Anyone But Rich (Anyone But..., #1)(19)

“Oh, sure,” he agreed. “All I’m saying is a little act of good grace would go a long way toward quieting down those whispers. West Valley has grown over the years, but it’s still a small town at heart, Mr. King. And a small town is like a pretty girl. You can’t just show up with money and expect to grab her by the ass. You’ve got to win her heart first. Take her on a couple dates, buy her something nice, you know?” He laughed and slapped my shoulder with the back of his hand like we were old buddies. His voice lowered, and I didn’t miss the menace there. “You wouldn’t treat my town like that, would you?”

I knew we weren’t just talking about West Valley anymore, but I wasn’t about to let this devolve into a personal squabble involving Kira. “And what would pass for buying this town of yours something nice, exactly?”

“It’s a bribe,” Cade whispered. “He’s asking for a bribe.”

“No shit,” I said.

“Easy now, boys. I’m no dirty politician by any stretch. I’m absolutely not asking for your money. I’m simply saying you fine young men have the resources to invest in a few projects here and there around town. Who knows, throw some money at the school football team, or the chess team, for all I care. I just think it’d go a long way toward getting the town on your side.”

“Sure,” I said. “You’re not asking for our money, but you’d like some of our money.” My hands were balled up tight with frustration. Just talking to the man felt like taking a bath in slime, and yet I knew on some level he had a point. It wouldn’t hurt for us to make a few donations around town and boost our public image. Besides, his idea about donating to the school already had my gears turning.

Kira worked at a school. Unless West Valley High was a miraculous exception to the rule, it probably had dozens of programs that lacked funding. I was willing to bet whatever programs Kira was involved in could use more money too.

“You know, Mr. King,” Mr. Summerland said. “A foolish man walks into a trap. A wise man avoids it. But a businessman? He takes advantage of it. Which are you?”

“A businessman,” I said. A wise one.





Chapter 7





KIRA


I walked slowly around the classroom while my students worked on memorizing their scripts in small groups. It had been almost a week since I stormed away from Rich and Cade at the party. I’d been a lot of things that night. Embarrassed. Pissed. Ashamed. Even if I hadn’t mistaken Rich for Cade, I’d sworn to Iris and Miranda that I’d stay away from all the King brothers. I wanted to believe it had just been the whirlwind of sights and sounds at the party throwing me off-balance, but I doubted that was true.

I’d had fun with Rich. Even worse, I knew I was secretly disappointed he seemed ready to let me go. I got exactly what I’d wanted, after all. He hadn’t tried to contact me since the party. He’d probably already forgotten me for some supermodel, or maybe several supermodels. Besides, we both had our own problems to deal with. I had been saddled with the crumbling theater department no one wanted and a budget that couldn’t even buy us a movie ticket, let alone props, costumes, and equipment to put on a respectable play. Of course, he had a national megabusiness to run.

It was better this way. I repeated that line in my head a few times, just like I had the last dozen times Rich and his arrival in West Valley had slid into my thoughts.

Thankfully, I had to pee so badly it was easy to distract myself. I looked at the clock and felt a surge of relief. One more minute until the bell. I could see the teachers’ lounge from my window. It was separated from my room by a small, grassy courtyard and a stone table with benches where students would sometimes bring their lunches. I visualized myself fast walking through the crowds, bobbing and weaving to make sure I was the first in the lounge and wouldn’t have to wait. I wasn’t sure if I could wait.

An empty mug of coffee stood tauntingly on my desk. It was about the size of a toddler’s head, and I had stupidly filled it to the brim and guzzled every last drop. Just over a week into being a teacher, and I’d already learned bladder management was an essential skill—one I was still failing to master.

Then again, I was failing to master a lot, it seemed. Being a teacher was more complicated than lesson planning and delivery. At the end of the day, I had to try to wrestle the attention and behavior of more than thirty wandering minds. On top of that, I had to try to work around the fact that the least important part of school for most of my students was what came out of my mouth. They were more concerned with who had a crush on whom, what was going on after the football game on Friday, or what the latest drama was.

The school year was a war between the teacher and students, and each day was a battle. Students tried their hardest to break down a teacher’s defenses. They tested boundaries like swarms of foot soldiers smashing headfirst against a wall, sacrificing themselves for the greater good of their people. Once one made it through—like the kid who manages to talk without raising his hand—the rest would squeeze through the narrow opening until it was a gaping hole.

Unfortunately, my teacher walls had apparently been made of wet clay, because half my carefully planned classroom rules were already blown apart and forgotten.

“Miss Summerland?” asked a girl in a group that was practicing lines for our modified rendition of Dracula. “What kind of props are we going to have for this? Like, will we be able to make a castle out of cardboard or something?”