Not Yet (15 page)

Thoughts about Landon consumed me. We had never said
I love you. We had made no formal commitment to each other. We were
just having a good time. Right? I wiped my eyes, picturing his
sweet smile and sexy embraces. I would miss my summer love.

I knew that lesson all too well.

***

JULIE WAS VERY apologetic. There was no way
around it. I had to follow the previous teacher’s schedule. I would
be teaching freshmen US History and seniors’ Economics. Seniors. As
in, kids that could be only three years younger than me. That
scared the bejesus out of me. I was essentially fresh meat being
thrown to these lions.

There was so much to do. Mountains of paperwork,
books to catalog, lessons to plan, and I was drowning in the work.
I ended up staying late each night, and Mom would drop off dinner
for Evie and me before she left for work.

Evie helped me with some light organizing, and my mom
got a chance to meet Principal Mahoney and Julie. My favorite
colleague was the young history teacher across the hall. Samantha
Stone was a petite red head with freckles and a loud voice. She was
newly pregnant and married to the football coach. She stopped in
whenever she could with tips, pep talks, and jokes. There was pure
positive energy around her, and I knew I had found a friend and an
ally.

The night before the first day of school, I was sick
with worry. Freaking out about my first day of teaching and also
missing Landon so much I ached. I didn’t want things to end with
him—I thought I was falling in love with him. But I was scared out
of my mind. What if I were to ask for a committed relationship
while he was away and he said no? It would completely break my
heart. I didn’t know what to do or how to proceed, and it was
driving me crazy. God, I needed to meditate or take a Valium or
some shit.

I decided to text him. He wouldn’t be able to respond
until he was back in Indiana tomorrow, but I needed him to know my
big news. I wanted it to be the first thing he saw when he turned
on his phone. Plus, I needed the calming reassurance of seeing his
name on my screen and his contact picture smiling at me.

Hey you. Miss you tons. I got a job!!!!

Call when you can.

Feeling somewhat more settled now that I knew he
would know my news as soon as he could, I decided to focus on the
pressing issue of what I would wear for my first day of real
employment.

I tried on different outfits. First up was the suit
that Mom had bought me for interviews. It was a conservative navy
blue blazer with a matching skirt. I wore it with a slim button
down white shirt. Slipping on high heels, I looked at myself in the
full-length mirror.
Christ almighty
. I looked like a
ten-year-old playing dress up in her mom’s clothes. The suit was
too big, and I would be a joke wearing this in the hallways of the
high school tomorrow. Teachers didn’t wear suits to school. Not
unless they were trying to look important when they really
weren’t.

I took off the blazer and stood in the white shirt
and blue skirt. Maybe if I added a scarf? I tied a blue and white
chevron silk scarf around my neck and looked again.
Lord help
me
. Why didn’t I just grab a floatation device and explain to
the aircraft passengers where the closest exits were located in
case of an emergency landing?

Sinking onto the bed, I rested my face in my hands. I
couldn’t pretend to be older by dressing formally. I needed to be
confident in myself in the classroom tomorrow. I ended up choosing
slim fitting black pants that hit above my ankle. I would wear
sandals with heels to add height and hopefully some semblance of
authority to my presence. I choose a flowing silk tank that hid my
boobs and hoped for the best.

My old jalopy of a car rambled into the faculty
parking lot the next morning. I grabbed my leather messenger bag
and travel mug of coffee and walked in the main doors of Zionsville
Academy. My stomach rolled with nerves. I was going to puke.
Checking in at the main office, I noted my presence was completely
ignored. What was I expecting, fanfare? This was the first day of
school, and the place was swamped with kids with scheduling
questions and general gripes about anything they could think of to
get some attention, or, better yet, to lessen their work load. I
was no one important—even my mailbox was empty—but, hey, at least I
had a mailbox with my name on it. Partially deflated and partially
exhilarated, I headed to my classroom.

As I walked past the excited groups of students, I
still couldn’t quite grasp I was their teacher. It seemed like
yesterday that I met my friends on the first day and watched the
new, young teachers enter their classrooms, wondering whether they
could handle the pressure. Now, they were watching me, probably
wondering the same thing.

That made two of us.

I turned on the lights to my classroom and looked
around. My desk was set up in the corner with lesson plans and
handouts organized. Bulletin boards with inspirational and
historical quotes hung on the walls, and desks were shaped into
perfect, neat rows. I was ready. My phone pinged with a text and I
grinned. Landon.

Congrats, short stuff! Can’t wait to hear all
about it. I’ll be at your place at 5:00. I need to talk to you
about something
.

Frowning at the last sentence, my stomach dropped. I
had a bad feeling that I couldn’t shake. Maybe this was it? What I
had worried about all along. Maybe he talked to his buddies this
past week and they convinced him to cut ties with the old ball and
chain before school began. I would be understanding. It would kill
me, but I would let him go if that’s what he wanted. The first bell
rang, and I hid my phone in my desk.

Sam came to give me a thumbs up before my first
class, and I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants. My day started with
honors US history and I was excited to begin. My class of freshmen
seemed just as nervous as I was. They were sweet, smart kids, and I
loved my time with them.

