See Me After Class

by Quinn, Meghan

  “You look nice,” I say.

  Proudly, he plucks at his top and says, “Lindsay got me this shirt.”

  “Aw, really?”

  “Yeah, she brought it over right before I left. I think it was just an excuse to get in some lovin’ before I had to leave.”

  “Well, that’s sweet. It looks nice on you.”

  “I’ll have to tell her other teachers were hitting on me.”

  “Uh, I wasn’t hitting on you. I said you look nice,” I say as we push through the gym doors to a decorated space of black and silver stars, multiple tables and chairs, and a dance floor with disco ball hanging overhead, which makes me chuckle. That had to be a teacher who put that up, not a student. There’s dark purple uplighting along the walls, making the gym look less like a sweaty place where sports take place and more like a magical oasis for the student population.

  “She doesn’t have to know you were just being complimentary.”

  “Sure, do that. Make her feel insecure, see where that gets you.”

  Gunner taps his chin. “Hmm, you might be right about that.”

  “I know I am.” Taking in the space some more, I say, “It looks good in here.”

  “The budget is pretty big, thanks to the PTA. They have a budget line set aside for dances. It also helps that the head of the PTA is a party planner for Chicago’s elite. She gets killer deals.”

  “Then why do they have it in the gym? They could have it at an event hall.”

  “Dewitt likes to keep all dances on campus. They did a hotel banquet room once and we quickly noticed the students were filtering off the dance floor and straight up to the rooms.”

  “Oh yeah.” I chuckle. “That probably isn’t the best idea.”

  “Nope, and it’s not as easy getting alcohol in here since Dewitt has a shake down at the doors and breath tests, as well as a check-in. If you buy tickets, you’re required to show up unless we receive a verbal message from the parent that the student can’t attend. And there’s also a checkout, where parents are informed that the kids left the dance.”

  “Jesus, that’s pretty secure.”

  “It’s why Dewitt always wins Principal of the Year for the state of Illinois. She’s about education and safety, and she thinks everything through.”

  “It’s shocking any of the kids still want to come to the dance.”

  “I thought the same thing, but despite the restrictions, they still want to have a good time. They want that high school experience, so they show up.”

  “Makes sense. So, what do we do? Just watch them?”

  “Yup, make sure no one sneaks off. Make sure all sexual organs are covered on the dance floor.”

  “Uh . . . what?”

  “Trust me, just keep an eye out for unzipped pants. I caught three last year, it’s why Dewitt asked me to chaperone again.”

  “And you willingly said yes?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t mind helping out. Not a big deal. Plus, Romeo had those tickets and I thought it’d be good for him to go with Stella alone . . . that is, until she invited Cora.”

  “So you think Romeo likes her?” I ask, excited.

  “He obviously does, hasn’t said anything to me though. Has Stella said anything to you?”

  “No. I think she believes they’re just friends.”

  “I’m sure that will change at some point. Romeo will figure it out.”

  “Hey.” Gunner and I both turn to find Arlo standing behind us. Oh God, he looks sexy. He’s wearing a pair of navy-blue chino pants, white button-up, dark-grey cardigan and a navy-blue tie. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is styled more sexy-messy than normal.

  “Hey, man,” Gunner says casually as my gut twists and turns. “Ready to find some penises?”

  “Why do you have to say it like that?”

  “No idea. Hey, there’s Dewitt. I’m going to go discuss the game plan with her. I’ll report back.” Gunner takes off and leaves me standing awkwardly with Arlo, whose eyes are burning up and down me.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, shocking me.

  “Oh . . . uh . . . thank you. You look good yourself.”

  He adjusts his tie and says, “I can foresee losing this at some point.”

  “Not a tie kind of guy?” I ask.

  “Not so much.”

  “And I’d have thought you were. You know, since you like your cardigans. Just feels like ties go hand in hand with such mannerly apparel.”

  “Hate them.”

