr. Johnson, when she caught herself and said the right word instead, the word that would sustain their equal level statuses as adults. even if she wasn't one for another two months. . .

"Will." He looked up into her eyes, and an unworldly recollection in his eyes revealed that he might've been seeing someone else entirely. But this sort of look remained a mystery to her entirely because she had no idea of anyone she could remind him of.

Perhaps a celebrity.

"Yes?" was all he could say under his heavy breathes.

He had his hand on her thighs, and face above her stomach when she rose upright.

He pulled himself up immediately, obviously frightened by her interruption. But she touched his face and kissed his forehead as a sign to remain seated and not to worry.

He watched her step off the couch in her underwear, holding her bra to her breasts so it wouldn't fall off.

Stan Getz's The Girl From Ipanema changed to instrumentals when Will swallowed.

"Li. . ." But Ali shushed him before he could finish a syllable.

The music picked up, smiled at him, walked right up and close to him so she stood between his legs and bent over. She dropped the bra over his eyes, and told him to keep it there.

The music returned to Portuguese lyrics.

♪♫. . . OLHA que COISA mais LINDA mais CHEIA de GRAA. . . ♪♫

She danced in front of him and laughed. Her breasts bare-- she enjoyed the daring openness of her spins in the air. She felt her whole body tingle. Her feet were cool with adrenaline.

Wait just a moment Mr. Johnson. Just another moment, Mr. Johnson. She turned, so delirious, so wild, so in a dream, not really here nor there, semi conscious in her body-- she bent over, rear toward the patient Mr. Johnson's face. Her body was bent straight up in the air.

♪♫. . . Ela, menina, que vem e que passa . . . ♪♫

And she dropped her underwear. For the first time, she was fully naked in front of a man. And to her dismay. . . it didn't feel like her body.

But still.

"Oh, Mr. Johnsonnnn. Look."

She waited for a response. But got none. He must have been stunned. Probably preparing his next move in his mind.

He said nothing. "Will?"

She stood up and turned. He had the bra off his eyes, but his face was turned and he had a pillow over his eyes. It was at that moment when she realized she'd said Mr. Johnson rather than Will. Did he even see her? She ran onto the couch, her naked legs wrapped around his stomach but he refused to remove the cushion from his face.

She climbed atop him frantically but he stood to his feet and pushed her off.

She suddenly realized how foolish she'd been-- how foolish they'd both been and then curled up into a ball and her breasts and bottom with her rear.

She cried. What had she done.

. . . Ooh. . . But I watch her so sadly . . .

The song stopped at the very instant Will moaned and said the name Ali assumed belonged to the woman she reminded him of. Perhaps his ex-wife, or his ex-girlfriend-- the reason he must be so lonely now. Spending all his nights at school, in his classroom, rather than at home, and in bed, with another person who gives and needs as much love as he would if he had her.

"I'm so sorry." They both said this. They said it at the exact same time.

They had their backs on each other, and the song ended.

. . . Ooh. . . But I watch her so sadly . . .

When, all of a sudden-- their eyes turned to the door, and they both jumped:

An intense knocking shook the room.