See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  Arlo: What? Why?

  Gunner: You’re so oblivious.

  Romeo: He really is. *Sighs* Greer was really excited about getting the entire department to dress up, and the head of the department isn’t going to be involved. Kind of a blow to the tit, you know?

  Arlo: She doesn’t care that much. She just suggested the idea to grate on my nerves.

  Gunner: You sure about that?

  Arlo: Yes. Trust me. Since she arrived at this school, she’s done everything in her power to annoy me. This is another one of those moments.

  Romeo: Yeah, I don’t think that’s the case this time. Stella said she was really upset.

  Arlo: How do you know Stella wasn’t just saying that? How do I know this isn’t another one of your stupid pranks?

  Gunner: I knew that was going to come back and bite us in the ass.

  Romeo: I swear, dude. This isn’t one of those moments. I really think she was upset about it.

  Arlo: Well . . . then she shouldn’t have suggested it. She knew I wasn’t going to be pleased. Her problem, not mine.

  Gunner: Harsh.

  Romeo: Some might say cruel.

  Arlo: It’s reality. I’m not that kind of teacher, never will be.

  * * *

  “Good morning.”

  I look up from my car and catch Greer locking up her Honda. It’s early Thursday morning, the fog still heavy in the air, a crisp reminder that fall is right around the corner.

  There are only a few other cars parked in the teachers’ parking lot, one of them being Principal Dewitt’s. She’s always early, but I’ve never seen Greer come in this early.

  Shutting my car door, I lock up and say, “Good morning.”

  And since we’re going to the same place, we fall in line together, both carrying our bags, a long day of teaching ahead of us.

  I haven’t really seen her since Monday, just randomly here and there in the hallway, but I do know she’ll be coming over tomorrow night after practice, because Coraline asked to borrow some money for the book club. I was more than happy to hand her my credit card and told her not to worry about paying me back, but I know she’s been keeping count of every last dime, because that’s the considerate person she is.

  But what has put a smile on my face the past few days is how excited Coraline has been about Friday night. She’s put together booklover bags with bookmarks, wine glasses, and bottles of wine for everyone. She also spent time moving around the house, finding the perfect spot to hold the meeting. She ended up sticking with the living room like I suggested. Imagine that.

  Besides her running around the house like a madwoman, I have to admit, I’m grateful for it. Seeing that spark in her eye, the excitement—it eases me.

  When we reach the entrance of the school, I open the door for Greer and she gives me a small nod before entering. And even though our last conversation was awkward at best, I feel the need to say something to her about Coraline.

  “Uh, I wanted to thank you,” I say, feeling uncomfortable.

  Greer slows down her pace. “Thank me for what?”

  “For, uh, doing this book club thing with my sister. She’s really excited.”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. You don’t have to thank me. I like Cora, she’s fun.”

  “She is fun. She’s also going through a rough divorce and this book club thing is putting a smile on her face, something I’ve struggled with lately. So, thank you.”

  “Like I said, no need to thank me. I like Cora, and I’m excited to get to know her better.” We walk up the stairs to our classrooms, our steps falling in unison, the halls dim and quiet before the crowd of students pour in.

  “Why are you here so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d just come in.” We reach her classroom, and she gives me a curt smile. “Have a good day, Arlo.”

  And that’s when I notice the bite in her voice and lack of enthusiasm. There’s no sassy schoolteacher trying to tell me how to properly educate my students. There’s no sexified vixen, ready to tease me, tempt me, throw me off my game.

  It’s almost as if someone or something has sucked the spirit out of her and left her with minimal personality. My text conversation with Gunner and Romeo floats to the front of my mind. Is she really upset? Am I being an ass and don’t realize how much this actually means to her?

  “Are you, uh . . . are you ready for tomorrow?” I ask, not quite ready to say goodbye.

  “Of course.” She unlocks her classroom door, and as usual, I’m assaulted by gaudy brightness and blazing color. “If anything, I’m always prepared. Oh, by the way, Blair told me she got her second paper back. A B- is a big jump from an F.”

