Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  “All right. I’ll just rework it and submit online.”

  “I look forward to receiving it.”

  He smiles like a TV character, blindingly gorgeous and a little dramatic, like he’s not all the way sincere. Teeth a little too even.

  “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

  “Oh, I’m confident that you’ll do very well on this paper, Emilia. You’re obviously very bright.”

  “You think so?” I think I am, and I know he does. The question comes out anyway.

  I turn to him and he’s already facing me. His lips are pretty, so soft-looking.

  “Oh yes. You’re a knockout—”

  “Pardon?”

  I’m genuinely not expecting this, but I don’t turn away. In fact, I’m very comfortable in this small space with Dr. Sexy. It’s warm in here, and I feel like slipping my boots off and curling up next to him.

  “I mean, you’re a stand-out student. Heh, Freudian slip.”

  I laugh, and our legs press together more firmly under the table, but we’re letting it happen. This is happening.

  A clock ticks somewhere, but otherwise the air is heavy with silence. The afternoon light glows orange on the pale walls, making me feel lazy like it’s Christmas holidays. Calm comes over me in this narrow window of time and space that we’ve created for ourselves, two consenting – but misguided – adults.

  “A knockout, hmm?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, leaning close to me. “Fuck it. You know what? You are a knockout.”

  Tingling everywhere. I’m officially in the deep end without floaties.

  “You think so?” There I go again.

  “To be honest, you’re stunning. Sexy. Brilliant.”

  I laugh self-consciously. Can’t speak.

  “I’ve had my eye on you all semester,” he continues in a whisper.

  So close to me, the line has already been crossed and we’re meeting in the middle.

  “I’d like to have you around more. Take you out. Show you off. Keep you satisfied…” he murmurs. It should be illegal.

  It’s raining flattery and I feel dizzy. He’s caressing my shoulder with one loving hand, and the other moves up to my face, stroking my cheek. His touch is warm, excites a part of myself I haven’t explored yet. It’s like wandering past a door you’ve never seen before, and it’s wide open. My eyelids want to flutter and submit to his plying.

  “Dr. Shipley…”

  Was that me? I sound like a breathy phone sex operator.

  “You have a rocking body, Emilia.”

  I can’t believe it’s happening, but he’s pulling me closer, into his arms now, and his breath is in my ear, warm on my neck. My eyes shut instinctively, heart bouncing around as his lips touch my jaw, my cheek. I pull back for an instant, just to look at him, to touch base with this turn of events.

  “Thank you…” I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It’s kind of a weird compliment.

  He’s all serious, and I kind of wish he would smile at me. Instead, a positively unraveled man-boy looks back at me, so handsome it’s unfair, but also urgent. Maybe a little crazy. I take it as wild with desire.

  Although I’m not sure what I’m doing, I grab his lean, hard bicep roughly, my face still as silver. He looks from my lips to eyes to nose and lips again, leaning forward, starving, and sealing his mouth to mine. His kiss is fast, aggressive, aroused. He pulls me into his lap, and I don’t stop him.

  Anyone who walked in suddenly would think I’m the dominant one, perched here. Queen of Shipley! And maybe I am. Who ever thought I would actually be looking down at the hottest prof on campus from this position? Is this what went through Cleopatra’s mind as she was seducing Caesar? I suppose we had different long-term goals.

  He’s already squirming, aching to get closer. His eyes search mine, wanting something so bad, deciding it’s my top lip, bottom lip… even the chin gets some action. I can already feel him against my pelvis. He tastes like coffee but otherwise he’s delicious. Just more aggressive than I expected. It’s hot, and I’m into him, but we’re almost in two different places. It’s hard to keep up, but he’s hard and keeping it up.

  He pulls back for a minute, holding my head.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

  I can’t help but grin, and he kisses me again, gently this time. My mouth and cheeks are buzzing from his scratchy face and I feel blotchy.

  “You’re scratchy,” I whisper shyly.

  “Oh, shit.” He strokes his face absently, noting the texture of his stubble. “That is rough. I’m sorry, honey. I’ll shave next time.”

  Honey? Next time?

