“I know, right? And he’s only seven!”
“That really is brilliant,” she murmurs, sounding lost in thought.
“It’s genius! And his writing – spelling, grammar, punctuation – it’s incredible, especially seeing that it’s not his first language.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Besides give him a big fat A? I’m going to speak to Bianca. I told you I majored in English literature, right?” I don’t wait for her confirmation, “well, anyway, I took a bunch of creative writing courses on the side, and I really think this kid has serious talent. Who knows, he might even find it a creative outlet for all that pent-up anger he’s holding on to.”
Kate is silent a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle. “Are you sure you’re not blowing this out of proportion? I know you’ve got a soft spot for him.”
That takes me by surprise. “No, I don’t.”
Her soft laughter tinkles through the phone. “Amber, Wei has been in trouble more times than I can count. Not a week goes by at school that someone isn’t lodging a complaint about him, but other than that first day, you haven’t spoken a bad word about him. Teachers bitch,” she adds, “it’s what we do.”
“I’m not really a teacher,” I remind her. “I don’t know how it works.”
“Bullshit. You’re a fantastic teacher. You even have a soft spot for the troubled ones.”
I think long and hard after we hang up. I can’t deny that when Kate had called me a fantastic teacher, I’d felt a surge of pride so intense it made my chest hurt. I’ve only been doing this job a few weeks, but I already feel like it’s what I was meant to do. For the first time in my life, I have a sense of purpose, and a feeling of complete responsibility. These twelve children are on my watch, and I find, to my utmost surprise, that I really don’t want to let the little shits down.
I’m in such a euphoric mood that when Kent texts me in the middle of the night, oblivious or uncaring of the time difference, to confirm dinner on Wednesday night, and instructing me to dress up, not down, I send him a hug emoji without even thinking.
10
Mandy is back at work the following morning, looking more like her old self, if a little pale. Her sandy hair is pulled back into a messy bun, but her hazel eyes are on full display - no dark glasses in sight.
“I swear I’ve lost about five pounds,” she tells us, looking thrilled.
“And all of it ego,” Kate teases.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I’ve got to run, I want to catch Bianca before the bell. We’ll catch up at lunch?”
“Why are you going to the principal’s office?” Mandy asks. “Did I miss something? Did something happen?”
“Nothing to worry about,” I say, already halfway out the door. “Kate can fill you in. See you later!”
Bianca is sitting at her desk, intent on her computer. When she spots me over the top of the screen, she waves me in.
“Amber! What brings you to my door so early?”
“I wanted to catch you before class,” I explain, hurrying over to sit opposite her. “It’s about Wei Li.”
Her face falls. “Please don’t tell me I’ll be dealing with Shonda Martin today. I’m neck-deep in budget reviews, and I don’t think I have the energy.”
“No,” I smile. “There will be zero difficult parents on the agenda today. In fact, this is good news.” I slide Wei’s story across the desk toward her. She arches a perfect black brow.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words ‘Wei’ and ‘good’ mentioned in a single conversation before.” She picks up the sheet of paper. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s a task I set for the children yesterday. I asked them to write a fairy tale, after reading one to them.”
“Nice,” she murmurs approvingly, while her eyes scan the page. She’s referring to the task, not Wei’s work.
“Thanks,” I murmur, and then I hold my breath. Bianca’s reaction is not quite as enthusiastic as mine, had been, but her lips curve upward as she scans the page again.
“He’s a very smart little boy,” she finally acknowledges, passing it back to me. I feel oddly deflated. It’s a positive response, but not the one I was expecting. I try to remember that Bianca’s been doing this a lot longer than I have, she’s probably seen her share of talent over the years.
“It’s fantastic,” I say, my confidence draining by the second.
“Indeed. What I’m wondering though, is why you’ve brought it to me?”
“I…” I trail off, not sure what to say.
“You can speak freely, Amber.”
“Well, it’s just that he’s obviously talented, and I think with a bit of encouragement and some work, he could really excel in class – not just at English, but in general.”
Now her smile blazes.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m impressed. I knew Wei was something special within a week of him starting here, but unfortunately, as principal, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Not without a teacher who was prepared to invest in him. And, as I’m sure you know, none have been particularly fond of the boy. I have been waiting for two years for someone to recognize his potential. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d tell me.”
She smiles, leans forward over her desk and clasps her hands together.
“If you’re up to it, I’d like to speak to his parents about private tutoring. Possibly enrolling him in a new school – one for children who might match his intellectual level. Wei needs to be challenged,” she adds quickly, catching sight of my crestfallen face. “There is no doubt that he’s a bright boy, but if I were to hazard a guess, he is also borderline autistic. Being bored and completely understimulated isn’t a healthy environment, but unfortunately, his parents refuse to acknowledge it.”
“You want me to encourage them to move him?”
“Right now, I just want you to give him something he hasn’t had before. A chance.”
“If I agree,” I say slowly, my mind racing, “would his parents even consent to me working privately with him?”
