Contents
Copyright
Title Page
Other Books by Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Contacting the Author
Copyright © 2017 Violette Grey
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Perfect Match
Violette Grey
Other Books by Violette Grey
Love by Design
Romancing the News
Chapter One
“Miss Johnson, can I go to the bathroom?” Brandon, one of my third-grade students, asked. He sat up straight, his hands folded on his desk. He did not even bother to do ‘the dance.’
“Didn't you just go?”
“Yeah,” he said, then went back to his assignment without mentioning it again.
I shook my head. I had been teaching four years and made many mistakes, especially in the first couple of years, just like most new teachers. Now that I had the hang of things, though, I found it even more challenging than I expected.
Teaching was supposed to be fun. Not once during my teacher training did the professors mention how to deal with students’ bathroom habits, pencil sharpening, whining, crying, fighting, or disrespect. I wanted to be a teacher for as long as I could remember, and I swore I would make learning fun. We would do all sorts of projects and learn about the world in exciting new ways. Sometimes it was fun. But most of the time it was all the other issues. And when you are dealing with twenty-five little bodies, each with a different personality, then it can really complicate things.
Between miserable kids and grumpy parents, my day could reach maximum overload from zero to sixty in less than three seconds, fast enough to win any Nascar race on any given day.
It really was not that bad most days. Today I had woken up in a cranky mood after spending hours dredging through yet another dating site, one of those that purported they could find anyone the right partner. Unfortunately, most supposed matches ended up in total failure. Several weeks ago I was matched up with a woman from Colorado Springs who believed in aliens, and before that was a woman who collected bongs. There had even been one who was a guy who showed up claiming, “It was worth a shot.” That one left me with my jaw hanging open and my eyebrows raised so high I looked like one of those little emoji faces used in texting and in chat rooms.
Last night’s date had started out fairly well with friendly conversation about where we were from and where we went to school. Yet, within five minutes, the conversation turned to my date going on a rant about politics. Once she got into marching on the Capitol Building dressed in Greek togas to protest a tyrannical government, I politely excused myself to use the restroom and left the restaurant. It’s not that I am not interested in my political standing, but on a first date, I see warning signals flashing all around when it’s the main topic of conversation right off the bat.
“Hey, Carrie.” Susan Paisley, a fellow third-grade teacher, walked up to me. A friend and colleague, I definitely took advantage of her twenty years of teaching expertise, looking up to her as a mentor as well as a friend.
“What’s going on?” I asked as she handed me a note.
“Dale wants to speak with you at lunch.” She shrugged her shoulders. The note simply said, ‘Please see me at lunch’.
“I wonder what it’s about,” I mumbled, wondering what the principal would want with me this time. Being called to the principal’s office was just as stressful for a teacher as it was for the students.
Two voices rose to maximum volume behind me, and I turned and gave the two boys one of my best teacher glares. “We can go see Principal Long or you can get back to work. Make your own choice,” I said, then turned back to Susan.
“Well, I saw Chris’s parents in the office earlier, moaning and complaining,”
I groaned. Chris Bakersfield was a student I had half-day for language arts, sharing him with my team teacher, Georgia Collins. With parent-teacher conferences this week, I knew his parents were going to be irate again. They believed that Chris should make his own decisions in life, which included r-rated movies and staying up past midnight on school nights. Though it wasn't my business what the parents did outside of school, his behavior and grades in school were my concern.
I looked up at the clock.
“All right, everyone. Let’s get cleaned up for lunch. Jenny, would you please pick up everyone’s work and put it in the basket?”
Little Jenny Rogers was a dear. Teachers were not supposed to have any pets, but the reality was, we did. Some students were just so likable you could not help but love them even more.
“Travis, why don’t you go get a tissue,” I said, rolling my eyes at Susan. Kids and picking their nose. What did they find so interesting up there?
Susan hid a smile. “Let me know what’s going on,” she said before turning and walking out of the room.
***
Dale Long looked up from whatever he was typing on his computer when I knocked on the door jam. The chair squealed as he pushed away from the desk.
“Come in, Carrie,” he said as he walked around the desk to a small table in the corner of the office. Each principal chose the wall color in his or her office, and Dale had chosen gray, which matched his pallor. Sports memorabilia decorated the walls, and a football helmet sat on the top of a shelf along one wall.
He ran his hand over his balding head before offering me a chair.
“You wanted to see me?” I asked, glancing up at the clock. I did not want to spend my entire lunch period here.
“I did.” He lowered his heavy figure into the chair with a grunt. “So, I had a visit with the Bakerfields again this morning.”
I sighed. This meeting was about them. “And what did they have to complain about this time?” I asked.
“It was the same conversation we have every time they come in. They are concerned that you are too hard on the boy.”
