by A. M. Wilson
This Algebra II class is mostly sophomores with a few advanced freshmen. Today I have a semester pretest so I can gauge the level of my students. It’s nice to get a grasp on who’s ahead and who needs a little more help right from the get-go.
The warning bell rings, and I pull the crisp papers fresh off the copier from my brief case, settling them on the corner of my desk. I stay seated, watching as students begin filtering in, giving small hellos and nods of my head as they choose their seats. Unfortunately, I don’t miss the flirtatious grins and giggles erupting behind the hands of several of the female students. Far from flattering, I find myself becoming annoyed. And as I didn’t think my annoyance couldn’t take on another level, in walks Miss Krause, looking as arrogant as ever.
“Okay class, let’s settle down,” I start, trying to quiet the chatty students.
“Anything for you, Mr. Ryan,” one young girl sporting way too much makeup calls out. I laugh with discomfort, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t start waving them around. I tend to get a bit animated when I’m flustered. Even through my embarrassment, I don’t miss the unladylike snort from close behind me.
“Alright, let’s get started.” I pick up the papers off my desk, finding Miss Krause standing behind me, quite awkwardly and seriously distracting. “Why don’t you sit down?” I offer.
“And where should I do that?” she sneers at me, with that glorious attitude of hers. Christ, she’s difficult. I feel sorry for her mother.
“There. Sit at my desk and show me you can behave yourself,” I tell her, while I grab a stool for myself to sit on. “Okay, class. As we discussed yesterday, I have the pretest here.” I wave the stack of papers in the air to the sound of many groans and protests.
“But it’s the second day of class!”
“And tomorrow is the third, and Friday is the fourth and so on...Mr…?”
“Thompson. Ben Thompson.”
“Right, Mr. Thompson. This is not a typical test. It is a test of your abilities. As I mentioned yesterday, this is a tool so I can get an idea how much you already know. It will help me determine if someone might need a little extra help, or if someone is already ahead of the group. My goal here is to make sure each one of you is challenged individually.” Pausing to look around the room, one girl slowly raises her hand in the air. “Yes? Your name, please?” The young girl blushes—actually blushes—when I acknowledge her.
“My name’s Megan,” she says shyly, and when she doesn’t continue, I prompt her.
“Yes Megan, did you have a question?”
“Um, yes. Um, who’s that?” she asks, gesturing to my TA. I give her a brief smile before turning around to look at Miss Krause, and find her texting fiercely on her phone.
“Put the phone away!” I snap, exasperated with this girl. She looks up at me coldly, before slipping the phone back into her back pocket. “Come here, please,” I request through tight lips. She complies, sauntering over to where I’m seated.
“This is Miss Krause. She is going to be my teaching assistant for the next couple of weeks.”
“My name is Tatum. I’m a senior. This is a punishment for me, so don’t expect me to be your friend,” she finishes her introduction for me. I groan inwardly. She couldn’t have been more unfriendly if she had started spouting profanities during her little speech.
“Thank you, Tatum,” I reply, emphasizing her first name. “Please hand out the tests for me. While she does that, are there any more questions?” I receive several shakes of heads and I take a seat behind my desk. “Then you may begin. Please bring your papers to my desk when you are finished.”
The room quickly quiets of chatter and I try forcing myself to relax. Just being in the same room as Tatum has me wound up tight. Turning on my computer, I check the sport scores from last night’s baseball game, glancing up periodically to check for any cheaters. Not that it particularly matters since the test isn’t graded, but it’s the principle of it. After reading a recap, since I was too busy with Melissa to watch the game, I log into my personal email out of habit. It’s not like I have anyone to email me anyway, but there’s a new message in my inbox.
Speak of the devil. I click the link, surprised to see a message from Melissa. She sent it earlier this morning. Way earlier this morning, as the message timestamp reads 4:35 a.m. Christ, this will be good.
Jacoby,
I wanted to send you a little note to thank you for the wonderful time I had last night. I know you don’t want to be more than what we are, but so you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here and would be a great listener. I’m sorry you had such an awful day yesterday, and I hope today is much better for you. If not, I’ve attached a little ‘something’ that’s bound to cheer you up! Call me later.
