See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  Huge difference.

  I walk over to the cooler where Keiko Seymour is filling up her water bottle.

  “Keiko, how are you?”

  She looks over her shoulder and greets me with a curt nod. “Pleasant, thank you.” She studies my face and says, “I’d ask how you fare, but from the corrugation in your supraorbital ridge and the discernable strain in your spinotrapezius, I speculate you’re currently labored.”

  “You could say that.”

  She steps to the side and screws on the top of her water bottle. “Are you appropriating a satisfactory amount of nocturnal repose?”

  Am I getting sleep?

  Not really.

  Between worrying about Coraline and her health to . . . hell, to thoughts of Greer and if she’s doing a good job, I’m barely getting five hours.

  But Keiko doesn’t need to know that.

  “Good enough.”

  “Good enough isn’t adequate. Eight hours is the recommended amount in order to cultivate favorable brain health.”

  I slowly nod while filling up my water bottle. “Got it. I’ll be sure to work on that.”

  “We’re only as sufficient as the necessities we grant ourselves.”

  “And what would make someone’s pee turn blue?” I mutter to myself, capping off my water.

  “Urinating a hue of blue would directly correlate to the ingestion of methylene blue, mostly harmless in a miniscule dose, but not recommended to ingest,” she says, just before her eyes widen. “Uh, I . . . I believe class is starting.”

  “Hold on a second.” I step in front of her, watching as she fidgets with her glasses and avoids all eye contact with me. “What would make someone’s voice sound like a chipmunk?”

  “Changing the presets on a microphone’s channel on an audio desk.” She slaps her hand over her mouth.

  Nostrils flaring, I say, “And the makings of a stink bomb. Would I be able to find them in your chemistry lab?”

  “Figuratively, the chemicals capable of generating the foul smell of the aforementioned stink bomb are accessible at any humdrum grocery store.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “And would you have shared this information with anyone within our faculty?”

  Sticking her chin in the air, she says, “I’m afraid to say this is an abuse of your power and I refuse to partake in it. Excuse me.” She blows past me, quick, short steps until she’s gone.

  Staring at the door Keiko just blew through, I conclude one thing: she’s involved. The question is, who’s she working with? No. Not just who. Why? Why have I become the object of ridicule?

  Chapter Seven

  GREER

  Greer: Abort. Abort. Keeks cracked.

  Gunner: What? How?

  Romeo: When? Did she name names?

  Greer: Yesterday, teachers’ lounge, by the water cooler. Arlo muttered something about blue pee and her incessant need to give facts had her crumbling in seconds. She said she didn’t name any names and removed herself as quickly as she could.

  Gunner: Damn her brilliant mind.

  Romeo: But no names were listed?

  Greer: No. But she said he looked really suspicious. I think it’s only a matter of time.

  Gunner: Shit.

  Romeo: I don’t think we have anything to worry about. For being the educated man he claims to be, he’s been clueless this entire time.

  Gunner: That’s true. A little Google search would have helped him out with a lot of his problems.

  Romeo: We’re good. Everyone just calm down and, whatever you do, act cool.

  Gunner: Like we did yesterday when he approached us about his blue pee.

  Greer: What? You’re supposed to report back.

  Romeo: Sorry, it was at lunch and then we had a PE disaster to attend to.

  Greer: What on earth could constitute a PE disaster?

  Gunner: One of the kids got into our sex ed cabinet and was sprinkling condoms all over the gym.

  Greer: Huh . . . yeah, that does sound like a disaster.

  Romeo: Boys were laughing, girls were horrified, lewd gestures were made, it was mayhem.

  Greer: Glad you made it out alive. Now tell me how he reacted to the blue pee. Clearly that’s more important. LOL.

  Gunner: Pissed off and confused. Pun intended. Called us into his classroom for man issues. Romeo and I had to have a good laugh before we went in.

  Romeo: Pretty sure we’ll be winning Academy Awards for our performance.