“What am I supposed to do? He’s falling asleep in class, Dale! How can I teach a child who is asleep almost the entire time he’s in my room?”
He gave me a consoling look. “I know it’s not an easy situation, but he is your student and you have to teach him. You just have to find a way.”
I blew out my breath and slouched in the chair. The world rested on my shoulders at that moment. Every student meant so much to me, even Chris Bakersfield despite the parents he had. It was still early in the school year, so I had time to devise a plan, but nothing seemed to work so far.
“I’m at a loss. What can I do?” I wanted to add that he was my supervisor, someone I was supposed to be able to go to for help, but I learned last year that he was more of a hands-off type of principal, rarely leaving his office to interact with staff and students. The majority of his time was spent dealing with the district people. No teacher dared send him a misbehaving student. He would send them right back to class with a note that said, ‘Take care of this in class.’ The only time I felt deigned to help
was when the situation had escalated to such a point a student might need to be suspended for acts such as stealing or fighting.
“I would recommend talking with Georgia and seeing if the two of you can make up a plan.”
Although Georgia was supposed to have Chris for the other half of the day, she was the lucky one to have specials—music, art, or physical education in rotation every day—as well as a scheduled recess. Then the students went to STEM—Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math—basically the new science curriculum. That left Chris in her classroom for an hour a day while he was somewhat wide awake during his favorite subject, which was math. The boy hated reading and was one of the lowest readers in the entire grade level, so that meant a child who fell asleep at his desk because he had not had enough sleep the night before and he was probably bored out of his mind. And when he was not sleeping, he was up walking around, grabbing other students’ work, writing on desks, or breaking up pencils into tiny pieces and throwing them across the room.
“Look, I know it’s not easy,” Dale said. Great, he was going to have one of his principal moments. They were almost as bad as his regular moments, only he became more parental. “Every student is important here at Oaksville Elementary. Chris is no exception.”
I swallowed a snort and nodded my head. “I care about all of my students, including Chris. Sometimes Chris more than the others. But the kids know he gets the majority of my attention because of his behavior. His actions are taking away the learning of others.”
Dale shrugged. “Be that as it may, he’s still your responsibility. Talk to Georgia, see if you can come up with a plan.”
What a waste of my time, I thought. I stood. “Thanks, Dale, I’ll do that. I have to go, I have lunch duty in five minutes and I still have to eat.”
“You’ll find a way,” Dale said as I walked out the door.
“I know.”
I always did.
Chapter Two
I did not know why I was putting myself through this grueling torment, but I found myself once again waiting in a restaurant lobby for a date. I had tried a new dating site, this one promising that, for just ten bucks a month, they would find the perfect match. The profile for tonight’s date showed the woman was thirty-one, one year older than me. Her name was Alice and her picture had been a bit fuzzy. As long as it wasn't a trucker named Dave, I would be happy.
The Pelicans Nest was a restaurant that served everything from pizza to salmon, and like my life, seemed to have trouble figuring out where it wanted to go. The walls were adorned with pictures of the sea, barnacles, and other ocean decorations. And in between were pictures of sports and movie stars.
A chrome strip reflected my image and I checked my hair and makeup for the umpteenth time. My blond tresses were still smooth, thank heavens. My hair had a tendency to fly away, resembling one of those people who put their hands on a plasma ball so their hair stands straight up. Well, maybe not that bad, but it felt like it sometimes.
My blouse was done up to the neck so I unbuttoned two buttons to add just a bit of sex appeal. Then I flicked at invisible lint on my dress pants. A last glance at my image showed me my eyeshadow worked well with my blue eyes and my mascara had not smeared in the past three minutes.
Why was I so nervous?
I grew impatient looking at my phone. It was ten minutes past one, and we were supposed to meet at one sharp. As a teacher, I valued every minute, and functionality was important to me.
“Carrie?” a voice said from behind me.
“Yeah?” I said turning around. My mouth went dry and my cheeks flushed as I looked at the woman in front of me. With dark brown hair, brown eyes, and olive skin, she was wearing a black tank top with gold glitter, her full breasts pushing the fabric out. She was like a model, with a narrow waist, and long legs covered in jeans. I knew I was not ugly, but I felt like a ragamuffin next to her.
“I'm Alice,” she said, extending her hand.
“I’m…Carrie,” I said, trying to form words as I pulled myself up from the bench to shake her hand.
She smiled. “So, shall we go sit?”
I shook my head to clear it. “Yes, of course.” I walked up to the hostess stand. “Carrie Johnson,” I said. The young woman smiled, marked something on the wooden podium, and grabbing two menus, she said, “Right this way.”
I followed her back, and I felt a bit lightheaded, my heart racing. I had been on a few dozen dates, so why was I acting all nervous at this one?