XoXo
Mel <3
Fuck. I panic as a very scantily clad Melissa loads onto my screen in a small preview of the download. I glance around quickly to make sure nobody is near enough to see, and frantically click the logout button at the top of my screen. Damn, she’s going to get me fired pulling a stunt like that one. I can’t sit here any longer, the adrenaline is still coursing through my system. As I turn to stand, I catch Tatum sitting on the stool with that damn phone under her nose once again.
“Give me your phone,” I demand, students glancing up to watch the drama unfolding before them. Instead of distracting the entire class, I decide to take it outside. “In the hall, now.” Her eyes widen fractionally before she meanders slowly into the hallway. The way she walks pisses me off even more because I have to actually force myself to not stare as her hips sway alluringly. Her body gives off provocativeness like a bonfire gives off heat.
Generously.
“We are down to the last fifteen minutes. Please continue working until the end of class. I will be right back,” I tell the class, my voice sounding throaty and a bit rough, before leaving the room and closing the door behind me.
Tatum is standing across the hall, leaning against the brick wall looking at me, almost as if she’s studying me. I cross the small walkway to stand in front of her.
“Is this a game to you?” Credit to her for not flinching away from me. She holds my gaze steadily with her own darkly lined hazel eyes.
“No, it’s not a game.”
“Then why were you on your phone after I asked you to put it away?”
“I don’t know, why were you on your email looking at porn?” she throws back at me.
Frustration flares inside of me, but I keep my hands loosely at my sides, trying to not give away any sign she’s getting to me. And for fuck’s sake, she’s getting to me. I don’t know whether to shake some sense into her, or grab her and kiss her senseless.
Uh, what? Let’s leave that thought right there.
“I wasn’t. And it’s none of your business what’s on my email.”
“What would Mr. Stephenson think?” she threatens me, the glare in her eyes betraying her contempt.
“Don’t threaten me Miss Krause. Do not forget that I am your teacher this afternoon. You may be in my class now as my aide but later you will be my student, and you will not disrespect me in class again.”
“I’ll be finding a new class,” she says, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. I’m the only teacher of the college level calculus class. There isn’t another comparable class for her to take. I don’t know her well enough to be certain, but any senior taking a college level class usually has an agenda. It would be foolish for her to change her plans on my account.
“Don’t sacrifice your education because you don’t like me. You’re enrolled in my class for a reason and it’s probably a good one. If you can be on your best behavior, we’ll get along just fine. You can be dismissed for the rest of this morning’s class. I expect to see you later.”
“Whatever,” she says, already turning towards the staircase.
“Miss Krause?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the phone in your bag.
If I see it again, it will spend the next two weeks in my desk drawer.” I’m pretty sure she’s giving me the bird as she walks away. I let out the sigh I’ve been holding in for the past twenty minutes and take a moment to calm myself, in more ways than one, before finishing up my first class of the day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tatum
On my mad dash down the stairs to escape Mr. Ryan, I ran myself right into the school principal, who was oh-so curious about my first day as a TA. I completely forgot to apologize for yesterday’s drama, and Mr. Stephenson demanded I make a public apology first thing sixth period and that he would be attending.
I’m still contemplating switching classes, but Mr. Ryan was right. I do need calculus and he is the only teacher for that class. I made it my priority this year to take as many classes for college credit as possible to save some money on my generals. If all I accomplish is an AA degree, it’s better than nothing, and having 30 plus credits under my belt will save me almost a year of schooling and student loans.
My phone buzzes for what feels like the thousandth time this morning, breaking my thought process. I don’t need to look at it to know who it’s going to be.
You still haven’t answered me. We getting together tonight?
Can’t tonight. I have to study.
Never stopped you before ;) Just for an hour.
Sorry, no can do. Maybe later this week.
I doubt I’ll have homework tonight, but I don’t want to see him again so soon. I silence my phone so I don’t have to read his reply. Wyatt and I have gotten together maybe once a week in the past, if that, but lately he’s been much clingier than usual. He texted me all through second period, trying to get me to meet for lunch today, which subsequently led to Mr. Ryan getting pissed off at me once again.
I’ve never been a relationship girl, even as a young teen. I was always too embarrassed of the state of my house, and my mom, to invite anyone over. I think I intimidated a lot of the guys my age. When I met Wyatt, I had just relocated after leaving my mom’s house and I was still reeling with the knowledge of her near death and everything that followed. He offered me an escape, and our relationship was built on sex and comfort. But even when he compliments me, I still see myself as the image of that scared little girl I used to be when my mom was too busy doing drugs to care. Dirty, worthless, unlovable. Any time someone tries to get a little too close, I push them away by any means I can. Because people can only hurt you when you let them in. And after over a year, Wyatt is trying to get dangerously close.
