See Me After Class(11)

The anger on her face slightly dissipates as she says, “Well, that’s not going to be me.”

I gesture to her room, and say, “From what I’ve heard so far, from what I’ve experienced, and from your lack of professionalism in the classroom, I’d say you’re going to be worse.”

“Lack of professionalism? Uh, hello, kettle, you’re black.”

“If I’m showing any hints of being unprofessional, it’s because you’ve driven me past a point of irritation today. You realize you’ve set a standard today for those students, letting them know they’re here to goof off, instead of instilling in them the expectations you’re going to have of them? But, then again, you’re used to the cacophonous noise of a rowdy gym atmosphere. Your athletic credentials by far exceed your teaching credentials . . .”

Straightening, Greer asks, “Are you saying I got the job because I can coach volleyball?”

“Sure as hell didn’t get it because you know how to ceremoniously lead a chant.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she shoots back, coming up to me again, her body now inches from mine as she stands five inches shorter than me.

“This is your first teaching job, correct?”

“Yes,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Striking the defense, didn’t see that coming. Sense the sarcasm?

“And you realize Forest Heights is one of the premier high schools in the country, academically, right?”

“Well aware.”

“And that since we’re so close to Brentwood University and their rich athletic program, we have to compete with the legacy of excellent athletics in the area.”

“Your point?” she asks, sounding exasperated.

“You weren’t hired because you can convince a group of hormonal teenagers to clap and stomp together about loving books. You were hired for your athletic résumé. Nothing more.”

“And why is that a problem?”

“Because you fall under my department,” I say, taking a step closer. Her fresh scent of mint and lavender crawl into my space, but I don’t allow the sweet smell to distract me. “I don’t mess around, Miss Gibson. When the PARCC testing comes around, I hold all teachers in the English department to the same standard. It’s why we’re the best public high school in the country. I’ll be damned if that changes because Principal Dewitt felt we needed a coach over a teacher.”

Her lips purse to the side as she studies me, silence heavy, like a vacuum sucking the air between us. “Thou art so easy to judge, Arlo Turner.”

My brow quirks up. “Was that your pitiful attempt at Shakespeare?”

“Did it not impress your hoity underpants?”

“No. Now if you’d have said ‘Thou art a boil. A plague soul, an embossed carbuncle’ like in King Lear, then I’d have been impressed. Alas, you once again disappoint me.”

Her eyes narrow. “If you insist on being a prick, I suggest you leave, because I have nothing else to say to you.”

Hands in my pockets, I take a small step back. With my eyes trained on hers, I say, “Keep it down, or I’ll be sure to let Principal Dewitt know you’re distracting my students from their learning.”

“Of course you would.” She motions two fingers across her forehead. “You have tattletale written all over you.” She walks back to her desk and mutters, “Narc.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel and head back to my classroom.

I gave her fair warning.

Let’s just hope she takes it.





Chapter Three





GREER





“Why didn’t you tell me Turner was going to be such an asshole?”

“Mr. Turns Me On is an asshole?” Stella asks sarcastically as she stands next to me, clipboard in hand, assessing the tryout warmups. “Hard to tell when I can’t stop staring at his ass in jeans. I mean . . . have you looked at it?”

Unfortunately.

And it’s nice.

But not as nice as his eyes.

Or expansive hands.

Or the indent between his pecs that his T-shirts effortlessly show.

“No, I haven’t,” I lie through my teeth. “I’ve only been privy to his obnoxious and stuffy personality.” Calling out to the girls who are currently doing plyometrics, I say, “Get those butts lower.”

“Did you have a run-in with him today?”

“You could say that. He came storming into my classroom during lunch to let me know exactly how he felt about my day one amp up.”

“Not a fan?”

“Not even a little. He made it quite clear he’s not a fan of me.”

“Well, we knew that, but he outright said it? Impressive.”

“Yup,” I say, clapping my hands, encouraging the girls from the sidelines. “Told me I wasn’t hired based on my teaching credentials and he’ll be damned if I bring down his precious statewide testing scores. Like . . . get a life, dude, there’s more to life than tests.”

Stella shakes her head. “Not with Turner. Those exams are his life. And I’m not taking his side, trust me, but now that I think about it, I do remember Brock and Gunner telling me about all the extra hours Arlo was putting in for Gregory Hiddleson, the teacher before you. He was truly annoyed by it, but that’s how dedicated he is to it. He’ll pick up the slack for other teachers to make sure the students are prepared. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but he’s helped bring Forest Heights to its premier status, plus he made the opt-in option for out-of-school-boundaries open to low-income families only.”