Misconduct(63)

“It was decades,” I shot out, knowing I was close to overstepping my bounds. One of the first things you learn about classroom management is to never call out a student in front of the class.

But I needed a reaction out of him. I needed him to do something. To say something.

“Is that fast or steady, Christian? What do you think?”

“It’s all about perspective, I guess!” he barked. “Humans are, like, two hundred thousand years old, so yeah, a lot of advancement in only a few decades would be fast,” he argued. “Some civilizations in history barely made any progress in generations, while others a lot. Everyone’s frame of reference is different!”

I held his angry blue-gray eyes – the same as his father’s – and elation flooded my chest. I let out a breath and gave him a small smile, nodding.

“That’s a good point,” I told him, and then turned around to walk away.

“But then it may not be fast, either,” he continued, and I stopped.

Spinning around, I watched as he crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up, more confident.

“I would say the past two decades have seen even more advancement in manufacturing and technology than during the Industrial Revolution,” he debated. “The phones, the iPads, automobiles, the Mars rover…” He trailed off. “It’s about perspective.”

It felt like those moments when you get exactly what you want and then you don’t know what to do with what you got.

I stood there, wondering what the good teachers do when a student opens up, and I was clueless. Christian Marek was an angry kid. He was difficult and defiant and so like his father and yet so different. Whereas I gathered Tyler always felt he had something to prove, Christian seemed like someone who never needed to prove anything to anyone.

“So was it fast or steady?” a student called out to my left.

I bowed my head, smiling as I turned around and walked to the front of the classroom.

I cleared my throat. “You’re not being graded on what you think,” I told the class. “You’re being graded on why you think it. Defend your answers.”

I turned off the Smart Board and placed my hands on my hips.

“Complete your T-chart with the pros and cons of the impact on life by the inventions of the Industrial Revolution. Then tweet what you learned today – hashtag Bradbury2015 – and then you may get online and start adding primary sources to your folder for the Deep South project,” I instructed.

I turned, grabbing a dry-erase marker, and finished adding points for the class.

“Aw, yeah!” I heard Marcus bellow when he saw the points I added to Team One. “We got fifty points. Good job, Marek!!”

Team One clapped, celebrating their success and the final point Christian had earned for them, bringing them to a total of fifty before all the other teams.

“So we get Song of the Week, right?” Marcus asked, already working his laptop to find his song, no doubt.

“Yes.” I nodded. “You have five minutes.”

“It’s my choice, everyone!” he shouted, clicking his computer and standing up as the song began playing.

The entire class stopped what they were doing and joined in the fun as the song came out louder and louder from Marcus’s computer. Soon there were hands in the air, voices singing along, and people standing up at their desks, moving to the music.

I laughed at the sight, loving the amount of work they put in to succeed just so they could have these five minutes as often as possible. Even Christian was laughing as he watched others dance to the music.

And then my face fell and I sucked in a breath as I finally realized what song was playing, Afroman’s “Because I Got High.”

“Wait!” I blurted out. “That song has profanity.”

Marcus jerked his shoulders in moves probably only he thought were cool.

“How would you know, Ms. Bradbury?” he singsonged.

And I just planted my face in my hands as the entire class joined in on the chorus so loudly the entire school probably heard.





SIXTEEN


TYLER





T

wo days later and I was still thinking about her. What the hell was wrong with me? The luncheon was the day after tomorrow, and I couldn’t wait. I hoped she wasn’t going to chicken out, because it would throw off my entire f*cking day.

I pulled back the pen, noticing I’d been retracing notes I’d already made as I sat at the head of the conference table, vaguely aware of Stevenson, one of my vice presidents, updating everyone on distribution figures from the last quarter.

I wasn’t even listening.

Every time I sat still, my head would drift back to her. Her body, her lips, her hunger… She was driving me crazy, and I knew right then and there that I hadn’t lied to her.

I might actually have a crush.

And I dropped the pen to the table, knowing that was the last thing I needed.

Easton Bradbury was beautiful, educated, and strong. She was built for challenges. But she was also complicated, difficult, and moody. She wouldn’t make friends easily.

Even if she weren’t my son’s teacher – even if I weren’t about to enter a campaign, knowing that going public with a love interest could put me further under the microscope – Easton could still f*ck me up.