F is for Fail

My Grade Twelve was the year Mr. Montoya started teaching at my high school and it wasn't a big high school. A few hundred students, that was all and all the teachers knew all of us and we knew them. But we didn't know Mr. Montoya, and I met him first.

We'll get to Mr. Montoya and getting over that that hump of course, because this story's about Mr. Montoya and me, and not what happened to me way back when in Grade 9, but there was a reason I was shy with guys, and a lot of it went back to all that shit in Grade 9 over my F for Sex, because it came up every now and then for years.

"Do you remember when Krystina got an F for sex..."

"Remember when Krystina failed sex."

That kind of shit, it's impossible to live down in a small town. Somebody always remembers and crap, I embarrassed real easy. Mom and dad didn't help, because small town, one Chinese café, everybody knew my mom and dad. Everybody came to the Dragon Café.

Mr. Montoya came to the Dragon Café the day he arrived in town.

That's how I first met him. Summer, just before we all went back to start Grade Twelve. Final Year and I was gonna be the valedictorian that year, my final year, if it killed me. Mom and dad didn't exactly expect it, but I knew it was something they really wanted for me, and hey, I was grateful to them for everything they'd done, all the risks they'd taken to get to America, to start their own business, and just plain work hard, and I knew a lot of that was for me, and I was the only child.

How could I not do my best to give them what they wanted?

That summer, I didn't do summer stuff with my friends, and we never went on vacation anyhow. Me, I sat in that booth at the back of the Dragon Café, and I studied like a bitch. Everything. I redid every Grade Eleven textbook and exercise and assignment. I worked my way through the entire Grade Twelve curriculum. In advance. I pored over Grade Eleven and Grade Twelve exam papers. I even did some first year college courses. I studied everything I could lay my hands on.

I studied from seven in the morning until ten at night. My breaks from study were waiting tables and taking orders for mom when she was helping dad, and half the time I was taking orders and doing tables, my head was busy with whatever it was I was studying.

"Anybody home? Got time to take an order?" The hand waved in front of my eyes brought me back to reality, because I was just standing there behind the counter, doing math exercises in my head.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, what'll it be?" I asked, smiling, because he was the sort of guy you smiled at, even if he was older. "You passing through?" I asked. "I can get it rushed if you're in a hurry."

Because, that smile. Even then, when I'd just seen him, I wanted to please him.

"Just arrived in town," he said, gesturing and there was this U-haul trailer hooked on the back of a truck right outside. "Hey, you do real Chinese food? Not the gweilo stuff?" He was looking at the menu on the wall and yeah, Chop Suey, Sweet and Sour Pork, and Lemon Chicken, right at the top.

"Only for ourselves," I said, grinning. "No other Chinese in town." No Asians at all. Just us. Small town midwest. Still like that in a lot of places. "You know Chinese food?"

"Grew up in San Francisco," he said. "Ate Chinese all the time. Sunday dim sum, that's my favorite."

"You'll have to drive about five hundred miles from here to find a dim sum restaurant," I said. Honest to god, that was about right. We made dim sum for ourselves though. Sunday mornings. Dad, mom, auntie and me. Early, really early, before the customers started rolling in.

"What're you doing moving here?" I asked, because everybody moved out. Nobody moved in.

"Teaching at the high school," he said. "Wanted to move somewhere like this and there was a position listed, I got it. Start in two weeks. Teaching Physics and a couple of other subjects maybe." He grinned, and it was infectious. I grinned back.

"I'll probably be one of your students," I said, because you know, working in a Cafe, you couldn't be shy. Gotta talk to the customers.

"What grade?" he asked, curious and his eyes had this sparkle.

"Twelve," I said. "It's my final year." Duh. "You really want real Chinese?"

"Yeah, if the cook can do it."

"The cook's my dad," I said. "He'll do it if I ask."

"Hey, Dad," I yelled in Cantonese. "Got a gweilo out here wants real Chinese food. He's going to be my Physics teacher at high school. How about making a few dishes? Something really nice. I want to butter him up. You know my Physics needs some help. Make some for me too, huh."

"Okay la," my dad yelled back. "I make something good for him. You bet."

"It's coming," I said, smiling and the Cafe wasn't busy. Everyone had their meals and no queue. "Want some coffee or a drink?"

"Got Chinese tea?" he said, hopefully.