  “I can handle it.” Already I’m wondering why I’ve stopped mashing myself against him. His cheeks are flushed, making him look more like a post-game rugby boy than a prof. It makes me want to get him in a shower stall.

  “Yeah?”

  It’s a rhetorical “yeah.” Who even cares what he’s responding to?

  He’s decided to round second base as he places an open palm over each of my breasts. He’s fascinated, lost in lust. For a few seconds it’s comical as I see his teenage self exposed, falling to pieces over my body like I’m his horny fantasy. When I reach beneath his belt to untuck his shirt the way I want to, his eyes fog over and a groan slips out of his throat, deep and dark. Shipley doesn’t slow down, sliding his hands over my ass and between my thighs, then back up to my chest again. It feels both wildly satisfying and strange.

  The light shifted through his small office as he undressed me and I undressed him, each of us indulging in the other in stops and starts. Mostly starts. Rather than taking my bra off, he simply pulled the fabric cups down greedily and helped himself. He’d grunt here and there, dragging his tongue around on my body, but otherwise he wasn’t the most expressive lover. He seemed to be waiting to hear from me, responding most when I responded to his touch. One performance for another.

  Strolling down memory lane shows me how naïve I still was back then. Our first time together was exciting and naughty, but it would be the start of a damaging relationship. It was also the first of several disappointingly short sexual encounters we shared. By the time we got down to brass tacks, he’d entered this very personal, eyes-shut-tightly kind of sex trance. After a minute or two of thrilling but slightly awkward intercourse, he squeaked a couple of Oh gods and that was that. Finished.

  I think things would have ended sooner if I hadn’t come from a dating dry spell. It was just so nice to look forward to a class, rather than sitting in excruciating boredom as the minutes and my scholarship dollars ticked by. With Dr. Sexy, you were getting your money’s worth, even if it was just for the eye candy. And for me, it was a whole lot more. I knew the truth, and it involved him and me sneaking around, fucking around.

  Another truth about Carter, carefully hidden until I pushed the right buttons, was the way enough top-notch Scotch could turn him into a baby monster, angry-crying in violent outbursts. I had created this monster by attempting to extract myself from the relationship we’d shared. His ego wouldn’t have it; I should have known.

  Actual Fassbender would never, ever be so rude. He took his mom to the Oscars. Association dissolved.

  I never, ever imagined myself needing a restraining order against an ex-lover. It’s because of him that I haven’t been interested in men for months. Carter didn’t put me off sex, exactly; he just zapped my nervous system so that all of my experiences suddenly became overwhelming, like my volume knob was turned up too high all the time.

  But now I’m in a country where everything is laid out, breasts and thighs on parade because it’s so damn hot. The dry heat of the mornings makes you sweat down your back, under your bra, in your hair. The humidity of the rainstorms cools the air so that it’s lazy, sultry in the gauzy curtains blowing up like Marilyn’s white dress. Sensuality is naturally occurring, curling around us. It’s like there’s a whole different side of me that’s allowed out, gro
wing under a brighter sun.

  Northern Lia’s dying as Tropical Lia comes to life.

  9

  We’re like a bunch of summer campers milling around excitedly, hats and sunglasses on, lunch bags filled with peanut-butter sandwiches, fried plantain, oranges, sliced watermelon, sweet corn tortillas, avocado salad, hard-boiled eggs, and spicy cassava chips. There are twelve adults in total, but we’ve got the confused energy of a kindergarten class. Only a handful of us really appear to be grown-ups, and I’m not sure I’m one of them.

  Katherine’s organized a few excursions for foreign teachers like me. She says it’s so much easier for everyone to be transported in one naïve herd than to worry about them wandering off on their own. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for us, each posing as teachers when instead we’re just looking for answers to a unique kaleidoscope of self-centered questions.

  “Can someone put sunscreen on my back?” I ask Katherine and Genesis, but they don’t hear me, busy poring over the trail map.

  I look around. A pasty couple I recognize from my first outing are shaking pink bottles of Coppertone, coating themselves in thick white layers of the stuff. Smells like being a kid in summer, like they should have sticky Freezie fingers and lips to match. I don’t want to get stuck hiking with them, so I head in the other direction.