The bell rang at the end of the period, and
adrenaline rushed through me. I did it. Maybe I could really make
it through the day. Second period was a planning period. I headed
to the faculty lounge down the hall for some more coffee. I walked
in, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room.

It was appalling. I didn’t know what I expected, but
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this was bad. The cinder block room was
painted a dark orange and was lit by dingy brass lamps that I was
pretty sure belonged to my great-grandmother. The furniture was
straight out of the 1970’s, with rough orange sofas and plastic
chairs that were too old-fashioned for even our classrooms. I guess
I hoped I would find an oasis from stress, but the only good things
I saw were a working copier and a semi-fresh pot of coffee. With
powdered creamer and imitation sweetener. This was
unacceptable.

Even worse than the paltry accommodations was the
dinosaur that lurked within. I was immediately greeted with a
gruff, “What are you doing here?”

An older man with a full white beard was standing at
the copier, watching me with a scowl.

“Um, I was just getting some coffee,” I said
meagerly. I might’ve been a college graduate and a teacher, but
this man was still able to scare the crap out of me. I wasn’t sure
what his problem was with me. But perhaps he was also angered by
these surroundings and what smelled to be clearly burnt coffee?

“This is a faculty lounge! Students are not allowed
in here!” The man, who I now remembered was an ancient, ancient
math teacher, put his hands on his hips with irritation.

“Sir, I’m Emma Harris. I’m the new history teacher,”
I said politely but with some indignation. Shaking hands with Ted
Francetti, he sheepishly apologized.

On the walk back to my classroom, I recognized that
this would not be the first time I was mistaken for a student here.
It would probably be a good idea to keep my faculty badge on at all
times.

Third period was my first senior economics class. My
nerves soared again. My back was to the class as the seniors
noisily filed in and took their seats. I hadn’t made a seating
chart yet. Student teaching taught me that it was best to wait and
see who the trouble makers were and then separate them. The bell
rang and I turned around to introduce myself to the class.

A few whistles and cheers came from the back, and I
scanned the room to see who was making the noise. A group of guys
were sitting in the back row. The noisy one, a tall blond who
looked like a surfer, waved to me. My brow furrowed as I took in
the boys next to him. There was a shorter, stocky Latino guy, a
thin lanky guy with a crew cut, and… no. NO. No no no no no. Landon
Washington.
Sonofamotherfuckingbitch!

My hand covered my mouth as his eyes widened. I had
to give him credit. He kept it together. It looked like he didn’t
move a muscle when he saw me. He stayed completely still and calm.
I saw his only tell, the muscle in his jaw clenching, and I knew he
was holding back. I continued staring, conscious now of the other
student’s whispers, and forced myself to clamp my gaping mouth
shut. Finally, he gave me an embarrassed shrug. I turned around,
vomit rising in my throat.
Shit. Fuck. Shitfuckfuck
.

My heart was racing. Was I having a panic attack or a
heart attack? Was this really happening? Was the guy I had
licked
this summer sitting in my classroom? Was my life
always destined to be this
fucked up
? The sweat began
pouring off of me, and I thought I saw stars. Dear Lord above, do
NOT let me pass out right now. I would never live that one
down.

No. No, I couldn’t let this happen. My family needed
this job. I had to suck it up. I gathered my stack of syllabi and
took a deep breath before turning around.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are we scaring you?” The blond
surfer type yelled from the back with a grin.

“Shut it, Dean.” Landon snapped, while remaining in
his relaxed position.

“Good morning, class.” My voice was shaky, but I grew
up with a sibling with special needs who had a distinct appearance.
This wasn’t the first time in my life I had been stared at,
heckled, and studied for a reaction. I could get through it. I
introduced myself and gave an overview of the class.

I used the whiteboard to display my Power Point notes
and focused on getting through my planned lesson with no emotion
and without ever looking back at Landon
mother-fucking-lying-bitch-no-balls
Washington.
Bitter
? I
obviously
never heard of the word.

Dean and his gang whispered loudly and laughed in the
back. Dean? Oh my God, I’d heard that name before. Landon’s best
friend. The one that was like his brother. Lord only knew what Dean
had heard about me all summer. I had to shut this down
immediately.

“Can I help you all with something?” I used my
strongest tone, still knowing that I sounded like a kid to
them.

“Oh, you can help me with anything you want, Ms.
Harris.” Dean smiled and leaned forward in his chair. I looked at
my roster, which had only last names and first initials.

“Mr……”

“—Goldsmith. Dean Goldsmith. Don’t forget it. You’ll
be screaming that name out before you know it.” His clever
harassment caused the class to erupt in laughter and cheers.

I walked over to his desk with my arms crossed. “You
will respect me in this classroom, Mr. Goldsmith. If you do not, I
will follow through with the discipline plan in my syllabus.”

Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I love to
be disciplined, Ms. Harris. I don’t mind being hit with a ruler,
spanked… you name it.” He was testing me, seeing how far he could
push me on my first day. Wanting me to break or cry. I would never
give the little prick the pleasure.