I laughed. Pointed at my table at the back. "On the table there. I'll bring you a cup."

By the time I got there, he was in a seat and leafing through my textbooks. "Studying?"

"Yeah," I said. "Getting a head start. And going back through last year's." I sat down and poured him a cup, blinking when he tapped the table with three fingers.

"Kowtow?" I asked, surprised.

"San Francisco," he said.

"Oh, yeah," I said, because nobody here would know that one.

So we drank tea and talked, and he asked a lot of questions, and my dad made about half a dozen dishes, and mom plunked them down on the table after I cleared my books away.

"Sweet and sour pork?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's my favorite," I said.

He grinned. "So this is a dinner date?"

I kind of giggled. "Only if you like a girl taking you out. This is on me."

He made a few noises, and we ended up eating, and yeah, he was hungry alright, and he protested again when I told him there wasn't a bill.

"It's respect," I told him, keeping my voice down so my mom didn't hear. "My mom and dad are from back there, they respect teachers. There's no way they'll let you pay so don't make a fuss, okay? You'll hurt their feelings. It's their way of showing respect for you because you're gonna be one of my teachers."

He looked at me, then at my mom and, slowly, he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Just this once, okay. But after this, I pay my way."

I grinned. "You want to pay your way here, you wash dishes."

He laughed. "Okay." And Jesus, he did. He came out back to the kitchen with me and he helped me and aunty wash dishes, and he talked away to my dad.

"My name's Elijah," he said, half way through that pile of plates. "Elijah Montoya."

"Krystina Wong," I said, and we smiled at each other.

"That is good man," my dad said, after he left.

He was. He was a good teacher too. And yeah, he taught my Grade Twelve Physics class, and he started coming into the Dragon Cafe, and before too long he was coming round early on Sunday morning for dim sum with dad and mom and auntie and me. I'd get up on Sunday morning and wander downstairs, and he'd be there with my dad out back in the kitchen, and dad would be teaching him to make dim sum, and they'd be talking away. He'd see me and smile.

Wasn't too long before I realized I had, like, this total crush on him, and the way he looked at me sometimes, I kind of thought it was mutual, but he was my teacher, and he never said a thing. Not until almost halfway through the year, and that was this Sunday morning he was there when I came down, and him and dad and mom must've got up early because the big table was all set and it was like this dim sum banquet or something and there was a big birthday cake with candles and everything.

"Happy eighteenth birthday, Krystina," Mr. Montoya said, and he handed me a gift-wrapped box and when I opened it, it was this gorgeous cheong-sam.

"Go change, wear it now," my Mom said, all excited, so I did and it was perfect. A perfect fit, and just beautiful, and I sat there and just glowed because he'd bought it for me and my dad and my mom and auntie all looked at me so proudly.

"I'm going to wear this to the Prom," I said, really happy because it did, it made me look beautiful, and I was so happy I almost cried.

I did cry after my mid-year exam results.

"You got B in Physics," my dad said, looking at my mid-year exam scores. "Everything else A Plus. That B no good. You need all A's, Krystina."

He shook his head, and I knew he was frustrated. "Your mom and I no good helping you with Physics," he said. "I get you tutor."

"This your new Physics tutor," my dad said on Sunday morning after dim sum, and Mr. Montoya was there, and he was smiling. "We talk, Elijah going to tutor you three times a week for rest of year. Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. You stay after school, Elijah tutor you, then bring you home. Sunday, he stay after dim sum, tutor you more. Okay?"

"You okay with that, Krystina," Mr. Montoya said.

"Uh, sure Mr. Montoya," I said. Was I okay with that? Did a cow moo?

"You sort out with Krystina, Mr. Montoya," my dad said. "Gotta open up."

It was easy to sort out, really, because he was my Physics teacher at high school and he knew exactly where I was weak. We sat at the table at the back except this time he was beside me, not opposite me, and we were so close we were touching now and then. Every time we brushed against each other, it was like an electric shock and I couldn't help keeping on glancing at him. Every time I did, he was glancing at me.

"It's too noisy down here. Let's go upstairs," I said at last, standing. He'd never been upstairs before and my head was spinning. Mr. Montoya was going to tutor me? Three times a week? I was smiling all the way up the stairs and somehow by the time we reached the top of the stairs he was holding my hand and I had no idea how that happened and I stopped and looked down at my hand.

Our hands.

