Picking up a paper, I try to be interested in the numbers. Truth is, I have no idea what I’m even looking at. Saying Eric’s name out loud, something I never do, ushered in a tenderness in my heart I can’t just brush off. It hurts. It stings. I wonder if it always will.
The bell rings, breaking me out of my reverie.
“I gotta get back to my classroom,” Tish says. “The freshmen are in there and they’re the worst class I’ve had in the twenty years I’ve been teaching.”
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“See ya tomorrow.”
She disappears into the library. I turn towards my computer when I spy the cupcake container. The plastic is dropping into the icing, the pieces missing from Tish and Lance.
As I fix the covering, a warmth washes over me like a warm summer rain. I settle back in my chair and try to get back to work. Yet, as my fingers hover over the keyboard, they don’t move. Instead, I glance at the cupcakes again.
Memories sweep through my mind of baking with my grandmother. She taught me the peanut butter icing recipe that Lance loves so much. Gran taught me how to bake, crochet, and even let me read the romance novels I craved though my mom said they were trash.
Everything was trash to her unless she could garner a social benefit. Me included.
One day, I tell myself, swiping up a dab of icing on my finger. One day I’ll have a family of my own and won’t rely on acceptance from co-workers to prove my mettle.
Three
Lance
The bell blares its final warning for students to be seated.
Hopping onto the edge of my desk, I face a room full of animated juniors. It never ceases to amaze me that the human population doesn’t die off at age seventeen. At that point in our lives, we think with our genitals, smell like shit from either perspiration or too much cheap cologne, and have virtually no idea what we’re doing. Yet, we make it. Somehow.
With no regard for his classmates or my classroom, the captain of the football team elbows a girl a third of his size out of his way and takes her seat.
He may be the one who doesn’t make it.
“Brandon!” I shout over the ruckus in the room. “To the office.”
The students quiet, settling into their desks. They look from me to Brandon.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, scrambling to his feet. “What’s up your ass?”
My foot if you don’t get out of here.
“Class,” I say, my eyes still pinned to Brandon. “What’s the first rule of history?”
“It repeats itself,” they respond in unison.
“It repeats itself. That’s right.” I mosey toward the door and yank it open. “Last week, you accidentally bumped Mr. Greyson and knocked him into the wall. Do you remember that?”
His jaw sets.
“There was plenty of room for you to walk around but you found it acceptable to plow through him instead. I removed you.”
His eyes narrow.
“You just took Ms. Cambria’s books off her desk and kicked her out of her spot. The first rule of history applies: you will be leaving us once again. Only this time, the second rule of history applies too.”
“The second rule?” Stacy asks from the front row.
“You never get the war you want.” Flipping my gaze back to Brandon, I nod toward the hallway. “Get out.”
“But—”
“You want to flex your muscles? Do it in the principal’s office.”
“But—”
“What?” I ask, lifting a brow. “That’s not the fight you’re after? Suddenly it’s not fair for someone with more power to exert control?”
“Fuck this,” he snaps, storming by me.
“I refuse to believe you’re the dumb jock you try so hard to make us all believe.”
This catches his attention. He stills, his fingers re-gripping the edge of his books, as he stops on the second landing leading to the office. I step into the hallway and partially shut the door behind me.
“Pushing people around and using language any idiot can use isn’t doing you any favors, Brandon,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.
He doesn’t look back, but doesn’t move forward either. I take this as a win.
“You might get away with that at home and in your other classes, but you won’t in mine. I expect you to work to your ability and behave the same. Is that clear?”
There’s no answer, and I don’t expect one. He heads down the steps with a little less flare than before.
I head back inside my classroom. “Cause and effect, boys and girls,” I say, hopping back onto my desk. “Act like a fool, get treated like one.”
“You sound like my dad,” Kyler laughs.
“Your dad must be a genius. But is he as good looking as me?”
“That would be a no,” Stacy giggles.
The entire room bursts into laughter and I kick myself for walking right into that one. “Okay. Settle down. I want you to write a paper …” Standing and walking around my desk to the dry erase board as their moans ring out behind me, I write out the topic in black marker. “Write a minimum of one thousand words about a historical event of your choice and what caused it and its effects on the world.”
