The Bad Seed Read online

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Brandon, I did,” he said as he looked up. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair as he peered at Brandon above the rim of his designer glasses. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “For the last few days, you have seemed…distracted. Is there something going on, something I should know about?”

  It’s hard to pay attention to what you’re saying when all I can see is your ass, Brandon thought but didn’t share.

  “Nah, it’s just that I don’t get Moby…Dick… at all. Do you think you could help me out?” Brandon smiled and stared into Mr. Jones’s brown eyes.

  Mr. Jones pursed his lips and looked curiously at his student. “How much of it have you read?”

  “Enough to know I need some help. This shit, I mean stuff, doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You need to take your time with it and focus. Really think about what the author is trying to say.”

  “See, that’s the problem. I don’t get all this symbolism. I mean, if he wanted to say something, why not just say it instead of having people guess at what he’s talking about? That’s some bull—”

  “Watch your language, Brandon. Are you trying to get detention?”

  If it means I could spend some more time with you, then the answer is yes, he thought.

  “My bad. I just feel comfortable around you; I mean, you’re only a few years older than me.”

  “For the record, I’m about eight years older than you, but that’s beside the point. I am your teacher; not one of your peers.”

  “Dang, I’m sorry Cross—”

  “What did I tell you about calling me by my first name? It’s Mr. Jones. I’m not going to tell you again.” Brandon smiled—he liked a man with a little fire in his belly—even though the frustrated look etched across Mr. Jones’s face didn’t change.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Now, as far as Moby Dick is concerned, you have to take your time and learn to use your critical thinking skills. That’s what all of this is about, training you to think differently so that you can learn how to be an effective problem-solver in life.”

  “Well, I still don’t get it. Are you gonna give it to me or what?” Brandon inched forward.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Help, extra help. Are you gonna give it to me? I mean, you’re supposed to be available for us slow students, aren’t you?”

  “Brandon, you aren’t slow, lazy maybe, but not slow.” They both laughed out loud.

  “That was cold, Cross. I mean, Mr. Jones. Why you tryna play me? You know I need you,” he said with a wink.

  “If you need help, I’m here every morning at seven o’clock,” he said while having no discernible reaction to Brandon’s flirtation.

  “The early bird gets the worm, huh?” Brandon smiled again.

  This time, Mr. Jones smiled back, albeit slightly.

  “All jokes aside, if you need help, come to my tutorial.” Mr. Jones took a deep breath and inhaled deeply. His eyes focused on Brandon’s face. “Brandon, are you sure nothing is going on with you? You seem…different.”

  “Nah, I’m fine. Really. Just a few things going on at home. No biggie,” Brandon managed to stammer out. “But, wassup with these flowers, Mr. Jones?” he said as he changed the subject suddenly. Mr. Jones blushed ever-so-slightly as Brandon leaned his face into the bouquet and took a whiff, never once taking his eyes off Mr. Jones. “Ahhh, look at you smiling. Somebody got a crush on you!”

  “It’s nothing like that. Just one of the parents saying thank you.”

  Brandon couldn’t believe Cross had lied to his face.

  “I doubt that. These ain’t no everyday ‘thank you’ flowers. It looks like somebody put some thought into this. I bet these are your favorite kind of flowers, too, aren’t they?”

  “Actually, they are. How did you know?”

  “Because it’s easy to send roses; everybody loves roses. If someone sends you a different flower, that means they have to know you like it; it means they thought about it.” Cross paused and appeared to ponder the simple truth of his words and then stood up from where he sat. “Who sent them to you?”

  “I don’t know. The card was unsigned.”

  “Ahhh, a secret admirer; that’s wassup.”

  “Enough about these flowers. Let’s get back to you.”

  The sound of Mr. Jones’s authoritative voice slowly dug into Brandon’s heart, causing it to flutter wildly—almost uncontrollably—but he didn’t let it show. Brandon’s breathing deepened and burrowed into his chest as he eyed his instructor through the smoky haze of adolescence, which made everything look shiny, new and within the realm of possibility. He took a step closer—a bit too close—invading the personal space of his teacher. He put his hand on Mr. Jones’s shoulder in a friendly gesture of goodwill.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I promise,” he said with a coy little wink.

  “I just don’t want you losing focus so close to graduation. A failing grade will wreck your GPA.”

  “What? Am I close to failing?”

  “No, no, calm down. I just want to be proactive, but you did get a C on your last quiz, which is unlike you. To be successful in life you’ve got to focus and know what you want.”

  “I know exactly want I want,” Brandon said in a voice that did not hide his adolescent attraction.

  Cross paused. “I want you to do better on the quiz.”

  “Okay, I’ll do better. I don’t want to disappoint you, Cross.”

  “Cross?”

  “I mean, Mr. Jones. My bad.”

  Mr. Jones exhaled and eyed Brandon closely.

  “Brandon,” he began as he removed his designer glasses from his face. “How are your parents? Have you been able to talk to them about whatever you’re going through?”