  Gunner: It was painful not to bust out laughing from the concerned look on his face.

  Greer: Was he really distraught?

  Gunner: Worse than all the other pranks.

  Romeo: There’s always great cause for concern when you mess with a man’s prized possession. Anything that deals with the dick and you figuratively have him by the balls.

  Gunner: Well played, Gibson.

  Greer: Well, I think that was the grand finale on the pranks because with Keiko on the verge of short-circuiting, I can’t possibly do anything more.

  Gunner: It was a good run while it lasted.

  Romeo: I think you could throw something in closer to winter break just for the hell of it. Maybe something close to spring break, too, you know, keep him on his toes.

  Gunner: That’s a great idea.

  Greer: We’ll see. In the meantime, thank you, boys, for your service. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Romeo: Oh shit . . . he just walked into our office.

  Greer: Abort. Abort.

  Romeo: From the look on his face, I’m going to guess this won’t go over well.

  Greer: Do not crumble. Protect my name at all costs. Do you hear me? ALL COSTS.

  Romeo: It was nice knowing you, Greer . . .

  Greer: Romeo . . . GUNNER!

  Greer: Do you hear me?

  Greer: ALL COSTS

  “Oh, sorry, I thought this was Arlo’s classroom. Unless, is it?”

  Startled out of my intense texting, I glance up to find a beautiful woman in a lovely red sundress with capped sleeves, standing with a bag of food in her hand and a smile on her face.

  “Arlo is next door.”

  “Hmm, that’s what I thought, given the jailcell classroom, but he said he was in there and he’s not.”

  “Oh, I think he went to go tell Romeo and Gunner something. You can sit in here and wait if you’d like.” I tap my ham sandwich. “Just squeezing in a quick lunch.”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” I gesture to the seat in front of me. “Have a seat. I’m Greer. I teach English.”

  “Ohhh.” She smiles. “You’re the new English teacher here, right?”

  “Yes, that would be me.”

  She nods slowly, taking the seat across from me. “My brother has said many disgruntled things about you.”

  “Arlo is your brother?”

  She nods. “Yup, I’m Coraline, by the way. Cora for short.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Arlo’s mentioned you. He struggles to—”

  “He hates me.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve heard.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She sighs heavily. “That’s my uptight brother for you. He has zero filter and doesn’t bat an eyelash about it.”

  Zero filter runs in the family.

  “Yeah, he’s shown zero remorse for his comments.” The night we played pool is still at the forefront of my mind. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that night and the things he said.

  “Fortunately, his behavior doesn’t run in the family.”

  “So, you’re not going to tell me I’m a not an educator but rather a babysitter?”

  Her expression morphs into shock. “He said that to you?”

  “Yeah . . . which . . . ugh, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. He’s your brother—”

  She points her finger at me, her eyes stern. “You listen to me, Greer. I love my brother, but he’s an asshole. If he’
s being an asshole to you, I need to know about it, so I can be an asshole to him. Us girls have to stick together.”

  I chuckle. “I guess so.”

  “Anyway, I could use some friends. Living with Arlo has taken a toll on my social life.”

  “You’re living with him?”

  She waves her hand. “Long story, but yes. I was living in New York City but moved back home a little over a month ago. All my friends are either knee-deep in diapers or have moved away from here. I’m in desperate need to start a book club with a few girls.”

  “You like to read?”

  “Sort of.” She shrugs.

  “Sort of?” I laugh. “Then why start a book club?”

  “Because it’s code for let’s drink a lot of wine and talk about our lives.”

  “Ohhh.” I laugh some more. “I could use one of those. Right now, all I have is school and volleyball. But nothing outside of school. I bet Stella and Keiko would want to join the club.”

  “Keiko Seymour? God, I love her so much. She’s brought Arlo down a peg or two a few times. He’s told me all about it.”

  “You mean to tell me he actually admits defeat?”