  I shrug. “She earned it. She put in the time, she learned, and she wrote a compelling essay, one I hope to see her improve on throughout the year.”

  “Glad to hear it.” She gives me a soft smile and then says, “Well, see you around.” And then she disappears into her classroom.

  On a sigh, I let myself into my classroom and take in the drab space, the lack of color and character. It’s cold . . . almost prison-like.

  And for the first time since I’ve been a teacher, I wonder . . . is it enough?

  When my students leave my classroom and go on to college, they’re prepared, they’re educated, they’re ready to take on a college essay and excel at it, which is what my goal is as a teacher. To foster these students and make sure they’re gathering the tools they need to move on. Blair is a great example of that.

  I forced her to put in the work, to speak to me during lunch, to learn a constructive way to interpret literature, and she came out better for it, so why am I questioning myself?

  Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I set my bag on my desk and pull out the questions for today’s pop quiz on the reading from last night. I spent a great deal of time thinking about them. Thirty questions, each class has to answer different ones, so there’s no cheating in between periods. They have one minute per question and must answer thoughtfully.

  It's challenging.

  It’s what my advanced placement students need.

  They don’t need frills like dressing up.

  They need structure.

  A schedule.

  They need to be kept on their feet, never complacent.

  Picking up my whiteboard marker, I uncap it and get to work on writing my questions on the board. Stop questioning yourself, Turner. You know what you’re doing. Just because it looks like you sucked the life out of one of your colleagues doesn’t mean you need to rethink your entire teaching process.

  Chapter Eleven

  GREER

  “Oh my God, I love you so much,” Stella says, coming up to me in the parking lot. “Don’t even tell me—you’re Elizabeth Bennet, right?”

  I curtsy and say, “You are quite correct.”

  “God, let me get a good look at you.” Stella takes my hand and forces me to twirl. “Honestly, you could be a doppelganger for Kiera Knightley in this getup.”

  “That’s what I was going for. Some of the other dresses I considered were a little too . . . booby, and I didn’t think that was appropriate.”

  “Yeah, good call.” She claps. “Seriously, I love this so much.”

  Despite Arlo’s reluctance to participate in today’s literature dress up, everyone else is participating. I know we’ll have at least one Harry Potter, Lennie from Of Mice and Men, Juliet from Romeo and Juliet, and a Huckleberry Finn. We’ll see what everyone else dresses up as. There were still a few teachers trying to make up their minds.

  But I knew from the beginning who I wanted to be.

  The queen of pride . . . and prejudice.

  I found a brown frock with an empire waist and long sleeves resembling the one Kiera Knightley wore in her representation of the book. I even styled my hair to look like hers as well. Since I’ve been showing clips of the movie throughout the reading of the book, I know they’re going to understand it immediately, which puts a smile on m
y face.

  Today is going to be a great day, even if I couldn’t count on everyone to support the idea.

  “I need to get the foreign language department to participate in something like this. Have a war-of-the-countries type thing. It’d be fun.”

  “That would be fun. Have you spoken to them about it?”

  Stella shakes her head as we make it to the school entrance. “No, we have our meeting next Wednesday. I think after they see the English department, they’ll be into it. We’re all pretty easygoing.”

  “Well, hopefully they don’t notice Arlo.”

  “I can’t believe he’s not dressing up. Makes me want to punch him right in front of his students. A fist to the eye. He won’t even see it coming.”

  “I’d love to see that.”

  We chuckle and climb the stairs to the second floor of the school. When we reach the top, she turns left and says, “Good luck today. Enjoy it—and, hey, book club tonight.”

  “Remind Keiko.”

  “No need, she already texted me this morning making sure there were going to be Nilla Wafers.”

  I roll my eyes. “There will be plenty.”

  “It’s what I told her. See you at lunch.” She waves and we part.