  I nod and then stare at the space again, that awkward feeling creeping up the back of my neck. I don’t know what to say to him. The thought of talking about different patterns of ties comes to mind, but that would just be embarrassing.

  So, Arlo, how do you feel about paisley? Kelvin seems to be a fan of it, as well as short-sleeved button-up shirts. Ever try those?

  Lame. Really freaking lame.

  Arlo clears his throat and says, “Uh, I think I owe you an apology.”

  “What?” I ask, flashing my eyes toward him. Did I just hear him right? Did he say he owes me an apology? Did I step into a weird black hole, or an alternate universe?

  “For being a dick,” he says. “You didn’t deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating you, and I’m sorry.”

  Uhhh . . .

  “Oh, I . . . um, I didn’t know you knew how to apologize,” I say. Good God, Greer, not the thing to say. “I mean . . . Jesus, sorry. Thank you.”

  He chuckles. “That’s a fair comment, you know. I can be moody at times.”

  “Can be? Uh, how about you are?”

  “Are you going to pick on me now, after I apologized?”

  “Can’t take it, Turner?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I can’t.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “Okay, talked to Dewitt,” Gunner says, coming up to us. “We’re going to take the west patrol near the food. Since you’re new and Arlo doesn’t do this often, you’re going to take the north side, where the shy students sit. Look for under-the-table rubbing.”

  “Jesus,” Arlo mutters.

  “We have two other pairs taking on the east and the south, and one soul who’ll be patrolling the dance floor, which I’ll swap out on. Students know by now if I’m in there, they need to behave, but I can’t be surrounded by sweaty students all night. Hence, the trade-off.” Looking serious, he says, “Do you understand the responsibilities of being a chaperone?”

  “Yes,” Arlo answers, exasperated.

  “Good, because the students are starting to file in. Get in your places.”

  Rolling his eyes, Arlo nods toward the north side of the gym, and we walk over together. “So . . . he takes this seriously?”

  “He goes to one hundred whenever he’s in charge of something. Dewitt of course thrives off his efficiency, it’s why she’s always asking him to chaperone. No doubt, we’re here because of him. If he asked us, though, I’d have said no.”

  “Lucky for you Nyema asked.”

  “Yeah, I can never say no to her.”

  We position ourselves at the north end of the gym just as kids filter through the doors. Some go straight to the photobooth, others go to the food, and the brave ones head straight to the dance floor, where the music revs up.

  “Did you ever go to your high school dances?” Arlo asks.

  He seems so relaxed, especially for someone doing something he doesn’t want to do. I’m thrown off. I wasn’t expecting for him to apologize, and I wasn’t expecting him to be nice, either. That’s why I was begging Stella to come take my spot, because I really didn’t want to deal with a cranky Arlo making snide comments all night.

  But that’s not what’s happening.

  And it’s confusing me.

  “Uh, high school dances,” I say, trying to gain my bearings. “Only my senior year, and I went to prom, but that’s it. Volleyball took up a lot of my time. I wasn’t able to make a lot of the dances.”

  “So, I take it you w
ere never a homecoming queen?”

  I snort and shake my head. “No, I wasn’t. Was never that girl. What about you?”

  “Prom king.”

  “Seriously?” I ask turning toward him.

  He keeps his attention on the gym floor in front of us, but answers, “Yes.”

  “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

  “Why not?”

  “No offense, but you don’t seem like a people person, or someone who knows how to let loose and have fun.”

  “Do you not recall the time I played with your pussy under your classroom desk?”

  I swallow hard. “Uh, strike that last comment.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Does that mean you were popular in high school?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. But not for the right reasons. My grandparents had money, so people wanted to be my friend.”

  “The rich-kid problem.”

  “Yeah, if you want to call it that.”

  “Sounds a little sad.”

  “It is what it is,” he answers just as the music picks up. “They gave us a home when they didn’t need to, and they left us with an inheritance, with which I’ve been able to help the school.”

