Page 329 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Mrs. Gellar?” I shoot my hand up as high as it will go, hoping her answer will be the same as every other time someone has asked.

“I don’t know the meaning of this word in our book.”

“You know where Webster is,” she says, using the class-decided name for our dictionary.

I walk to the corner of the room and open the book, struggling with the paper jacket when it falls off the hard cover. When I glance over my shoulder, no one is near me, but Emmy meets my eyes and smiles softly.

M.

It takes a few seconds for me to find the word.

Molests.

And it takes me even longer to figure out the definition.

To assault or abuse (a person, especially a woman or a child) sexually.

I snap the book closed, my cheeks red because there is the word “sex” in the definition, and I don’t really know what that is except for it’s what Cooper says only mommies and daddies do and he’s never going to do it.

But I know the word assault. My dad uses that word all the time when I get to visit him at work and he talks cases with other officers. So, if he uses the word, then I know it means bad things.

Does Emmy have this same molestation disease these suspects my dad talks about have? But she isn’t a suspect. She didn’t do anything wrong.

Did she?

The bell for recess rings.

Guns. Mr. Reeves. Molest. Assault.

“Bet I’m gonna beat you at two square again,” Emmy says, and I run to follow after her.

“Mr. Malone.” Mrs. Gellar’s sharp tone—like I’m in trouble—stops my feet from running when I know I shouldn’t be running in the classroom.

“Yeah?”

“The word is yes, not yeah. We’re working on grammar,” she says as she walks toward me with her hand on her back and her big, pregnant belly—that Cooper says you get from having S-E-X—leading the way.

“Yes?” I correct.

“Head on out, Emmy. Grant’s going to go back and put Webster in his proper place. He’ll be there in a minute.”

I grumble and shuffle my feet as the door to the playground shuts, taking the sunshine with it.

Guns.

Picking up Webster, I make sure the jacket is on . . .

Mr. Reeves.

Then I slide it into the bookshelf . . .

Molest.

Finally, I turn to head to the door.

Assault.

“Mrs. Gellar?” I ask, my voice breaking and heart beating so fast I can feel it against my chest.