  “It’s rare.” She adjusts the gold bracelets on her wrist. “But when he does admit it, he goes into great detail to prove why someone bested him. And I’ve heard a story or two about Keiko bringing my brother to his knees. Which means . . . I’m going to need to meet this girl.”

  “She’s amazing. Quirky, but amazing.”

  “And who’s Stella? Wait . . . does she coach volleyball, too?”

  I nod. “Yes. Stella Garcia. She teaches Spanish.”

  “Ahhh.” A large smile crosses her face.

  “What do you know?” I ask. “I barely know any gossip around here since I’m new, and my two friends tend to stay out of it.”

  “You’re probably aware that Arlo’s best friends are Gunner and Romeo?”

  “Hard to miss that,” I say, picking up my sandwich and taking a bite. Oddly, I offer it to her, but she just laughs and shakes her head. Yeah, didn’t think so, but it’s nice to be polite.

  “The boys come over on occasion, and I like to sit at the top of the stairs and listen to their conversations.”

  “Like any good sister would.” I laugh.

  “Obviously. As a little sister, I have responsibilities, eavesdropping being one of them. Anyway, I’ve heard Romeo mention Stella a few times.”

  “Really?” I grow closer to my desk, a huge smile on my face. “Like . . . romantically?”

  “Well, they haven’t done anything, at least not that I know of. All I know is that Romeo has the hots for her.”

  “The hots.” I laugh out loud. “That’s amazing.” I go to take another bite of my sandwich but pause. “You know, I’ve noticed a little affection when those two are around each other, but I’m not sure anything is going on. Stella would have told me by now.”

  “He’s totally pining after her. I’ve never seen her, but all I’ve heard is what a great ass she has.”

  “I mean, she does have a terrific butt.” Leaning back, I say, “I’m so glad you came into my classroom.”

  “Me too. This lunch is way better than the one I planned on having with Arlo. And can we point out how rude it is that he’s not here? He’s standing me up.”

  “Not sure if he’s standing you up. More like trying to get to the bottom of the pranks . . .”

  Oh shit, my words trail off and fear immediately creeps up the back of my neck as I slowly look up at Cora.

  “Pranks as in . . . the stink bomb?”

  I swallow hard. “Uh, yeah, something like that.”

  “Hold on.” She lays her palms flat on the desk in front of her. “Are you telling me you know something about the pranks Arlo has been bitching about for the last three weeks?”

  I twist my lips to the side, contemplating what to say. At this point, there’s some association with me since I mentioned it, so might as well see how strong this bond can be with Arlo’s sister.

  “What’s your take on girl code? Is it being upheld right now?”

  “Are you kidding? I need friends other than my moody brother. Please let me prove to you how strong my girl code is.”

  I chuckle. “I’m trusting you,” I say playfully.

  She crosses her heart. “I am your human vault of information. Lay it on me.”

  On a deep breath, I say, “I’m the one who’s been pranking Arlo.”

  Throwing her head back, she lets out an enormous laugh and then claps her hands, her bracelets jangling against her wrists, making the outburst even louder. “Oh, that’s amazing. So, the girl he can’t stand, the one who he calls names, she’s the one who has been pranking him this entire time? The stink bomb, the chipmunk voice . . . the blue pee, that was all you?”

  “I had help, but yes.”

  “Oh my God, you’re my new hero.” She laughs some more and then reaches into the brown paper bag, pulls out a wrapped-up sub, and unravels the foil. “Do you realize how much you’ve aggravated him? He was telling me just last night after the whole peeing blue incident—which, by the way, best thing I’ve ever heard—that he was starting to worry about going into school.”

  “He did not say that.”

  Exaggerating, she nods with gusto. “Oh, yes, he did. Is that why he’s with Romeo and Gunner right now?”

  “I’m assuming that’s the case. Keiko might have let it slip about the pranks yesterday, and he’s sniffing out the culprits. I’m hoping the boys take the blame. They were part of it, after all.”

  “How so?”