  Turning down the English hallway, I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the day, just as a tall, dark figure steps out of my unlocked classroom.

  I pause, let my eyes focus, and then . . .

  Oh. God.

  Dressed in a tuxedo, hair slicked back, looking so damn sexy I might hike up my skirt right here and now is Arlo Turner.

  There’s no way.

  He didn’t dress up, did he?

  Then again, why would he be dressed in a tuxedo?

  Stunned, I close the distance between us.

  He doesn’t smirk.

  He doesn’t make any sort of gesture of acknowledgement as I approach him. He stands regally, just like Jay Gatsby.

  “Arlo . . .” I just about whisper in shock.

  “I was just leaving some donuts on your desk. Coraline wanted me to give them to you.”

  Giving him a small once-over, I take him by the arm and bring him into my classroom, where I set my things on my desk.

  “Why . . . are you . . . are you dressed up?”

  He shrugs. “Wasn’t too hard to put on a tux.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. This man. This unruly, surly, arrogant ass dropped his guard for today and put on a tux.

  The sentiment is too much for me to handle. It’s a sweet gesture, a kind one . . . a detrimental one. Because now, instead of hating him like I’ve been doing all week, he’s cracked a hole in my heart.

  He’s making me think sweet things about him.

  He’s causing me to . . . oh dear lord . . . he’s causing me to swoon.

  I take his hand in mine, and I softly say, “Thank you, Arlo.”

  Clearing his throat, he steps away and says, “Don’t think I’ll do it again. You’re lucky I had this tux in my closet.”

  “I wouldn’t dare ask you to expose your true, nerdy self ever again.”

  Backing away some more, he looks me up and down and says, “You make a great Elizabeth Bennet. Your prideful personality is a rare match.”

  “Maybe you should have dressed up as Mr. Darcy. Your prejudice would have been quite fitting.”

  He straightens his tux and says, “Have a good day . . . Miss Gibson.”

  “You, too, Arlo,” I say, breathless as he retreats from my classroom.

  Turning to my desk, I grip the edges and take a deep breath. I was not expecting that at all. I was expecting a cardigan-clad man next door, not a devil in a tux, looking positively stunning with his scruff and slicked-back hair.

  Look out, Leonardo, there’s a new Jay Gatsby in town, and he’s stealing hearts with every devastating glare.

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe he dressed up,” Stella says as we walk up Arlo’s driveway, cookies in hand, and freshly showered after practice. Thankfully, my hair has a natural wave to it, so I’m letting it air-dry, and since Cora said to come casual, I dressed in a pair of leggings and a tank top.

  “I can’t believe it either,” I say, trying to hide just how much it meant to me. “The students were talking about it all day.”

  “I even got wind of it. The entire school was buzzing. There was an excitement in the air. It was a good day.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Arlo Turner has a reputation for being serious and, frankly, a scary teacher, so seeing him dressed up, playing along, the students were buzzing, loving it. He thinks it doesn’t make a difference, but it does. It makes a huge difference.”

  And as we step up to his door to ring the doorbell, my stomach flips around from the knowledge that he’s on the other side of the door. Will he talk about the day? Will he mention how much the students loved him dressed up? Or the monologue he memorized for every start of class?

  Oh yeah, I heard about it all. He didn’t just dress up, he went all out.

  Then again, I don’t think I’d expect anything less from Arlo Turner. He’s not the one to half-ass something. If he goes in, he goes all in.

  Stella rings the doorbell, and the door is quickly opened by Cora, who looks relieved. “Thank God you guys are here,” she says quietly. “Keeks is telling me all about her bunion and I’m pretty sure I’m dying a slow death inside.”

  “Did she tell you its name?”

  “Baptista. Beautiful name for a hideous thing.”

  We chuckle and walk inside Arlo’s grand house. The entryway alone gives you a rich, homey vibe, but when you walk into the grand living room and kitchen, it’s impossible not to gawk and fall in love with the space. The back wall of the house is covered in windows, giving you a beautiful view of the lake, and the kitchen, with its large island and marble countertops, is absolutely to die for. If I were a cook, I’d be drooling to get in there and make something.