  That’s right, Stella mentioned he donates money to the school.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “What am I going to do with all of the money? I have a house. I don’t need much more than that. I’m not much of a technology guy. I’d rather stretch out on a lounger that looks over Lake Michigan and enjoy a book.”

  “A classic book, right?” I bump his shoulder with mine.

  “I do enjoy the classics, but you’d be surprised what’s on my Kindle.”

  “You have a Kindle?”

  “Don’t you?” he asks, a raise to his brow when he looks at me.

  “Yes, but I don’t know one guy who has one. Whenever I see a guy reading, it’s always a paperback. Thought it was a cool dude thing.”

  “When you read as much as me, a Kindle is worth it to prevent multiple trips to the bookstore.”

  “Okay, so what do you read? Wait . . . let me guess.” I tap my chin. “Well, I know it’s not romance, right? Besides that one series.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Yeah, didn’t think so. Ugh, American president autobiographies?”

  “I’ve read a few, but that’s not my main genre.”

  “Of course you’ve read a few. You have presidential autobiography written all over your cardigan.” He chuckles again and, God, it’s sexy. He’s sexy. This relaxed mood, talking like a normal person, it’s refreshing and scary at the same time. Scary because I can easily see myself falling into this man’s world if he continues to charm me. I can take the angry, off-putting Arlo, but a charming one? Now that’s a completely different story. “Okay, so I want to say you’re a suspense guy, that’s what my gut is telling me, but it also seems very unlike you. Then again, I think you might surprise me. So, is it suspense?”

  “Yup.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “I’m really into military suspense right now. I love how the stories unfold and always aim to figure them out before the grand reveal.”

  “Are you correct?”

  He laughs again. “Maybe like fifteen percent of the time. If I was ever looking for another profession, detective isn’t it.”

  “I’m shocked. I’d have pegged you as someone who could figure out a storyline. You don’t take notes or anything?”

  He shakes his head. “No, when I’m reading, I just like to get lost in the pages. Get lost in the world. If I took notes, that would take me out of the story.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that.”

  “What about you?” he asks. “Have you started reading that Scot book?”

  “Wait.” I turn toward him. “You have all those books in your office. You said you read on a Kindle.”

  “I didn’t get a Kindle until a few years ago. I started reading novels in middle school . . .”

  “Oh, right.” I laugh.

  “So, the Scot book—have you read it?”

  “Of course. It was fantastic. Made me want to stick my hand up a kilt and see what I find.”

  “Bet it’s a pair of hairy balls.” He rocks on his heels with a smirk.

  Oh, dear God, he’s messing with my emotions. Charming, cute, smiles, laughter. The music in the background playing like our own personal soundtrack. He’s confusing me. I’m confusing me. Tonight the man has showed more sincerity and thoughtfulness than I’ve seen in him to date. It’s as though my forgiveness was extremely important to him. And I know Arlo Turner isn’t a liar. Which makes this change . . . believable.

  I think he might insert himself back into my life . . . and in an all-consuming way.

  * * *

  “Please don’t tell Principal Dewitt,” Chuckie, a senior with bright red hair, says, pleading with Arlo.

  “And why shouldn’t I tell her?” Arlo asks, holding a tiny bottle of vodka in his hand. I still have no idea how Arlo spotted Chuckie on the dance floor with it, but he did.

  “Because she’s going to suspend me, and my dad . . . well, you know.” Chuckie swallows hard. “Please, Mr. Turner.”

  Leaning in, Arlo says, “Tell me how you got this into the building.”

  “I found it.”

  “Lie to me again and I’ll send your ass straight to Dewitt.” I know that menacing voice. It’s scary, and the kid folds right away.

  “Basketball practice. We slipped a few under the bleachers before we left.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “I can’t rat out my bros.”

  “Then looks like I’ll have to rat you out.”