  Brandon grimaced. “My parents, hmmmm, let’s see. Julia and William Heart don’t really get me, you know? Besides, they ain’t never around. My dad sold his business last year and they been around the world, twice, without me.” Brandon hoped his faux sob story would win him favor with Cross.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine. I do better when they leave me alone.”

  Brandon moved away from Mr. Jones and wandered leisurely over toward the window. He gazed out into the daylight, hoping the piercing sunlight would pierce through his pain.

  “Did you know that I have a brother? I mean, had a brother? He died almost four years ago.” His tone was dry and even though Cross was in the room, Brandon’s question seemed to be directed to the empty space that separated him from Cross.

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Tomorrow would have been his birthday.” Brandon spoke plainly, without any emotion, as he stated the facts.

  “Oh really? That must be tough for your family. Does your family do anything to remember him?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, my parents find some excuse to go out of town every year around this time. Hell, they’ll probably be gone by the time I get home.”

  “I don’t understand. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Why don’t you go out of town with them? It’s at times like these when families have to stick together.”

  As he faced the window in an Academy Award-winning moment, a single tear slid from his eye and moved slowly down his cheek. He wanted to wipe it away, but didn’t; instead, he let it linger on his face and glisten in bright light of day.

  “Mr. Jones, that’s a long story.”

  He became acutely aware that Mr. Jones was watching him and, in dramatic fashion, he wiped the tear from his face. He then felt a strong hand on his shoulder, offering warmth and support.

  “Listen, Brandon. I lost my mother when I was about your age, so I know what you’re going through.”

  “No
one knows what I’m going through. Do you know what it’s like to go home to an empty house every day and have to deal with this shit by myself?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Do you know what’s it’s like to know that your parents hate you?”

  “Brandon, I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Whatever. They can barely look at me sometimes.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Cross walked back over to his desk, scribbled something down on a small white notepad, and returned to Brandon.

  “I don’t usually do this, but here is my home number. If you need someone to talk to this weekend, don’t hesitate to call. You shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself.”

  Before he turned to face his teacher, a tiny, but wicked grin formed in the corners of Brandon’s mouth. A few crocodile tears could go a long way.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones. This means a lot to me. I’ll only call if I really need to speak to someone.” Brandon turned and hugged his teacher. He wrapped his arms around him and placed his head on his shoulder but suddenly pulled away out of fear of overdoing his performance.

  “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay, Brandon. It’s okay.”

  “Shit, I’m so embarrassed. You won’t tell anyone I cried, will you?”

  “It’s okay to cry.”

  “Not for me. I have a reputation,” he said with a silly smile that eased the mood.

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  And yours is safe with me, Brandon thought.

  Brandon delighted at the thought of flirting dangerously close to the edge of desire with his teacher; desire could quickly become so much more. From the day Cross Jones had taken over the class from Ms. Keys who had gotten married mid-year and moved to Denver with her new husband, Brandon had felt a peculiar closeness to him. From the moment he had walked into the room, broad-shouldered and head held high, Brandon was intrigued. The way Cross moved, so confidently and sleekly, enticed Brandon. Cross carried himself with pride and walked with a formal gait. Brandon loved everything about him, from the way his broad shoulders looked in his tailored shirts to the way he stood, proud and erect, as if he placed himself above trivial things. And, Cross was something of a celebrity in the literary world and Brandon liked the thought of basking in Cross’s fame.

  Early on, Brandon recognized something familiar within Cross that connected with his spirit; it was something that caused his gaze to linger a little longer and his voice to deepen ever-so-slightly when he spoke to his teacher. It wasn’t something that Brandon could articulate or even think about consciously; it was something that resonated deep within his core, something so innate and salient that words were not required; it was a feeling that simply was and whatever it was piqued Brandon’s interest on a visceral level. He was compelled to know more about this man, as if it was his destiny. Something lonely in his spirit connected with something hollow in Cross’s presence. Brandon believed their relationship to be kismet, ordained, and blessed by the universe itself.

  As soon as Brandon stepped into the bustling hallway, he slung his backpack across his right shoulder and headed down the hall. Thoughts of Cross Jones still danced in his head and poisoned his thoughts; never had he been so affected or distracted by a man. It was he that usually served as the distraction. This unexpected reversal of fortune somehow intrigued him. There was something mysterious, something intoxicating—something dangerous—about this unholy attraction that he had for his teacher. Deep down inside, he knew that he was playing with fire, but the rewards outweighed the risk of burning.

  “Hey, Brandon.” He heard a sweet female’s voice calling out to him as he rounded the corner toward his locker. He looked back and saw Sheila Kilpatrick, his ex-girlfriend, coming around the corner wearing her cheerleading uniform. She was all breasts and ass, the way most men liked. Brandon rolled his eyes and plastered a fake smile across his face.

  “Hey, Sheila. Wassup?”

  “Well, my parents are out of town and I thought maybe you could…stop by tonight.”

  “For what?” He didn’t attempt to mask the annoyance in his voice.

  She inserted the head of a red lollipop into her mouth slowly, all the while maintaining her eye contact with him.

  “Girl, you trippin’. If I know you, and I do, then you’ve been sucking more than lollipops with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

  “Why you always got to be an ass?” She exhaled loudly and folded her arms.