  Diego’s chatting amicably with a park ranger like they’re old friends.

  When I got on the bus this morning, I sat down in front of Katherine and chattered with her for a while as I untangled my headphones, rubbed sunscreen onto my face and neck, and pulled my hair through the back of my baseball cap. Ten minutes passed before I noticed Diego was part of our traveling group, startling me with his gaze. His body, usually standing tall, was slumped lazily in the seat, and I hadn’t noticed him behind Jose. It was the first time I’d been totally myself around him, ignorant of his presence and therefore raw, unprocessed.

  When we arrived, he ambled around like it was no big deal, scanning the landscape with familiarity. Now, as he talks to the ranger, he keeps getting distracted by his sister’s conspicuous presence. She’s all in citrus today, orange and yellow Nikes, yellow capri leggings, and a matching yellow exercise top that doesn’t look like it was designed for actual recreation.

  She’s talking to herself out loud and eyeing the map Katherine’s holding up for her. Kat looks bored. Genesis frowns at the thin paper. She scratches her head with a wet-shiny orange nail, her hair piled on top of her head and secured severely with pins.

  “So, you want an easy trail?” Genesis asks Katherine vaguely.

  “Yes. Something short and sweet.”

  Jose is here somewhere, working out admissions. I wonder if they’re planning a sneaky meet-up.

  “All right, let’s see. I think you start just there…” Genesis is squinting and looking in one direction, then the opposite, and back down at the map. Not too confident.

  “We’ve been here a thousand times, Gen. You should know these trails.” Diego stares at his sister incredulously, bailing on the ranger.

  Genesis sticks her head out in Diego’s direction like a chicken pecking.

  “I come here for the spa, idiota. I’m busy having a career and being a mother, remember? I haven’t gone up into Arenal since we were kids.”

  He rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

  Genesis goes back to the map and being el jefe, the boss.

  Diego scans the scattering of people until his eyes stop on me, a clacketing roulette ball suddenly silent, end of play.

  Red 23. That’s me.

  I’m standing a few paces away, trying to rub a blob of sunscreen onto my middle back. My arm is twisted behind me, eyes locked on Diego’s.

  He saunters toward me in his effortless way, on his own time, steadily forward. A graceful swagger.

  It feels good to be the one he’s approaching, even if it scares me. His arrogance has softened, or maybe it’s that I’m starting to see how Genesis wins every argument with him, knowing how to push him until he inevitably backs off.

  The breadth of Diego’s shoulders, his silhouette with the sun behind him, is thought-stopping, instinct-activating.

  And that’s the problem. I should say something, anything.

  “Pura vida, Diego,” I pronounce, my accent rounder this time, silkier.

  I have some more elaborate phrases in my vocabulary, but this will have to do. Think. Speak. Act normal.

  He takes the bottle out of my hand and moves directly behind me, like he’s inspecting the skin between my shoulders that’s exposed.

  “You missed a spot.”

  Cheeky. I turn to face him, questioning.

  “Voltéate, gringa,” he says, almost cheerful as he gazes down at me.

  “Qué?” I ask, wary.

  He rotates his finger, like Turn around. Wags the bottle, implying he’ll put it on me, I think. Like he’s my cabana boy. Gulp.

  “Oh, you’ll do me?” It comes out before I can rephrase it. “I mean—”

  He feigns shock with raised eyebrows before looking away innocently.

  “I mean, I could use some help,” I mutter.

  “Then turn around. Voltéate.”

  I rotate. Whatever. Stop asking questions and just let it happen.

  A rude squirting sound is followed by a cooling sensation as his large hands smooth the lotion along my neck, shoulders, and upper back. It’s difficult but I remain expressionless, hiding the secret of my attraction deep inside me where it Chinese dragons in the darkness.

  His hands linger a moment longer than they need to with each creamy stroke. It smells like coconut oil and bubble gum. At once I’m shy to be touched publicly like this but simultaneously caught in the moment, like it’s just me and my hulking pool boy alone on the earth.

  “Is that all right?” he asks, low and even, inches from my ear.

