See Me After Class(2)

He’s the reason I tend to avoid the teacher breakroom.

And he’s the reason I might get fired from my first ever teaching job.





Chapter One





GREER





“A master’s in English from UCLA is impressive, and your references are excellent. Can you tell us a little about yourself?”

The urge to fidget is painfully overwhelming, but I keep my hands in my lap as I keep my eyes on Principal Nyema Dewitt.

This has to be the weirdest interview I’ve ever had. We just spent a half hour on my education, my student-teacher experience, and my goals. Nyema has led the charge, but there are a few people behind her, studying the interview, that I can’t quite see. Not sure if that’s supposed to be less intimidating—faceless laps with clipboards—but it’s not. It’s more intimidating knowing there are people watching us.

Smiling, I straighten my back and say, “Of course. I grew up in Nebraska on a farm. I’d like to say I helped out a lot, but my dad had hired help, so I spent most of my time playing volleyball and reading. My high school years were filled with volleyball; I was quite obsessed, to be honest. I was so immersed in the sport and my goals to go to UCLA that I forgot to have a social life.” I shrug. “I didn’t miss out on much, though. I wasn’t the party girl. I was the girl whose nose was stuck in a book.”

“I like that,” Nyema says. “Shows your strong will and ability to make your own decisions.”

“Thank you. Never been a follower, really. Always did my own thing. Love to think outside of the box.”

“Lovely.” Nyema sifts through her papers and asks, “What are some of your favorite books?”

I smile softly. “I’m sure you’re expecting me to say something like Pride and Prejudice or Of Mice and Men, right? Maybe Fahrenheit 451?” I shake my head. “Although I do love Mr. Darcy and it’s my favorite book to teach, I’m going to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of the classics.”

Nyema’s eyes widen, and I know it’s a risky thing to say, but I feel the need to say it.

“I understand the importance of teaching them, but I also understand the importance of instilling interested reading habits into students. Some of those books come off as . . . stodgy, holier-than-thou, and frankly—boring.”

There’s a faint snort in the background, and I catch a hand scrawling across the clipboard.

“I see,” Nyema says. “What books would you say keep your interest?”

“Honestly?”

She nods.

“I love romance. I grew up reading it and it’s one of the reasons I love teaching Pride and Prejudice so much. With romance, I get lost in the story and tend to forget everything around me. Now, I’m not saying romance has the educational substance you’re looking for when it comes to teaching deep-rooted metaphors and symbolism, but it has offered me the chance to fall in love with reading. For someone else, it could be mystery, suspense, maybe a thriller, or even a fictional story loosely based on something true that happened in history. It doesn’t matter the genre, what matters is the escape. The appreciation for getting lost in words.”

Nyema smiles and is about to ask something when someone from behind her pipes up.

“So, if you seem to hate the classics so much—”

“I didn’t say hate,” I say quickly, the tone of the man’s voice instantly putting me on high alert.

“Excuse me while I finish my question, Miss Greer.”

Miss Greer.

The snap in his voice with those two words—it sends a shiver straight up my spine as I try to make out the faceless voice in the back.

“Pardon me,” I say, my leg starting to lightly bounce up and down.

“As I was saying, if you seem to dislike the classics so much, how do you intend to teach them? Because Forest Heights has educational expectations; as a teacher, you’re required to meet them.”

Oh God.

Nyema, completely unfazed by the deep-throated interruption from the back, sits and awaits my answer.

Swallowing hard, I say, “Great question. I would still touch upon all the required literature, but I’d teach it in a way that brings the words to life. I think it’s important to do more than just stand in front of a class and lecture.”

“Lecturing is an effective and proven way to teach, Miss Greer. Are you saying it’s not?”

“I’m saying it’s boring.” My heart dips, and I quickly search for the words to retract my answer, until I catch the slight smirk on Nyema’s face as she stares down at her paper. It’s a big enough smirk to give me the confidence to keep going. “Teachers who stand at the front of the class and demand excellence without doing the work are elitist and should possibly reevaluate their way of teaching. I plan on—”

“Are you calling me an elitist, Miss Greer?”

Dear Jesus, who is this man in the back?

“Um, are you . . . the lecturing type?”

“I am.”

I smile awkwardly and swallow. “Well . . . then I guess I am.”

Nyema interjects before I can say anymore. “I think I’ll take it from here.” Her eyes snap up to mine, and I can’t tell if she’s pleased, irritated, or horrified.