“Craig is going to be your server today, and he will be with you in a moment. But in the meantime may I get you a drink?” the hostess asked as we slid into a booth.
“Water is fine,” I said, and Alice said the same.
“OK, be right back.”
I grabbed my menu and then darted my eyes up, watching Alice look over hers. She was beautiful, and when she looked up, I quickly looked down. We played this little game of ‘catch me watching you’ for several minutes until she asked, “So, what are you getting?”
“Probably a salad.” There was no way I was going to order some greasy hamburger or a huge steak in front of this beautiful creature.
“Good choice. I’ll do the same.”
I wasn't sure what to say, and when she looked at me, I thought I saw a smile playing on her lips. But before words could form fully, our waiter walked up to the table.
“Hey, guys, I'm Craig,” the young man said as he took out a pen and a small pad. “What am I getting you today?”
“Two salads please,” Alice said.
“All right. Is house dressing fine?” he asked as he took the menus.
I nodded and then he was gone.
“So, Carrie, what do you do?” Alice asked as she took the wrapper off her straw and stuck the straw in her glass.
“Me? I’m a teacher, third grade,” I said, playing with my own straw wrapper.
“That sounds fun. Do you like it?”
I nodded my head. “I do. I’ve been doing it for about four years. It’s been a steep learning curve, but I’ve managed to pretty much figure it out. What about you?”
“I’m a model,” she said with a smile. “I’m also a ring girl.”
“A ring girl? As in wedding stuff?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, I hold up the number cards at boxing and MMA matches to show which round it is. We’re called ring girls. Right now it’s mostly local stuff, but I have been on some televised matches.”
“MMA?” I felt silly for not knowing what this meant. Education was ripe with acronyms for everything, but this was something new.
“Mixed Martial Arts. It’s like a mix of wrestling, boxing, kickboxing, and grappling.”
“Wow, that’s kind of cool,” I said. Cool? Who used cool anymore? I looked up as Craig set our salads in front of us.
“Not as exciting as your job, I’m sure,” she said with a smile that lit up her face.
The week’s episodes with Chris and his parents came to mind. “Well, I think they might actually be pretty close on the excitement scale at times.”
I glanced around the table and realized I had no silverware. Alice was already eating and when she noticed I was just sitting there, she asked about it.
I laughed. “No silverware.”
“Oh,” she giggled. “Just ask the waiter for some, I’m sure he’ll get it for you.”
I craned my neck around, and when I saw Craig, I waited for him to look my way to get my attention. “Come on,” I mumbled. “Turn around.”
Alice shook her head, stood up, and walked over to a nearby table where a couple was sitting, already almost done with their meal. They were holding hands across the table and I watched on, mortified, as Alice leaned in and grabbed an extra set of silverware and the napkin it sat on.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she said, not seeming to realize she was imposing on some intimate moment.
The man looked up with shock at first and then smiled. “No, go ahead.”
/> She came back to the table and set the cutlery in front of me. “There you go.”
I sat staring at her for a few moments before finally smiling and picking up the fork. That was definitely something I would never have done. Once my astonishment waned, I set myself to eating.
As we talked I couldn't help but find her interesting. It was like everything she said was just perfect. It had been a while since I had met a woman like her. One that I could date, that was.
The discussion changed so often, it would have been difficult for a bystander to follow, but each subject flowed into the next smoothly, and I found myself wanting to know as much about her as I could.
“So, how long have you been using dating sites?” I asked at one point. “You’d think it would be easy for you to find dates.”
She snorted. “I’m so busy and travel way too much to try to find a date on my own. And I assure you, it’s almost always men who ask me out.”
I laughed and told her about Dave, the man who showed up that one time.
“Oh, my God, are you kidding me?” she said, putting her fork and the table and staring at me as if I had three heads.
I shook my head.
She burst out laughing and said, “Well, to be honest, I have had some of the strangest dates ever. I had one woman who used someone else’s picture.”
I nodded. “That happened to me at least once too.”
“Well, when she got there, she was so thin she looked like a walking skeleton.” She shook her head and then, as if remembering something, began to laugh. “But the worst…I had a couple show up!”
“No way!” I gasped.
“Yep. As it turned out, the woman put her picture up. They were hoping to find another woman to form a threesome. I told them there was no way in hell, got up, and walked out.”
We both laughed until tears ran down our faces.
By the time dinner was finished, I felt very comfortable with Alice. She was strong, confident, and self-assured, many characteristics I wished I had. For myself, I fought to maintain my life in such a way as to never have anything I did come back to bite me in the ass at my job later. Unfortunately, this made life pretty boring sometimes.
Perfect Match: A Lesbian Romance Page 1
