See Me After Class(52)

Arlo: Who told you?

Romeo: Stella. She was hoping I could talk to you and convince you to dress up.

Arlo: What? Why?

Gunner: You’re so oblivious.

Romeo: He really is. Sighs Greer was really excited about getting the entire department to dress up, and the head of the department isn’t going to be involved. Kind of a blow to the tit, you know?

Arlo: She doesn’t care that much. She just suggested the idea to grate on my nerves.

Gunner: You sure about that?

Arlo: Yes. Trust me. Since she arrived at this school, she’s done everything in her power to annoy me. This is another one of those moments.

Romeo: Yeah, I don’t think that’s the case this time. Stella said she was really upset.

Arlo: How do you know Stella wasn’t just saying that? How do I know this isn’t another one of your stupid pranks?

Gunner: I knew that was going to come back and bite us in the ass.

Romeo: I swear, dude. This isn’t one of those moments. I really think she was upset about it.

Arlo: Well . . . then she shouldn’t have suggested it. She knew I wasn’t going to be pleased. Her problem, not mine.

Gunner: Harsh.

Romeo: Some might say cruel.

Arlo: It’s reality. I’m not that kind of teacher, never will be.





“Good morning.”

I look up from my car and catch Greer locking up her Honda. It’s early Thursday morning, the fog still heavy in the air, a crisp reminder that fall is right around the corner.

There are only a few other cars parked in the teachers’ parking lot, one of them being Principal Dewitt’s. She’s always early, but I’ve never seen Greer come in this early.

Shutting my car door, I lock up and say, “Good morning.”

And since we’re going to the same place, we fall in line together, both carrying our bags, a long day of teaching ahead of us.

I haven’t really seen her since Monday, just randomly here and there in the hallway, but I do know she’ll be coming over tomorrow night after practice, because Coraline asked to borrow some money for the book club. I was more than happy to hand her my credit card and told her not to worry about paying me back, but I know she’s been keeping count of every last dime, because that’s the considerate person she is.

But what has put a smile on my face the past few days is how excited Coraline has been about Friday night. She’s put together booklover bags with bookmarks, wine glasses, and bottles of wine for everyone. She also spent time moving around the house, finding the perfect spot to hold the meeting. She ended up sticking with the living room like I suggested. Imagine that.

Besides her running around the house like a madwoman, I have to admit, I’m grateful for it. Seeing that spark in her eye, the excitement—it eases me.

When we reach the entrance of the school, I open the door for Greer and she gives me a small nod before entering. And even though our last conversation was awkward at best, I feel the need to say something to her about Coraline.

“Uh, I wanted to thank you,” I say, feeling uncomfortable.

Greer slows down her pace. “Thank me for what?”

“For, uh, doing this book club thing with my sister. She’s really excited.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. You don’t have to thank me. I like Cora, she’s fun.”

“She is fun. She’s also going through a rough divorce and this book club thing is putting a smile on her face, something I’ve struggled with lately. So, thank you.”

“Like I said, no need to thank me. I like Cora, and I’m excited to get to know her better.” We walk up the stairs to our classrooms, our steps falling in unison, the halls dim and quiet before the crowd of students pour in.

“Why are you here so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d just come in.” We reach her classroom, and she gives me a curt smile. “Have a good day, Arlo.”

And that’s when I notice the bite in her voice and lack of enthusiasm. There’s no sassy schoolteacher trying to tell me how to properly educate my students. There’s no sexified vixen, ready to tease me, tempt me, throw me off my game.

It’s almost as if someone or something has sucked the spirit out of her and left her with minimal personality. My text conversation with Gunner and Romeo floats to the front of my mind. Is she really upset? Am I being an ass and don’t realize how much this actually means to her?

“Are you, uh . . . are you ready for tomorrow?” I ask, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“Of course.” She unlocks her classroom door, and as usual, I’m assaulted by gaudy brightness and blazing color. “If anything, I’m always prepared. Oh, by the way, Blair told me she got her second paper back. A B- is a big jump from an F.”

I shrug. “She earned it. She put in the time, she learned, and she wrote a compelling essay, one I hope to see her improve on throughout the year.”

“Glad to hear it.” She gives me a soft smile and then says, “Well, see you around.” And then she disappears into her classroom.

On a sigh, I let myself into my classroom and take in the drab space, the lack of color and character. It’s cold . . . almost prison-like.

And for the first time since I’ve been a teacher, I wonder . . . is it enough?