“Can I write about Kim—”
“No.” Looking at Stacy over my shoulder, I shake my head.
“But—”
“No.”
“But she—”
“All events must have taken place before you were born.” I look at the fairly young faces of my students. “That should eliminate a lot of popular topics,” I say pointedly at Stacy.
“Fine,” she grumbles.
They busy themselves writing down the assignment, whispering amongst each other about potential subjects. Everyone, that is, but Ollie.
Ollie’s head is down on his desk, his arms stretched out and dangling over the edge. The mop of hair that used to be kept cut short is a wild array that somewhat resembles a broom.
Last spring, he was one of my best students. Bright as fuck. Engaging. A charisma that reminded me of my cousin Peck. As the year went on, his clothes became wrinkled. His face more blemished. The edges of his papers more frayed.
“We have a game tonight, Mr. Gibson,” Lottie says from her chair. “Can we work on this today in class? Please?”
“How are your extracurricular activities any fault of mine?” I scoff playfully, snapping the cap back on the marker. Glancing down at the stack of papers needing grading, I decide to give in ... eventually. After all, I can’t let them think I’m easy. They aren’t the right demographic for that.
“I’ll dedicate my first goal to you tonight,” Lottie offers, smiling a mega-watt grin.
Sighing for effect, I slip into my chair and kick my feet up onto my desk. “You need to do better than that.”
“We won’t try to negotiate a lower word count,” Kyler offers.
I pretend to consider this.
“I won’t tell Ms. Malarkey you stole a cupcake from her office.” Stacy raises a brow, her lips pursed together. “I saw it on your desk.”
“She gave that to me, thank you very much.” My voice is smug, as is the look on my face. “She gave me two, actually.”
“You two have a thing going on? She’s single, you know. And freaking pretty,” Stacy shrugs. “Just saying.”
I begin to object, to point out Mariah just told me she wasn’t single. Before the words can escape my lips, I stop.
“I’m just saying,” I say, pulling my feet to the floor, confusion wracking my brain, “which staff members are single is none of your business.”
“Since you’re too old for me, at least for another couple of years, you should consider—”
“Enough,” I say over top of her.
The room breaks out into a fit of giggles and I give up.
“Fine. You win.” My hands thrown up in the air in defeat. “Work on your papers now. But if any of you start talking, I’ll lecture. I can talk all day about the Revolutionary War, kids.”
Much to my surprise, they pull out their notepads. I refrain from pacing around the room and making sure they’re writing what they’re supposed to because I’m certain they aren’t and I don’t have it in me to argue with them today. I’m just happy they didn’t press their luck because my brain is stuck solidly on Mariah’s dating life and not a war that took place in the seventeen hundreds.
With a final glance at Ollie’s napping frame, I move to grab a paper off the pile. My arm hits the discarded cupcake wrapper.
A soft, half-laugh finds it way past my lips as I grab the wrapper and toss it into the trash. Mariah is too easy to mess with, too easy to rile up. Her predecessor in the library was a senile old woman who never used the office. The first day Mariah walked in and caught me in a conversation that straddled the line of acceptable in a high school building, she ripped my ass. I, in turn, wanted hers. Beneath me. My hands cupping each round globe of her ass cheeks.
“Shit,” I mutter, adjusting my cock as discreetly as I can and forcing all thoughts of a naked Mariah Malarkey out of my mind.
The bell rings, assisting my efforts for once. “Have a good night, everyone. Stay out of trouble.” The kids leap to their feet, grabbing book bags and making plans for the weekend; it’s a scene of complete chaos. “Ollie, can you stay for a minute?”
He gathers his things and waits for the room to clear out. Once it’s just the two of us, I sink back against my desk. “How are things?” I ask.
His shoulders rise and fall. “Good. Fine. Why?”
There’s a hesitation in his voice that causes me to hesitate too. If I push, he’ll close up. It’s the code of teenagers.
“I have a younger sister and two younger brothers. It’s a thing when you’re the oldest kid in a big family—you notice things. And I’ve noticed you sleeping a lot in class lately.” Ignoring the rest of what I’ve observed, I tread a little deeper. “Things okay at home?”