  “Good evening,” Keeks says, greeting us with a nod. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants that cinch at her ankles and a T-shirt with the Periodic Table of Elements on it, Keiko looks the part of relaxed chemistry teacher, despite the stiff set of her shoulders.

  “Hey Keeks,” Stella says. “What did we say about sharing your bunion story?”

  “I was short of conversation. It was what came to mind at the time.”

  Stella takes a seat next to her. “Weather is always a safe topic.”

  “I spoke about the weather patterns. Cora struggled with input, so I changed topics.”

  “You asked me if I knew the variables that fluctuate the jet stream.”

  “An integral part of the conversation when speaking of weather patterns,” Keeks says, confused why Cora doesn’t get it.

  Cora holds up her glass of wine. “Needless to say, I started drinking early.”

  I take a seat on a large, comfy chair and take in the spread on the coffee table. A bowl of Nilla Wafers is directly in front of Keiko, while the rest of the table is covered in appetizers ranging from mini sliders to pizza to fries. It’s a decadent smorgasbord, perfect to delight in with good friends.

  “Wow, this spread is incredible,” I say. “Arlo doesn’t mind that we’re going to eat in the living room?”

  Cora waves her hand. “He doesn’t get a say in the matter because he’s not here. Out with the boys doing lord knows what.”

  “Darts,” Stella mumbles while shoving a mini quiche in her mouth. When we all look at her with questioning expressions, she says, “Romeo asked if I wanted to be his partner. Told him I had book club, which then resulted in him asking a million questions I didn’t feel like answering.”

  “Very well, no ill-mannered masculine assumptions to dishearten our intentions of pursuing literary comradery,” Keeks says, shoving a Nilla Wafer into her mouth.

  “Nope, we’re on our own.” Cora holds up an open bottle of wine. “Anyone want a drink?”

  Stella holds up her hand. “I’m picking up a few
freelance conditioning classes tomorrow. Can’t be hungover.”

  Cora moves to the wine glass in front of Keiko, who vehemently shakes her head. “Alcohol does not negotiate in good health with my gastrointestinal tract. Symptoms of abhorrent flatulence accompanied by death-gripping defecation wreak havoc on my person. Thank you, but I shall pass.”

  Eyebrows pinched, nose turned up, Cora faces me, and I gladly hold out my wine glass. “Fill her up.”

  “No flatulence issues?”

  I shake my head. “No, I can handle my liquor just fine.”

  “Thank God for that.” Cora fills up my glass, and when she’s done, I give it a good swirl and take a sip.

  “Wow, this is great.”

  “It’s one of Arlo’s expensive bottles.” She chuckles. “He never drinks it because he never has company over, so I figured he won’t mind.”

  Oh, now I feel guilty. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. He always says what’s his is mine.”

  “Arlo is an attractive man,” Keeks says out of nowhere. “Is he presently courting anyone?”

  I nearly spit out my wine. Why on earth is she asking that?

  “You interested?” Cora asks, brows raised.

  “Oh no. My counterpoint of attraction currently is Kelvin Thimble. But he is frequently out of sorts and clammy with nervous perspiration whenever I’m around. Makes the act of growing intimate difficult, as I’m not fervent on apprehensive bodily fluids.”

  “Understandable,” Stella says. “But what does this have to do with Mr. Turns Me On being single?”

  “Oh God, do not call him that.” Cora grimaces.

  It’s true though. That nickname could not ring truer.

  “I came up with a hypothesis that if Arlo was courting someone, he could instruct Kelvin how to court properly as well.”

  “That’s not a job for Arlo,” Stella says. “That’s a job for Romeo. He’s the king of getting women to fall for him.”

  “Is that coming from experience?” I ask, smiling over my glass of wine.