  “They helped distract him so I could do the dirty work. Had to trade in my time with the teachers’ league—”

  “Ugh, that stupid thing. Arlo talks about it every year, how they never win and how they could use the ten thousand dollars.” She haphazardly waves her hand in the air. “He ends up donating the money anyway.”

  That gives me pause.

  “He donates ten thousand dollars to the school every year?”

  “Don’t think that’s any of your business,” Arlo snaps from the doorway of my classroom.

  Crap.

  Heat floods through my veins as embarrassment washes over me from being caught talking about him without him being present.

  “There you are,” Cora says, wrapping up the sub and plopping it in the bag. “Way to stand your sister up after you begged her to bring you lunch.”

  Eyes trained on me, irritation clear, he says, “I didn’t beg you, and I had some business to take care of.”

  “Well, that business forced me to start eating without you.”

  I quiver under his stare as he says, “Coraline, meet me in my classroom. I won’t be long.”

  “Uh . . .” She glances between the two of us. “You’re not going to be mean to her again, are you? You know she’s more than just a babysitter.” Cora’s eyes widen and she turns to me quickly. “Oh shit, that wasn’t part of the girl code, was it? I swear I’m better than that.”

  “No, he knows he said that already.”

  “Okay, good.” She picks up a pen off my desk and jots a number down on a Post-it note. “Call me, Greer. I’d love to hang out some more.”

  “You two are not hanging out,” Arlo seethes.

  Calm and collected, Cora walks up to her brother and pats him gently on the cheek. “You’re cute, thinking you can control our lives. Don’t be long, brother, I might just dive into your sandwich as well.”

  Cora gives me a quick wave and then is out the door, shutting it behind her.

  Trying not to wilt under his stare, I stand from my desk, round it, and sit on the corner. His eyes travel my body, not hiding the blatant once-over. And even though I wish I could say the way his eyes travel up my body—greedy, hungry, angry—doesn’t affect me . . . it does.

  It causes my chest to quake, my throat to tighten up, and my palms to break out in a sweat.

  Under his stare, I flatten my hands down th
e front of my dress, wishing I could read his mind. Wishing I knew how to change this hate-hate relationship to something that isn’t so volatile.

  But from the determination in his eyes to speak with me, I’m going to guess we’re continuing down the hate-hate path.

  He closes the distance between us, and the intoxicating smell of his leather and spice scent pushes into my breathing space, taking up unwanted room. His deep, intimidating voice seethes through the dense quiet of my classroom when he says, “I know it was you.”

  Oh crap.

  Did the boys give in? Throw me under the bus?

  Damn it, I wish I could check my phone for any warnings from them.

  Then again, maybe he’s testing me. Maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe he doesn’t know anything and is just taking a guess. In that case, go with the evasive technique.

  “Know what was me?” I ask, gripping the edge of the desk while I lean against it, trying to look as casual as possible, even though my heart is thumping rapidly in my chest and I can feel sweat start to accumulate on the back of my neck.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Greer,” he says, his voice so menacing that I feel like all the air around us is being used to fuel his anger.

  “I’m not fucking with you,” I say, my voice wavering.

  And of course, he catches it as he takes another step forward, his intimidation tactic seriously outdated, but God is it wreaking havoc on my nerves.

  Looking down at me, his chin still held high, he says, “Do you think it’s a good idea to poke the bear, Greer?”

  “I mean, if this has to do with my teaching techniques—”

  “You know damn well this has nothing to do with your teaching,” he says, pushing forward so his hands land on either side of the desk and I have to lean back so our faces don’t touch. My teeth roll over the bottom of my lip, keeping it from quivering while I hold my breath, attempting to show how unaffected I am by his closeness but failing miserably.

  He’s insufferable.

  He’s rude.

  He’s brash and holier than thou.

  But God, is he handsome.

  Chiseled jaw, just enough five o’clock shadow on his face to leave a mark, but nothing that’s going to be bothersome. His eyes are downright devastating, especially when angry, and his body . . . even under a cardigan, I can tell just how carved he is.