See Me After Class(45)

Once they’re out of earshot, I chuckle and shake my head. “Oh God, I love them.”

“They’re so overly polite, it’s hard to listen to,” Stella says, picking up a piece of her calzone. “I can’t believe they went on a date.”

“And he tried to kiss her, and she went into a ten-point list as to why it wasn’t the right time to be sharing a first kiss.”

“I wonder if we should contact her parents somehow and see if she came with a handbook to give to Kelvin.”

I shake my head. “I think Keeks is writing the handbook as she goes. God, I love her. I wish I had the same balls of steel as her, able to tell it like it is.”

“Yeah? Who do you want to knock down with the truth?” Stella dips her calzone into the accompanying marinara sauce.

“No one in particular.” At least that’s what I tell her. “Living your life freely like that must be nice though.”

“True.”

“Hey, ladies,” Gunner says, coming up to our table, Arlo at his side. “How were your calzones?”

Stella turns in her chair. “Watching us eat, Gunner?”

“Everyone was,” he answers. “The calzones smell amazing. I think we were all hoping there would be leftovers.”

“Have you seen Keiko’s appetite after a saucy round of teaching? She’s ravenous. Greer and I are just grateful we were able to get our fair share.”

I glance up and catch Arlo staring at me. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away; instead, I watch his eyes rake me over. I chose a simple blue sundress with yellow polka dots and capped sleeves. I paired it with yellow high heels and a tiny yellow bow tucked into my low bun. Nothing special, but from the dark look in Arlo’s expression, he appreciates the outfit.

Which seems odd to me, because I make sure that my dresses are never revealing, for obvious reasons. I keep the necklines high and the hems longer, over my knees. They do accentuate my waist, but that’s about it.

Men—not sure I’ll ever understand them.

“What did you have for lunch, Arlo?” I ask.

“He always has a steak salad, no dressing, tons of veggies. That’s unless his sister brings something in. He prefers a certain structure in his life, isn’t that right?” Gunner knocks Arlo in the arm, but it doesn’t shift him from looking at me.

“I can answer for myself,” Arlo says.

“Sheesh, no need to get sensitive about it,” Gunner says.

“So, you like routine?” I ask, something clicking in the back of my head.

“Loves it, thrives off it, hates when his routine is thrown off,” Gunner answers again.

I smile. Gunner doesn’t seem to have a clue.

“Ahh, so let’s say a new teacher comes into your life and starts playing loud music in the classroom and disturbing your peace, you’d find that . . . disruptive?”

“Nah, he was just saying—”

Arlo whacks Gunner in the stomach, causing him to buckle over slightly. “Enough, let’s go.”

They start to walk away, and I call out, “Wait, what were you just saying?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Arlo says, retreating with Gunner.

Once they’re gone, Stella picks up another piece of calzone and says, “I bet it had a lot to do with you.”

“I think so too,” I say, staring at the door. I just don’t know what to do with that information.





“That’s a great idea,” Evelyn Barney, one of our ninth grade English teachers, says. “It’ll be fun for the students and bring more life to the curriculum.”

Arlo sits on the edge of his desk, nose pinched, head tilted down, clearly in distress . . . from me.

Once a month, we have a department meeting to go over our curriculum, where our students are tracking, and suggest any new ideas we might have to help liven up the classrooms. The last part is courtesy of Principal Dewitt, not Arlo. If it were up to him, we’d all be teaching a strict regimen of stuffy literature with accompanying papers.

“We are not dressing up as literary characters,” Arlo says, lifting his head, obviously exasperated.

“Why not?” I ask. “The students will love it, and hey, you could dress up as Jay Gatsby. All your dreams will come true.”

He flashes his scowl at me. “There’s no point in dressing up as a literary character other than to make a mockery of ourselves.”

“I disagree.” Turning toward our colleagues, I say, “All in favor of dressing up next Friday, please raise your hands.” Everyone raises their hand except Arlo. “Then it’s settled. We’re dressing up.” I pound my fist on my desk. “Meeting adjourned.” I stand from my desk and so does everyone else.

Arlo stands tall and calls out, “Meeting is not—”

“I have kids to feed, Turner,” Evelyn says. “Can’t be here all night. Greer, will you send us the details and requirements for dressing up?”

“I’d be delighted.” I smile. “What’s for dinner?”

“At this point, beanies and weenies.”

“Oh, that’s . . . uh, yummy.” I give her a wave, feeling a little sorry for her kids. “Goodnight.”