  Of course it is.

  I shiver like he’s traced the tip of a feather up my spine. Makes me unravel into formlessness. I am saxophone jazz. I am candle wax melting, soft and hard in the same moment. I am a hybrid creature, sensitive and aggressive, salty and sweet.

  “Mm-hmm,” my voice a low hum.

  “Te gusta?” he hums back, just using the scratchy bass of his voice.

  Either I’ve been slipped three beers or he’s legitimately flirting, teasing even. Like the ka-chunk! of a guillotine slicing down, I feel the sexual parts of me take over swift and clean. No more Lia. I’m female napalm, a red essence shivering from sacrum to cranium.

  “Lia! Where’s Lia? Did we lose her?”

  I don’t see my lemony boss, but her voice is very near. Diego and I step away from each other instinctively, and we walk toward Genesis, who hasn’t seen us and is meandering in the wrong direction. He hands the bottle back, and when our fingers touch, my nerves are still piqued. Right away I feel a strange sensation of tingling numbness make its way up my arm. Hard to tell if I’m conjuring this on my own or if he felt it too.

  “Thank you.” I smile up at him tentatively. I bet he has no idea how tall he looks from my vantage point.

  “De nada. You owe me one,” he adds.

  Damn right.

  Diego’s an enigma. But then, that’s what Katherine warned me about. What should I say? I shouldn’t flirt.

  “We’ll see.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I can see the up-curve of his mouth. I could actually hang out with him all day when he’s in a good mood like this.

  Together we walk over to where Genesis is counting heads. Katherine catches my eye ever so briefly, then looks pointedly elsewhere so she won’t give me away.

  “Okay, everyone! Hi!” Genesis is waving both arms like a traffic cop. It’s funny to see her all flustered and not able to control everything. “Can you please listen to me for just five minutes? Then you can go and explore my beautiful country, all right?”

  Everyone else wanders over, and I’m excited to be standing so casually next to Diego like we’re old fri
ends. We gather around Genesis in a loose circle with squinting, sweaty faces and mouths partly open in Heat Grimace. Everyone except Diego. He’s gazing at the park beyond his sister, looking energized and even-tempered like it’s a comfortable autumn day.

  “Okay! Thank you. So, first, I’d like to welcome you to Arenal Volcano National Park. This is my country’s most active volcano, but don’t worry – it’s in a period of rest and has been for years, okay? Still, pay attention to the signs on the uh, ruta de senderismo… como puedo decir…”

  “The hiking trail,” Diego offers in his muted baritone.

  “Gracias. If you see a trail that is blocked off, do not enter it. I want everyone to take down the emergency number to contact the park officials, okay? It’s up there on the sign; take a picture with your phone or write it on your hand – I don’t care how you get it as long as you get it, lo entienden? Do it now. If you can’t reach them, call me. You all charged your phones and downloaded the park map like I emailed you about, right?”

  A collective “yes” chimes inharmoniously through the group. It’s not exactly confidence-inspiring, but I’m well prepared with a digital map and ninety-four percent phone battery. Not gonna get lost today.

  “Okay, fun stuff! Keep an eye out for all the wildlife in the park, like white-faced monkeys, howler monkeys, deer, snakes, parrots, and maybe even the famous blue morpho butterfly. If you see one, try to get a picture for me, okay? My daughter loves them.”

  I picture Cata flipping through her mother’s iPhone like a mini tech genius. The image reminds me of the little girl’s peals of laughter when Diego sang to her, swinging her around in my empty classroom.

  “Most of the hiking trails are up the hill,” she says, pointing to a dirt path that cuts the hillside and disappears into the forest that I guess is actually a volcano.

  “The spa, which is my favorite part, is to the left, around the building. That’s where you can try the hot springs, mud baths, and the pools with different temperatures. If anyone wants to go there right away, that’s what I’ll be doing, so you can come with me. Some people like to do a hike and swim in one of the waterfall pools, and you can do that today, but it’s at least five kilometers to the pools, hey? Don’t overdo it – it’s very hot, and if you feel dehydrated, you must take shade and drink lots of water.