“It would mean his school hours would be extended, twice a week. Yours too,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “It would mean less time they’d have to worry about actually parenting. I’m quite certain they wouldn’t have an issue with it.” Her tone is acid, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of just how much she dislikes Wei’s parents.
“Ultimately, though, you want him to move schools?”
She smiles at that. “I don’t want Wei moved because he’s a nuisance,” she says firmly. “I want him moved because it would be the best thing for him. Quite frankly, he deserves better.”
By Wednesday afternoon, Bianca still hasn’t confirmed whether Wei’s parents have agreed to extra tutoring or not, and I’m grateful for the distraction of dinner with Kent. I’m also absurdly excited to see him. I may be settling in well to my new life, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss home. I’d prefer my mom, but in her absence, I’m quite happy to take Kent instead. I’m also not so changed that I’m not thrilled at the prospect of dressing up.
I rummage through my closet, ignoring the more conservative outfits that have come to the fore as suitable work attire, and pull out one of my staple favorites – a simple, fitting black dress with a neckline high enough for anyone born after 1960, and low enough that Kent is bound to disapprove. I slip on a pair of strappy black heels, which were once my favorite pair, and find them oddly uncomfortable. At least my legs look good, thanks to weeks of running, and living off rice and vegetables. My mouth salivates at the thought of a rare steak dripping in garlic butter.
By six, I’m dressed and ready, with an hour to spare, so I send Kent a text to tell him I’ll meet him at his hotel. Of course, he’s 5-star accommodated over at The Ritz-Carlton.
The cab ride is only a few m
inutes, but as early as I am, I still find Kent waiting at the downstairs bar, his broad-shouldered back to me.
“I hope I’m at least getting a bottle of Moët for putting on these heels,” I tease before he sees me.
“I thought you preferred tequila straight from the bottle,” he replies easily as he turns around. His eyes drop to my chest, then keep going, taking in every inch of the dress before they rise to meet mine. His lips twitch upward in approval. “You look good.” He puts a warm hand to my cheek and brushes his thumb below my eye. “The shadows are gone. You must be getting more sleep these days.” The gesture is platonic, but it leaves a trail of fire across my cheek.
“I’m the poster girl for morals and virtue,” I say, trying to keep my tone light as I duck away from his hand.
“No Moët,” he says, turning back to the bar. “The last time we drank it together, you broke three bones.”
In our senior year of high school, unbeknownst to my parents who had taken a short trip abroad, Kent and I had successfully pulled off the party of the summer. We’d managed to smuggle in copious amounts of alcohol, mostly beer, but Kent had (and I’m still not sure how he did it) managed to secure four bottles of Moët & Chandon. We’d shared the beer. The champagne, we’d kept to ourselves.
By the end of the night, I was dancing on the table, barefoot, with Kent on the floor beside me, mimicking my moves. I still don’t know how I slipped, but I’d ended up in a heap on the floor. Mortified, I’d stumbled to my feet, only to find, as I attempted a dignified walk away, I couldn’t put an ounce of weight on my left foot.
“It’s fine, it’s only a sprain,” I’d argued when Kent insisted on taking me to the emergency room. Two days later, the swelling had reached epic proportions, and the pain was so bad I could barely move my leg without crying out. Kent had bravely confided in his mother, and Janine had taken the two of us to the hospital, with a dire warning that my parents would be hearing about the party. The X-rays showed I’d broken three bones.
I’d been on crutches for twelve weeks. Worse, the boot I’d had to wear resulted in the most horrendous suntan, which Kent had ridiculed the rest of the summer.
“Where did you get that Moët?” I ask him now. He’d never told me.
“I bought it. Well, I got Alan Kirby’s older brother to buy it. I blew my entire savings on that champagne.”
“Why? We had enough beer that night to start our own pub.”
He shrugs. “You said you’d always wanted to try it.”
I lift my head in surprise.
“What, you don’t remember?”
“I do. It’s just… well, it’s hard to remember that you used to do things like that for me. We’re so different now.”
“We grew up.”
I throw him a wry look. “Well, you did.”
“You look pretty grown up right now,” he says, and then a devilish glint comes into his eyes. “Ah, screw it. Let’s get the Moët.”
“Kent James! I’m shocked. Look at you, living on the edge.”
Kent orders a bottle to be sent to our table and we make our way through the crowded restaurant to be seated.
“What are you going to do if I break a bone?” I ask as the waiter pours us each a glass. It’s ice cold and delicious, and the bubbles tickle my nose when I take my first sip.
“I’ll drive you to the emergency room. I won’t even need to call my mom in for back-up.”
“So grown up.” I laugh.
Kent picks up his menu. “What are you having?”
“Steak. Definitely steak.”
“I’ll have the same.” He closes his menu with a snap, and the waiter appears as if by magic to take our order.
“Tell me about your job. How are you enjoying teaching?”
I tell him about Mandy and Kate, and the children in my class. When I get to Wei, I’m so caught up in the topic that I speak, non-stop, for a good ten minutes. Kent doesn’t interrupt me once. He only refills my glass and waves the waiter away when he approaches to check on us.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask when, at long last, I run out of steam.
