See Me After Class(9)

“Grease that’s probably been reused for months on end.”

“Well, good on them.” She takes another bite. “They’ve found the hidden secret to a hangover cure.” She leans back into her seat, and says, “Bitching party last night, bro.”

“Glad you evicted yourself from your room long enough to enjoy it.”

“Are you calling me a hermit?” She licks her fingers.

After turning right, headed toward the mall, I say, “You haven’t been social.”

“Not much to talk about.”

And that right there is why I hate my shit-for-brains ex-brother-in-law. What he did to Cora . . . It burns me watching her act reserved. She’s . . . shuttered now. I hate it.

“It’s not healthy to hold everything in.”

“This coming from the man who’s harboring feelings for the newest addition to the faculty.”

I stop at a stop sign and turn toward her. “Where the hell did you—” Fucking Gunner. They were hanging out last night. “Don’t listen to a goddamn thing Gunner says.”

“It was actually Romeo.” She chuckles.

“Don’t listen to either of them. And don’t hang out with them. They’re idiots.”

“You hang out with them.”

“Because they’re my only option.”

“Doesn’t say much about you if your only options for friends are idiots.”

Sighing in frustration, I say, “Just don’t listen to anything they say.”

“Why? Because it’s true?” She crumples up her hash brown wrapper and sticks it in the bag.

“It’s not fucking true.”

“Okay, whatever you say, bro.” She picks up her orange juice and takes a large sip. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s really hot.”

Christ.

“From the grip you have on the steering wheel, I’m going to guess you don’t want to talk about that though.”

“I don’t.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Because she’s inconsequential.”

“Ooo, boy, don’t say that to her face.” Cora shakes her head. “That would be a blow to the old self-esteem. That’s something one of those alpha asshole bosses would say.” In a hoity voice, Cora repeats, “She’s inconsequential.” Shaking her head, she adds, “Does everyone at school know what a tightwad you are?”

“Yes.”

“Good . . . at least everyone is aware.”

“I’m an educator, I’m not there to make friends, Coraline.”

“Clearly,” she says sarcastically. “Gunner said this new teacher teaches English as well. Does that mean you guys have to work closely together?”

“No.”

“Shame. She seems like your type.”

“A lush who gets drunk at work events seems like my type?”

Coraline laughs. “If you don’t want people getting drunk, don’t serve them champagne that tastes like juice. But Greer, she has that whole ombre look with her hair, long legs, pretty lips. Feisty. I could see her giving you a run for your money and you enjoying it.”

“I would not,” I answer, pulling into the mall parking lot. “Now drop it.”

Coraline laughs some more. “Sure, Arlo. I’ll drop it . . . for now.”

Great. On a deep exhale, I exit the car and wait for Coraline to join me before I lock up. Looking up toward the blue sky, I realize this might be the first time I’m not excited about the first day of school, and it has everything to do with the girl everyone keeps bothering me about.

It’s not that I don’t like her. I barely know anything about her.

But what I do know . . .

Now that’s what’s going to drive me fucking crazy. It’s why I’ll be cold and dismissive.

A turd nugget.





Nose pinched, I bow my head, trying to keep my composure.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Do not lose your shit in front of your students.

From the other side of my classroom wall—for the third time today—comes the distinct sound of at least twenty desks being pounded on, followed by a clap as “We Will Rock You” by Queen blares through a bass-filled Bluetooth speaker.

And when the chorus chimes in . . .

For the love of God, I’m going to fucking lose it.

“We will . . . we will . . . rock books.”

Boom. Boom. Clap.

“Mr. Turner,” Jeremy Whitehead says while raising his hand. “It’s hard for me to focus on these chapters with that music.”

“I’m aware, Jeremy,” I say, unfolding my arms and pushing off my desk. I glance at the clock on the wall and note we have five minutes left in class. Typically, I’d force my students to read until the end of class and pack up when the bell rings, but given the circumstances . . . “You can pack up. Remember the first three chapters must be read by tomorrow. There will be a quiz. If you’re in my class, you know we work hard, so be prepared to put in the time.”

I round my desk and make a show of writing something on a notepad, when in reality, I’m counting down the minutes in my head before I can march next door and put an end to this godforsaken calamity.