See Me After Class(36)

Wearing a pair of leggings and a long sleeve T-shirt, her hair braided into two tight French braids, she locks eyes with me and . . . oh shit is right.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead and buried six feet under with that one glance.

But because I don’t tend to show emotion outwardly, I keep calm as she approaches me, guns blazing.

“I need to talk to you, in private.”

“Ooo, someone is in trouble,” Romeo sing-songs, and I glance over Greer’s shoulder to flash him a withering look. He shuts up quickly.

“Do you truly believe this is the time to air whatever childish grievances you might be harboring, Miss Gibson?”

“Oh, the condescending tone isn’t going to get him anywhere,” Coraline says, lining up with the boys, bowl of chips in hand, watching us carefully as if we’re a movie playing out in front of her.

“Terrible move on his end, but then again, he doesn’t have a knack for diffusing a situation. Let’s see how this plays out,” Gunner whispers, grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them in his mouth.

Standing tall, Greer slaps a paper on my chest and says, “We need to talk. Now.”

Not moving, I say, “Try that request again, but without the demand in your voice. You catch more flies with honey, Miss Gibson.”

Her eyes flame, nostrils flair, and fuck, it feels good to be on this side of her pissed off.

“Uh, is anyone else fearing for their lives?” Romeo asks.

“You know, my balls aren’t feeling safe right now and I’m not the one she’s mad at.”

“Is it weird that I’m oddly turned on by this entire interaction?” Coraline asks.

“Yeah, because it’s your brother,” Romeo says. “But, hell, I think I might be turned on too.”

“Will you please shut up?” Greer says, whipping around to them. All their eyes widen as they take a step back.

Maybe it’s time to take this elsewhere.

Stepping to the side, I walk past her and toward my office.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she yells at me.

“To my office. I’d rather not be mindlessly badgered in front of an audience.”

“Dude, watch it. I think she has the ability to cut you down with one roundhouse kick. Stella said she’s feisty,” Romeo calls out as I disappear down the hall and toward my office.

Calling out to Coraline, I ask, “Please make sure when the others arrive they’re directed to get some food and then head out back.”

Greer stomps behind me and just as I turn to shut the door to my office, she slips in. Casually, I go to my desk and sit on the front.

“Care to explain to me why you’re yelling at me in my own house?”

She holds up the paper again. “This is why.” She tosses the plastic-covered paper with a giant F circled on the front onto the desk. She then folds her arms over her chest and asks, “Care to explain why you took your anger with me out on one of my athletes?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Blair Venezuela. She’s my setter and she brought this paper to me. You failed her.”

I glance at the paper, immediately remembering what was so awful about it. “Very good, Miss Gibson, you understand what an F means. Now if that’s all, I’d like to get back to my guests.”

“Do not play that asshole game with me. You’re failing her because of what I did to you.”

“As much as I’d love to play into your self-absorbed thoughts, that isn’t the case here.”

She points at the paper and says, “I read through it. Yes, there were some grammar errors and some misguided thoughts, but it didn’t warrant a failing grade.”

“Maybe not in your eyes, Miss Gibson, but I’m not seeking out mediocrity. I demand excellence, and this paper missed the mark. It was mindless drivel, random thoughts, and nothing cohesive that actually explains the symbolism in the book. It was as if she was paraphrasing what her friend wrote. Which is exactly what she did.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you. Did you read Sonia’s paper? Because Blair’s is a misguided version of it. Now, why don’t you stick to your musical chairs classroom where nursery rhymes are taught to understand the intricacies of a well-written novel, and I’ll stick to my classroom where higher education isn’t only demanded, but expected.”

I stand from my desk and start to walk past her when she cuts me off, her body moving into my direct path to the door.

“It was not a failing paper, Arlo,” she says through clenched teeth.

“It wasn’t a pass. If you don’t believe me, then I’ll be happy to expose you to a passing paper, one that actually has great thought put into it, not ramblings built from Internet searches.”

“You’re going to mess with her life.”

“Are you suggesting I give her a free pass?” I shake my head, closing what little space we have between us. “She’s attending UCLA next year. You’re aware of their academic excellence. Why would you want to provide her with a shortcut?”

“I don’t want to provide her with a shortcut, Arlo.” She sticks her chin up, her eyes trained on mine as she speaks. “I don’t want you picking on her because she’s my athlete.”