I looked up at him. He was holding my hand. Mr. Montoya was my teacher. I was one of his students, and we just looked at each other and my heart pounded because I could see the hunger on his face and it was like there was this magnet that was drawing us closer and closer to each other.

"Krystina," he whispered, and there was no need to whisper. Everyone else was downstairs working, and it was noisy down there.

"Mr. Montoya," I breathed, and we were almost touching, and I wanted him to take me in his arms so much, and our eyes never left each other's eyes.

"Uhhh," I gasped, and I had no idea how it happened but one second we were looking at each other, and a second after that his arms were around me, holding me, and mine were around his neck, and I was pressed against him and that crush. Oh my god, in that moment, I knew it was so much more than a crush, and what I hadn't realized was that while I had a crush on Mr. Montoya, he had a real hard-on for me.

Literally.

"Uuuuhhhhh," I gasped as his hands pressed me tight against him and there was something big and hard pressing firmly against me and I knew exactly what it was. No boyfriend but there were Biology classes, Sex-Ed, and, well, some of the other girls, they did talk and like I said, I knew exactly what it was, and I realized that yeah, he had a hard-on for me, and my knees went all kind of weak.

"Krystina Wong," he breathed, shuddering against me, holding me tight and I wasn't objecting because my arms were around his neck. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

"No," I gasped. "No, you didn't."

"You're beautiful," he said, and then he kissed me. I'd never been kissed before but it seemed so natural when he did and our mouths were locked together and his tongue was exploring, touching mine, inside my mouth and then I moaned and sucked his tongue into my mouth, and we kept on kissing and kissing and kissing until we came up for air and we were both breathing hard.

We started all over again. And again. And again.

"My parents," I whispered, between those frantic kisses. "They're downstairs."

"I don't care," Mr. Montoya whispered back, his hands on my butt now, pulling me hard against him and I could feel him, big, really big and really hard. I moaned into his mouth as his lips crushed mine and my mouth opened wide to him.

"I want you, Krystina," he gasped, and I knew what he meant.

"We can't," I gasped. "Not here. Not now. Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" he groaned.

"At school," I moaned, and his hands were ruthlessly holding me against him. I clung to him, squirmed against him, deliciously. "You're going to be tutoring me at school."

"Oh Jesus, Krystina, I want you so much," he gasped, kissing me again and again, and I welcomed those kisses. I responded to those kisses.

"Come into my room," I gasped, and somehow I walked backwards without letting go of him and he shuffled with me and we edged into my room and across the floor and somehow we were both on my bed and he was lying on top of me and his weight was the most exquisitely delicious thing in the world and my arms were around his neck, his mouth was on mine, sealed to mine and we kissed, on and on and on.

"Aren't you supposed to be tutoring me?" I gasped, and it must've been half an hour later and we'd been holding each other and kissing that entire time.

"I think I am," he groaned, easing himself off me and now he was lying beside me, looking down at me and one of his hands rested on my stomach.

"In Physics," I gasped, and I wanted his weight on me again. I wanted him lying on me kissing me, and then I heard the door at the bottom of the stairs, and I was so glad no-one had oiled those hinges.

"Someone's coming," I gasped, and we both moved like lightning and thirty seconds later I was at my desk and he was kneeling on the floor beside me pointing at some diagram and we were both talking nonsense.

"Chair for Elijah," my dad said, carrying one in. He patted Mr. Montoya on the shoulder. "Thank you for helping Krystina. Very good of you."

"It's no problem, Mr. Wong," Mr. Montoya said. "She's the best student I have."

"And she's the most beautiful one I have," he said as my dad reached the bottom of the stairs and we were looking at each other. Next second I was on his lap, straddling him, facing him and his arms were round me and we were kissing as if we were trying to devour each other, his tongue deep in my mouth one second, mine in his the next, and I was moaning into those kisses, and squirming against him because I could feel him. How hard he was and how good it felt when I was pressed close to him, in his arms, his hands on me.

"I want you, Krystina," he gasped. "I want you so much."

"Tuesday," I gasped. "I'll stay at school for my tutorial."

"What'll you say to your parents?"

"We need the lab." My dad would believe that.

"Okay." He was almost crushing me in his arms and I welcomed his strength, the forcefulness of his kisses, his lips crushing mine, although his moustache tickled.