  “Bye, Sheila.” Brandon turned on his heels and walked away, laughing. He had no time or patience for her vacuous attempts at seduction.

  “You ain’t all that!” she screamed as he heard her stomp down the hallway.

  He smiled. He knew he was way more than all that.

  CHAPTER 2

  Cross entered his three-bedroom palatial townhouse just in time to hear the phone ringing. He yanked his key out of the lock, slammed the door shut, darted over to the table by the sofa, and snatched the phone off the hook.

  “Hello?” he said, slightly winded by his sudden burst of energy.

  “Where is your manuscript, Mr. Man? See, you gon’ make me come to Atlanta to bust the windows out of that pretty little car you drive,” the familiar voice said in a recognizable rhythm that caught Cross off-guard.

  The sound of Lorenzo’s voice blared through the phone with no warning. Cross suddenly wished he had looked at the caller ID as he rubbed his face with his hands and plopped down on the sofa.

  “Hey, Lorenzo. How are you?”

  “Don’t try to sweet talk me. I got a call from your publisher asking when she’s going to get your new book. I’ve been covering for you for two months now.”

  “I know and I appreciate it, but—”

  “But nothing. You need to get it done and stop bullshitting around. I’m your agent, so I got your back, but I can’t keep covering for you. If you don’t get that manuscript to me in thirty days, Kathy is going to send her henchmen out to hunt you and me down. You know her ass is fanatical about your work.”

  “Thirty days? You got me another extension? See, that’s why I keep you around.”

  “You keep me around because I’m the best agent in the free world and don’t you ever forget it.”

  “You are da man!”

  “Now that that is all settled, how are things in High School Musical?” he injected, but didn’t wait for a response. “I don’t know what you get out of screaming at a bunch of hard-headed, badass kids all day. Clearly you don’t need the money. I saw your last royalty check, remember?”

  “It’s not about the money. I enjoy teaching; inspiring young minds.”

  “Why you’d want to relive high school when you could be lounging by the beach with some hot, naked Latin papi serving you some fruity concoction is beyond me, but to each his own. Shit, we couldn’t wait to get out of high school; I still can’t believe you’d voluntarily go back.”

  “Cut me some slack, aight? The kids are cool; they just need some guidance. I want to inspire a new generation of writers. Who knows, I could have a new Baldwin or Morrison in one of my classes and Lord knows we need it. Have you looked at the shit people are writing nowadays?”

  “Here we go again. Yes, Cross, I’ve seen the plethora of urban books being published that you claim are dumbin’ down our communities. Stop being such a snob. At least black people are reading.”

  “I guess.”

  “Look man, I gotta go. I have an appointment in twenty minutes, but you better get me that book!”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “One last thing: make sure you don’t get in trouble with one of those big, corn-fed high school boys. They didn’t grow ’em like that when we were in school.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Cross said as he plopped down onto the couch. “I have this one kid who is…gorgeous. I
mean, if you saw this boy on the street you’d swear he was at least twenty-five. That little Negro is the shit, and his young ass knows it. He reminds me of Lucas, a little bit.” Cross found himself laughing out loud at the thought of his over-grown high-schoolers and how most of them were so much more physically developed than the ones back in his day.

  “Lucas? This is the first time you’ve said his name since the break-up.”

  “I know. I’m moving on.”

  “If this boy reminds you of Lucas, you need to be very careful with that boy and make sure you have boundaries set. Don’t let him work you. As much of a prude as you’ve become lately, I knew you back when we were fucking like porn stars.”

  “Ahhh, those were the days,” he said with laughter. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control. I’m much too cool to ever be worked. And, I’m not into jailbait. And, remember, I don’t have fond memories of Lucas.”

  “Cool. I’m going to check in with you in a couple of weeks and finish that damned book!”

  Cross returned the phone to its cradle and sighed. The sound of Lorenzo’s voice brought back happy memories of the days when the two of them lived life. Part of him longed for those days again, but it conflicted with the part of him that desired exile.

  He grabbed the bag that he had dropped in front during his mad dash to the phone. He dropped his Blockbuster movies onto the coffee table and then moved over to the stereo. He hit “play” and listened as the sounds of Ledisi singing “In the Morning” filled the vacant space in his house and in his soul. As she purred out the song, he poured himself a glass of red wine and stepped out onto the deck of his home. The fresh Georgia air filled his lungs as the soothing warmth of the early spring evening covered his body like a blanket. He looked out into the wooded area behind his house and felt peace.

  It had been almost two years since he had absconded from the grit of New York City in search of a more tranquil existence. He settled Marietta, Georgia, right outside of Atlanta, hoping to get back to his roots. The daily toll of living in New York—in spite of the ease his money provided—had become toxic, even more damaging than the smog and pollution from the innumerable taxicabs; the city grew stale, in spite of its fury and glimmer and its spectacular towers had grown dull and lifeless, no longer offering enchanted possibilities for an eager heart. Even before his heart had been irreparably shattered by the one who still held its pieces, New York had lost its luster and Cross had lost his patience.