See Me After Class(122)

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“She does.” Nyema nods. “Because she makes you question yourself and the way you conduct your classroom.”

I go to respond but then quickly realize . . . she’s right.

“She’s made you uncomfortable, hasn’t she? It’s why you dressed up for the literary character day. And you liked it.”

“It was a nice way to help students explore the deeper intricacies of literary characters.”

Nyema chuckles. “You don’t have to be proper with me. I know you liked it, Arlo. I sat in the back of your class while you taught your lesson. You were engaged, excited. She brought a teaching angle out of you that you weren’t expecting, and that was scary.”

I sigh heavily and look down at my hands. “Yeah, she did.”

“And your evaluation, although critical, still praised her. It wasn’t hurtful, it was what I’d expect from a trusted colleague. The school board took it to heart, but I took it for what it was, an opportunity for her to grow. But she wasn’t expecting it, so it hurt her.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“I’ll say this, though, there was nothing in there that wasn’t true. I’ve observed her myself. I allowed her to move forward with her teaching style, and it’s been great watching these students absorb the material, but I believe she can do it without the pomp and circumstance. I think as a new teacher, she’s relying on easy resources, when I know, deep down, if she finds the confidence, she can lose the resources and rely on her personality to get the material across.”

“I agree. That’s what I was trying to convey.”

“And you did. But you never conveyed it to her, did you?”

“No, I have. I’ve said that many—”

“In an angry tone? Or a teaching tone?”

I wince.

“I’ve seen you at each other’s throats, arguing.” Does she have cameras set up around the school that I don’t know about? “You and I both know it’s hard to absorb anything when you’re put on the defensive.”

“And every time we’ve spoken about her teaching, she’s been on the defensive.”

“Exactly.” She smiles brightly. “So, now you need to figure out how you can show her your appreciation without insulting her.”

“I think I have a plan.”

“It better be good.”

“I believe it is.”





“Quiet,” I say to my fifth-period class.

They quickly settle down, all eyes looking up at me.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “I need your help.” They glance around at each other, confused. “You see, I’ve fallen in love.” A few girls make those annoying girl shrieks. “And like every other red-blooded male, I’ve blown it.”

“We can’t all be perfect,” Chuckie says from the back.

“That’s your warning,” I point at him.

“Just trying to be supportive.” He holds his hands up. “I’m here for you, Mr. Turner.”

Ignoring him, I say, “The object of my affection . . . Miss Gibson.” I wait as the entire class explodes with shrieks and clapping. When they’re settled, I continue, “And like I said, I blew it. Now, I’ve tried a simple method to communicate with her. But you see, when you mess up the way I did—something I won’t divulge to you, so don’t ask—a conversation isn’t going to do the trick.” I lift off my desk and go to the whiteboard, where I snap up the map that’s covering it and reveal two words.

Mr. Darcy.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to go Mr. Darcy on her . . . and I need your help.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight





GREER





“Okay, everyone. Hand your papers to the front of the class, where—”

Knock. Knock.

The door to my classroom opens and in steps a student wearing a bonnet. The class erupts in laughter and I have to quiet them down before I can ask what the hell is going on.

“Can I help you?”

“Miss Gibson.” She curtseys. “Miss Turner and Mr. Turner are here to see you.”

What the hell . . .

Coraline files into the classroom wearing a top hat, while Arlo rounds the corner of the classroom door, shoulders stiff, hands at his side. A student with a phone, recording him, follows closely behind.

Cora bends at the waist, bowing. “Miss Gibson, pleasure to see you. Are you faring well?”

Uhhh . . .

“Dare I say, you look handsome.”

Arlo stays silent next to her.

“You must have heard, I’m here in town, staying with my dear brother for a few days.”

Okay . . . what the hell is going on?

“I don’t know what this is, but you’re disturbing my class.”

Cora laughs. “Yes, the weather has treated us well.”

Arlo stares at me awkwardly, still silent, until finally he asks, “You’re well, Miss Gibson?”

The tone of this voice, the short clip of his words, the desperation in his eyes.

The bonnet.

The top hat.