Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(7)

Totally f*cked, that’s where.

This game of moral ping-pong continued throughout the weekend. I was thankful my parents had come into town to spend Labor Day weekend with me. Traipsing around Philly to visit all the tourist sites was a welcome distraction. Though I was a little bummed that I had to miss a birthday party for Kate, one of my CrossFit coaches. Amanda had gone, but I still felt bad that I'd missed the celebration. It also would've been an excellent excuse to get wasted and forget all of this nonsense. Plus, I missed out on the drama of Amanda's ex-boyfriend showing up and our CrossFit coach Shane pretending to be her new slam piece. I was shocked to hear he came to her rescue, especially after she called his dog his girlfriend and made oral sex jokes at his expense last week. That girl was truly one of a kind.

Even with all of the running around I did with my parents, the weekend still dragged. But I had to give them credit. They had been surprisingly supportive since my breakup with Adam. I think they knew the toll it had taken on me and decided not to be their usual, overbearing selves. Instead, they had just been there for me. And their effort had brought us closer.

After dropping them at the airport Monday morning, another horrible thought crept into my head: I had to go back to work the next day. It’s not that I minded working. I just liked not working so much more. I wrote lesson plans for the week and created some assignments to get the year rolling. As I looked at the papers spread all over my bed, I glanced down at my phone to check the time. 3:23 PM. My shoulders slumped as I realized a devastating fact: I was a total loser.

And as the word loser flitted around my brain, my focus returned to Max. Not because he was a loser, but because I had lost him. And his friendship. My brain was suddenly rapid-firing emotions and thoughts that made everything simultaneously lucid and confusing. I had hurt Max long before he had hurt me, therefore deserving his day of reckoning in more ways than one. I had broken him. All of this I already knew. But what I hadn’t fully contemplated until now was that cutting off Max had broken a piece of me too. I was never more myself than when I was with him. So maybe, just maybe, this was my chance to not only help heal Max, but to heal myself as well.

***

I woke up Tuesday morning so alert and clear-headed, I didn’t even need my daily jolt of caffeine. Monday's epiphany had already convinced me of the right thing to do, but I had forced myself to sleep on it anyway. I was almost surprised that the night’s restful sleep hadn’t wavered my resolve at all.

But as I drove to work, doubts started creeping in. It would be a tricky path to navigate: getting close to Max again without getting too close. Could we have a regular friendship? Would he be able to keep his womanizing hands to himself? And, most agonizing, would he even want to see me again? I had worked so hard to distance myself from the selfish, immature girl I had been five months ago, but would he even let me get close enough to him to prove it?

More questions like this plagued my thoughts all morning. I tried to make a good first impression and be the attentive teacher my students deserved, but it was a struggle. When third period rolled around, I took a deep breath. One more class and then my free period. I just have to get through forty-five more minutes and then I can call Marjorie.

I had just told my students to open their textbooks to page twenty-five when I heard a knock at my door. I looked over and saw Trish, eyes wide, face flushed. “One second, guys,” I said to the class as I hurried to the door.

Trish stepped back so I could open the door and walk out into the hall. I pushed the door closed behind me, leaving it open just enough that I would hear if the kids starting pummeling each other. “Trish, what’s wrong? You look like you just got caught having sex in the supply room.” Damn, the supply room! Why had I never thought of that? Wait . . . shit . . . focus, Lily. Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as I thought I had.

“I . . . I . . . Oh God, Lily, I’m going to be fired.”

My mind quickly made a list of the things that one would have to do to get fired from here. Trish didn’t look the type to find sixth graders attractive, so that was out. I looked intently at her pupils. No, she definitely wasn’t high, so we were all clear there. There was no blood on her clothes, so she hadn’t murdered anyone. I was stumped. “Trish, slow down. What do you mean you’re going to be fired?”

Trish took a deep breath in an attempt to force down her rising emotions. This chick needs to get it together.

“One of my students told me that I was the worst teacher he’d ever had and that he was going to tell his dad to call the principal and get me fired.” Her eyes began to glisten as she fought back tears.

Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do with this girl? “Why did he say you were the worst teacher?” Maybe this insanely dramatic display was warranted. Maybe she had offered to sell him some meth, or karate chopped him in the throat, or slept with his father. Wow, I probably should’ve left out that last thought.

“I assigned them homework, and he said he wasn't going to do homework on the first day of school. I said that was fine, but then he'd earn a zero for the assignment.” Her lips formed into a pout as she willed back the tears.

I stared at her intently, waiting for her to continue and tell me about the part where she had flipped out on him and called him a little prick or something. But she didn’t say anything else. I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly. “Wait. That’s it?”