  “Fuck,” the kid says, pressing his hand to his forehead, obviously in distress.

  “How about this?” Arlo asks. “I give you five minutes to collect the rest of the bottles and bring them to me. And if I see one bottle out there, or hear of one, I’m turning in your sorry punk ass so fast. Got it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Turner.”

  In a low tone, Arlo says, “Go.”

  Chuckie scrambles off and inserts himself into the dance floor. Idiot. We can see exactly who he’s talking to.

  “Keeping track of his conversations?” I ask.

  “Obviously. Chuckie, Brannen, and Louis. Could have guessed that.”

  “Why are you letting him get away with it?”

  “His dad is an alcoholic. Unpredictable.”

  “What?” I ask, turning toward Arlo. “Why don’t you report him?”

  “No evidence, just conversations. Chuckie is incredibly smart, despite bringing alcohol to the dance. He needs to get the hell away from his dad—his home—and when he gets accepted to Stanford, I’m inclined to put him on the first bus out of here.”

  “But he’s not going to learn anything—”

  “Listen, you might not like what I do next, but sometimes, not everything can be by the book, Greer.”

  Chuckie approaches, hands in his pockets. Arlo stiffens, and I watch him transform into the disciplinarian.

  “I have three more bottles,” Chuckie says.

  “How many did you start with?”

  Chuckie swallows hard. “Six, Mr. Turner.”

  “Where are the other two?”

  “Already consumed.”

  He nods and says, “Hand the bottles to Miss Gibson.”

  Chuckie hands me the bottles, and I stick them in my dress pocket. As Arlo grips the boy by the shoulder, he bends so he’s at eye level.

  “You listen to me very carefully, Chuckie. You haven’t met your community service hours yet.”

  “Yes, I have.” Chuckie nods vigorously. “I finished them this summer.”

  “And who has to sign off on those?”

  “You . . .” Chuckie says, realizing where this is going.

  “Guess who just earned himself twenty?”

  “Twenty?” Chuckie’s eyes nearly pop out of their s
ockets. “Why twenty?”

  “Ten hours per bottle. Now, I’m only counting the ones that were consumed. I could be a real asshole and give you ten per bottle, making it sixty. Would you prefer that instead?”

  “No, tw-twenty is good.”

  “That’s what I thought. See me Monday morning. I’ll get you started on those hours. Got it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Turner.”

  He starts to turn away when Arlo halts him. “Look at me.”

  Chuckie looks him in the eyes.

  “I want to remind you of something. Alcoholism runs in your family. Now, you’re going to be on your own soon and the choices you make will be yours, but it’d be smart to consider where you come from. You’re smart and going places, so make intelligent choices.”

  Chuckie’s shoulders sag and he nods. “Thank you, Mr. Turner.”

  “Now get out of my face and report back Monday at seven in the morning. No later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he starts to walk away, Arlo calls out, “And have some innocent fun. You have forever to be an adult. Enjoy these moments.”

  Chuckie smirks and then takes off, jumping into the center of the dance floor, where he joins his friends.

  And me? Well, I just stand there, jaw on the ground, my heart reaching out to the teachable moment, the way Arlo handled Chuckie, how he spoke to him. It was beautiful, the trust they have in each other.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I was mistaken.”

  “Huh?” Arlo turns to me.

  “Earlier this year, when we were fighting, I said you weren’t a memorable teacher. I was very, very wrong. That, right there, that’s a moment Chuckie’s going to remember forever, and he’ll learn his lesson.”

  “One can only hope.” Arlo reaches out and says, “Hand me the bottles, I’ll take care of them.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  GREER

  “Congratulations, you made it through your first chaperoning job,” Gunner says, coming up to me. “You did great.”

  “Thanks. I mean, I didn’t really do much.”

  “Your presence alone is what makes the kids behave.” Gunner leans in and asks, “Was Arlo an ass to you the entire time?”

  “No, he was actually really nice,” I say.