See Me After Class(21)

Stella nudges me. “I’m being serious, Greer. Talk to me. What did he say to you?”

Sighing, I sit on one of the desks in my classroom. School starts in forty-five minutes. “What didn’t he say, is the question. Not only did he start off the interaction by completely ignoring me, as if I wasn’t good enough to even be in his presence, he then proceeded to school me in pool, which was a shot to my competitive heart.”

“You’re upset because he beat you in pool?”

“No, I’m upset about what he said to me after pool.”

“What did he say?”

“He practically called me a babysitter, rather than a teacher.”

Stella lets out a low gasp. “No, he didn’t.”

I slowly nod. “Yup. Said my teaching was frivolous, that I don’t actually teach, but lean on cop-out techniques to teach the kids required material.”

“Because you help them better understand through visual representation?”

I nod.

Stella laughs. “That’s such bullshit. He’s pulling his snooty attitude on you, and we won’t stand for it.” She pounds the desk. “Doesn’t he know that not every teacher is the same? Just like every student isn’t the same. Ugh . . . what a tool bag.”

“Tool bag, a classic insult,” Keeks says, entering the classroom. “Derived from the mid-seventeenth century, willingly used to describe a skill-less person, which is quite contradictory given the purpose of a tool is to assist the Homo Sapien in completing tasks.” She hands me the ammonia. “Bag wasn’t added to the insult until recent years, indicating, not only are you a dupe, but you’re a whole bag of them.” She smiles at us.

“Didn’t know there was such a backstory to the term tool bag,” I say, feeling a little lighter thanks to Keeks and her unusual sense of humor. “I thought it was something frat boys came up with.”

She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “I perceive why you would jump to that hypothesis, but, dismally, the only accomplishments frat boys can lay claim to are the consumption of copious amounts of grain-infused malt liquor, corresponding macho-man-infused Olympics, and the capability of draining said liquor from a funnel straight into the esophagus without an extra cry for breath.”

“They’re also good at throwing parties,” Stella adds. “Not ashamed to admit I’ve been to a few.”

“We all have,” Keeks says with a sigh.

Uncapping the bottle of ammonia, I ask, “You’ve been to a frat party?”

She gestures toward her body. “Contrary to what you might postulate about me, I’m more than a wool skirt and glasses. I’ve acquired my equitable share of ‘fun.’” She brushes her gray-and-purple plaid skirt, smoothing out a wrinkle. “Back at university, I seldom attended a boisterous party. But there was one particularly raucous occasion when I forfeited my sensible brassiere after a riveting game of chess. I exhausted the rest of the evening with my mammaries twisting and turning with bare abandon in my practical party blouse. Quite the affair.”

“Keeks, braless, flapping her bosoms in the wind—this is something I’m going to have to see in person,” Stella says.

“You should be so lucky,” Keeks says with another smile, and I can’t help but notice the good mood she’s in. I don’t know Keeks very well yet, but I do like that, although she sounds so incredibly formal and stilted, she still has a kindness that pulls you in. I wonder if her students see that in her? Teenagers can be total shits, so I hope they’re not mean to her. Well, they probably are, so let’s hope she has a thick skin around that superpowered brain.

I drop the match heads in the ammonia and cap the bottle off again, giving it a good shake. It will take a few days for the stink to really build up, so I put the bottle in the bottom of my desk and say, “Did something happen to you this weekend?”

“Why? Do I look different?” Keeks asks, a smile still on her face.

“I mean, you’re smiling a lot.”

Stella nods while standing next to me, shoulder to shoulder, studying Keiko. “Yeah, you are smiling a lot.”

“Do you prefer I frown while promenading around with downturned shoulders, martyring the world with idiosyncrasies?”

“No,” Stella says, “but I do want you to give us the scoop about what you did this weekend.”

“Hey . . . Keiko,” a voice calls from my open door. Stella and I both look up to see Kelvin Thimble standing in the doorway, a huge smile on his face as well. “I assume you had a fair day yesterday?”

“Indeed.” Keeks gives him a curt nod. “Rather enjoyable. Thank you, Kelvin.”

“Okay. See you at lunch?”

“Affirmative.” And then Keeks turns toward us, a blush on her face.

When he’s out of earshot, Stella playfully pushes at Keeks’s shoulder. “Oh my God, Keeks, did Kelvin finally make a move?”

“If you’re referring to Kelvin Thimble approaching me with respect and courtesy to join in a courtship with him, then you would be correct.”

“A courtship, how romantic,” I say, bringing my hands to my chest. “What does that entail?”

“Exclusive companionship where we delight in each other’s minds.”