We never did study that morning. I stayed in his arms and we kissed until my lips burned and then he held me. Just held me and I sat with my head on his shoulder breathing in his scent, savoring being held in his arms, looking forward to Tuesday.

Monday. Tuesday. I don't remember a thing about those days. I was consumed by thoughts of Mr. Montoya. I sat there, shivering with excitement and anticipation. Monday's Physics class, I sat there looking at him and squeezing my knees together, and I was just about moaning out loud and after class ended, I was the last out of the room and he was looking at me as I walked out. I smiled, and the look on his face, that was my reward.

That entire last class of Tuesday afternoon, I sat there looking at him and remembering those kisses. Remembering his weight on me. I wanted him to hold me and I wanted to hold him like I had on Sunday and I didn't know what else I wanted but if he wanted to, I would. I knew I would. Everything. Anything. Whatever he wanted.

With him, I'd do everything.

The final bell rang, class was dismissed, everyone was filtering out.

"You coming, Krystina?" Isabel asked.

"I'm finishing this before I go home," I said. "See you tomorrow." I never did anything after high school anyhow except go back to the Dragon Café and study. Wasn't like she'd miss me.

"See ya," she said, and then it was just me and Mr. Montoya, and the classroom door closing behind her and my heart thumped.

He didn't say a word. He sat behind his desk, not looking at me. That was all he was doing. Not looking at me and breathing. Me, I sat at my desk with my laptop open and I was typing, but I had no idea what. We both looked up at the same time and our eyes met. It was like being kicked or something, a physical blow and my breath huffed out of me and I couldn't move. I couldn't say anything or do anything.

I sat there. Waiting for I knew not what, except that I did and my heart was thumping.

He looked at me and he was so serious. He wasn't smiling and I didn't have any idea what he was thinking. I wished I did and when he stood up, I swallowed.

"Your dad and I talked," he said, hoarsely. "Your dad said you could stay until seven."

It was only four. Three hours.

"I'm supposed to drive you home." He swallowed and I realized he was nervous. "Maybe we should study back at the Cafe?"

"No," I protested, and then I blushed because it wasn't Physics I was thinking of at all. Except, this was a classroom. We couldn't do anything there. Not even kiss. Someone might come at any moment. Another teacher. A cleaner. Another student.

He stood up and I just looked at him. He held out his hand. "Come." His voice sounded shakey.

I stood, I took my laptop and my bag and walked over to his desk, then followed him through the doorway in the corner behind his desk and I'd always thought it was a closet. It wasn't. It was a small office looking out over the sports fields and when I followed him in, I looked around. A desk and chair. A bookcase. A couple of old posters on the walls. A filing cabinet. A big old rattan day-bed against the back wall with some cushions on it, and he closed the door behind me. I heard a lock catch and when I turned towards him, he was standing there looking at me.

"I never knew there was a room here," I said.

"I don't think anybody did," he said. "The door was locked and the caretaker didn't have a key. He thought it was a closet. I took the lock off and got the door open and there was this. I haven't told anyone about it. I like it like this, that no-one knows." He grinned now. "It's my hideaway."

"So do I," I breathed, smiling as I looked at him. Smiling and shivering and I was so warm and my skin tingled everywhere. Tingled and glowed and I wanted him to hold me like he had on Sunday morning.

"Krystina?" he said, and he was looking at me, breathing hard and when I glanced down, it was obvious that he was hard.

"Mr. Montoya," I said, and it came out as more of a gasp and I didn't wonder for a second why I felt like this about him. It just was, and he seemed so perfect to me. Everything about him was perfect.

"On Sunday," he said. "I shouldn't have." But his eyes said he'd wanted to.

I smiled and now I wasn't nervous at all. We were here, together, alone in a hidden room behind a locked door and no-one could possibly walk in on us, and I didn't need to worry about mom and dad downstairs. Him and me, that's all there was here, and we had three hours.

"You did," I breathed. "For hours." I smiled, because it had been, a couple of hours. "My lips are still sore," I said, and I knew my cheeks were pink. "You should kiss them better."

"Jesus," he breathed, and he took two steps across the room towards me and I was in his arms and he kissed me, but he didn't kiss my lips better. He kissed my lips hard, crushing my lips with his, his tongue deep in my mouth, touching and dancing and exploring and tasting. My arms went round his neck and it was as if I was meant to be here, as I was, pressed against him and his hands crushed me.