What He Left Behind(23)

Sometimes during the summer, we’ll pass around a joint, but only when Ian’s off school for a few months. Michael’s boss doesn’t care—she smokes too—and mine hasn’t given a drug test to anyone but a new hire in years. The school district isn’t so tolerant, though, so between September and June, we just crack open a bottle of wine and relax before the work week starts.

Tonight, however, is the first Sunday since this whole thing started with Michael, and it’s the first time I’ve been nervous about getting into the hot tub with the two of them. Sitting between them as Ian fills all our glasses, I follow their lead. As long as they’re comfortable and acting like everything’s normal—as normal as they can be, I guess—then I’ll assume everything is normal and act accordingly too.

While Ian’s turned away to put the wine bottle on the little table beyond the tub’s edge, Michael glances at me, eyebrows up.

Is this weird? his eyes seem to ask.

Maybe. But—I raise my glass—we have wine.

His brow pinches for a second, but then he chuckles and raises his glass too, so hopefully the message made it across.

Oblivious to our silent exchange, Ian turns around again. “To the start of another week of being gainfully employed.”

“Cheers,” Michael says, chuckling.

We carefully clink our glasses together—the last thing we need is for a sliver to break off and fall in the water—and settle back against the sides.

Next to me, Ian sinks down into the water until his chin is touching the surface, and closes his eyes. “Ugh. Is the school year over yet?”

“That bad?” Michael asks.

“Worse.” Ian stares up at the top of the gazebo. “I swear to God, if I get one more parent asking why their kid is failing, as if I’m the problem…”

“Jesus,” Michael mutters into his glass.

Ian lifts himself up and takes a sip, then sinks down again. “And they wonder why half the faculty smokes.”

“Wait, they know about that?”

Ian swirls his wine slowly. “Of course they do. It’s the parents we’re hiding it from.”

Michael laughs. “Okay, that makes sense.”

“Yeah, most of the powers that be just ignore it as long as we don’t show up at school smelling like it. Or obviously stoned.”

“Or share it with the kids,” I add.

Ian snorts. “Or buy it from them.”

Michael nearly spits out his wine. “Please tell me no one’s done that.”

“Which part?” Ian asks. “Coming to school stoned, sharing it with the kids or buying it from them?”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “Uh, any of the above?”

Ian purses his lips. “Well, rumor has it some kids stole the gym teacher’s stash, and when they got caught, they ratted him out.”

“Did he get canned?”

“Not after he threatened to pay his dealer to produce a list of everyone who bought from her.” Ian laughs into his glass. “The whole thing disappeared pretty quickly after that.”

Michael whistles. “Wow, I didn’t realize pot was such a hot commodity.”

“At a school where we’re trying to educate the children of entitled rich f*cks who believe grades are given, not earned?” Ian raises his glass in a mock toast. “You’re damn right it’s a hot commodity.”

“Huh. Yeah. I guess I can see that.” Michael takes a sip. “I’m sure there are worse ways to cope.”

“There are. And believe me—people do those too.” Ian scowls. “Last year, two teachers at another school were busted buying Adderall off the kids. You know it’s getting bad when the kids and teachers need the same drugs to function.”

“Ugh,” Michael says. “That’s just sad.”

Ian and I both nod. We’ve had many, many conversations about the teachers and students alike being driven to desperate measures, or out of school entirely. If Ian didn’t enjoy working with the kids so much, he’d have walked out and gotten a job at Radio Shack or something just to keep his sanity. But he loves what he does, so he grinds his teeth through meetings with parents, indulges in some wine on the weekends and then loses himself in a little bit of weed over the summer.

The mood in the hot tub threatens to get depressing, but Rosie picks that exact moment to climb up the side of the gazebo. Though she does it every single time we’re out here, she still startles the hell out of all three of us.

Indifferently, Rosie wanders along the side, safely on the wood, and stops beside Michael. She bumps her head against his, and he reaches up to scratch her chin. As he does, she puts her front paws on the slippery edge and leans toward him, balancing precariously.

Ian gives an exasperated sigh. “You know, cat, one of these days, your dumb ass is going to fall into this tub.”

Michael shoots him a good-natured glare. “And you’ll laugh your head off, won’t you?”

“Well, you have to admit,” Ian says, bringing his glass up to his lips, “it would be funny.”

“Aww, no it wouldn’t.” Michael strokes her back with a wet hand, leaving her coat soaked. “He’s so mean to you.”

“Uh-huh.” I laugh. “Says the man who thinks it’s hilarious to pet her like that so she’ll go dry off on our furniture.”