“I’m a little stunned, actually. It sounds like you’re actually enjoying yourself. And given that you’re having fun which doesn’t include partying all night and sleeping all day, you’re going to have to give me a minute to process.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m not insulting you, Amber. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m actually quite proud of myself.”
“Are you really going to tutor Wei? If his parents agree, I mean?”
I nod. “I’d like to. He’s a special kid.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
“That’s the third compliment you’ve given me this evening. Be careful, it might even become a habit.”
“I have no problem giving praise where it’s due.”
“Ouch.” My light-hearted mood deflates slightly. It’s a stinging reminder that he hasn’t had much to praise me for in a while. Before either of us can say anything else, the food arrives.
“Why are you spending so much time in Beijing?” I ask, the second the waiter departs. If Kent knows I’m trying to change the subject, he doesn’t argue.
“We just closed a major development deal. I’m back in four weeks, and I’ll be staying a while. At least until all the preliminary work is finalized.”
“You’re going to be staying here? In Beijing?”
He chuckles, low and melodious. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, actually. It’ll be nice to have a familiar face around.”
His brows arch. “You expect me to believe that Amber Holland might find my company tolerable?”
“Well,” I tease, holding up my glass, “you do have your charms.”
“It’s nice to see that you haven’t completely transformed. I thought I might have to book you into a convent.”
“I’m still me. I may have taken things a bit too far for a while, but I was never exactly convent material.”
“No arguments there,” he concedes, clinking his glass against mine.
We only have the one bottle of champagne, but even so, conversation flows easily. We talk about his parents, my parents, mutual friends. When I ask him more about the development here in Beijing, his face becomes more animated than I’ve ever seen it. I realize how much of himself he’s invested in Saber and how much he adores his job. It’s nice to know that my father’s legacy is in such good hands.
“This was… nice,” I say, as Kent walks me out onto the sidewalk to hail a cab. “Thank you.” I’d almost forgotten how easy things are with Kent, how comfortable we are with one another.
“I’m glad you came. I thought maybe you wouldn’t.”
I can’t really blame him. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch. I don’t know what happened – when I became so selfish and spoiled.”
“You got in with the wrong crowd. It happens. And let’s not forget your father’s the one who spoiled you. You, my angel, suffer from only child syndrome.”
“You’re an only child, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“That probably explains why we’re both always convinced we’re right.” He grins. “Come on, let’s get you home, before you freeze to death.”
Once I’m safely ensconced in the cab, he leans into my window.
“Do you think you can keep yourself out of trouble for the next three weeks?”
“I’ll do my best.” I’m about to tell the cabbie where to go when over Kent’s shoulder, a flash of scarlet catches my attention, and I spot a couple emerging from the Ritz.
The man is elderly, grey-haired and slightly overweight, with a badly fitted suit, and the woman in the gorgeous red dress with the gorgeous wavy hair is – oh my God, it’s Mandy!
“Amber?” Kent’s eyes are filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
I bob my head, too afraid to move in case she sees me. Kent’s body is blocking her v
iew, but Mandy’s attention is fixed entirely on her date. She rests her hand on his chest and leans in to listen to something he’s saying. Her hair cascades down her back as she throws her head back in laughter, and then they move off down the street and out of view.
“Amber?”
“I’m fine.” I splutter, too stunned to comprehend what I just witnessed.
11
My first thought when I wake up in the morning is of Mandy. Okay, technically, it’s of Kent – the lingering remains of a very disturbing dream – but I shove that aside. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It must be all these weeks without any male attention. I decide that the best way to handle the situation with Mandy is to keep my mouth shut. As Kate said, if she wanted us to know about it, we’d know, and besides, who am I to judge. Instead, once we’ve gathered in the kitchen for bacon and eggs, which Kate cooks, I fill them in on my dinner with Kent.
“Where did he take you?” Kate asks innocently.
My eyes cut automatically to Mandy, who is wolfing down a piece of toast.
“Some restaurant downtown,” I say quickly. “I can’t remember the name.”
“Isn’t he staying at the Ritz?” Kate frowns. Mandy’s toast stops midway to her lips.
“He is, but he picked me up.”
Pacified, Mandy finishes her crust in one bite.
“Are you ever going to admit you have a thumping crush on this man?” she taunts.
It hits too close to home. “Are you sure you’re over the stomach flu?” I ask lightly, “because it sounds to me like you might be delusional with fever.”
She and Kate exchange a look, and Mandy grins. It’s a smug look.
I head for Mandy’s classroom after the final bell. She’d promised to pick up my lesson plans from the admin office, and I want to go over them before tomorrow. On the way to lunch, I hear the sounds of an argument coming from behind her door. Peeking through the glass, fear clutches at my chest. Mandy and a blond man who looks vaguely familiar are head to head having a heated conversation. While I watch, he seizes her wrist, and without any care for the consequences, I barrel through the door.
Awkward Abroad (Awkward #2) Page 7