After lunch, my day is smooth sailing up until Mr. Ryan’s class. No matter how much confidence I think I have, I hate public speaking of any sort. My stomach has been a ball of nerves for the past half an hour and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling. Twisted, tormenting flames burn deep in my gut as I pace the hallway outside his classroom. My hands are knotted at my waist, palms damp with uncontrollable sweat. Only a few moments. I just have to say a couple of words and I’ll be done. Feeling as though I’m about to cry, and pissed for bringing this upon myself, I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cold brick wall.
“Tatum?”
Why the hell isn’t he in his classroom already? The bell rang five minutes ago. I swallow my sarcasm and bite my tongue against the smart ass remarks. I try taking a deep breath to calm myself, I do, but as I turn to face him, all that comes out is panic.
“Mr. Ryan, I’m so sorry,” I gush, an uncontrollable rant bursting forth as if a dam broke.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, but I keep going because I can’t stop myself.
“Mr. Stephenson wants me to apologize to you in front of the entire class, but I can’t. I can’t go in there in front of everybody. I’m sorry I acted like a jerk and embarrassed you yesterday, it was wrong. I know it was. But please don’t make me go in there in front of everybody.” I’m shaking from nerves, my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt. I feel like I can’t breathe as he stands there just starting at me.
“Miss Krause, calm down,” he says, approaching me slowly. I attempt to take another deep breath as I watch him near me. “If it upsets you this much, I won’t make you. Although maybe I should. What you did yesterday was completely over the line.”
“I know, I know,” I rush, “and I’m really sorry.”
Mr. Ryan studies me critically, weighing my words against my behavior, I’m sure. “Apology accepted, Miss Krause.”
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “Okay.” I can feel some of the anxiety seeping out of my system. “Okay….Thank you.”
He lifts his hand as though he’s going to touch me, but he thinks better of it. It falls limply at his side. “Are you going to be okay, or do you need to lie down?” he asks gently, eyeing me as if I’m going to suddenly drop.
“I’m okay. I just need a minute,” I reply, feeling better with each passing second. I can’t help but catch his deep brown eyes watching me curiously, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits patiently until my breathing has slowed, and now I feel like an idiot. “I’m good. Let’s go inside.”
“You sure?”
I nod my head.
“For the record, I’ll tell Mr. Stephenson I spoke to you privately and accepted your apology.”
“Thank you,” I mutter as I follow him inside the room.
I end up with a seat in the very front since I’m the last student to show up, and Mr. Ryan doesn’t waste any time launching into a review of linear functions. My mind is having a hard time focusing after the emotional day I’ve been having, and after sparing a quick glance at Mr. Ryan, I pull out my phone to text Emerson, ignoring the 3 missed texts I have waiting for me in my inbox.
I need girl time 2nite you avail?
She texts me back almost immediately. Her phone is like an extension of her right hand.
Of course. You okay?? Your place at 4?
Making sure I’m still in the clear, I type a quick reply. I’m fine just need to blow off some steam. See ya at 4!
I slip my phone into my pocket, thankfully without being noticed. Days like this, where I’m moody and confused and lost, I can’t help but wish I had been born into a normal family with a mom I can talk to or even a dad who will listen. I’m just grateful I have Emerson and Kels, because without them, I don’t know what I would do.
When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I gather my things to leave. Turning towards the door, I find my path blocked by Mr. Ryan. I can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but it’s not hard to miss the concern in his chocolate eyes. It makes my insides twist and slither.
“Do you have a minute, Miss Krause?” he asks when most of the students have filed out.
“I thought we were passed this ‘Miss Krause’ stuff. My name is Tatum,” I tell him, feeling ready for this day to be over. “And I need to go to work.” I’m lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. What does he want? Is he going to talk about the kiss? Should we talk about the kiss? It seems much easier to leave it swept beneath the rug. If we let it out into open air, it’ll just dirty everything.
He sits on the corner of the desk behind the one I was occupying, his hands folded in his lap. “I wanted to make sure you are okay. Do you often have panic attacks like that?”
My face flames with mortification, and with my bag in my hands, I can’t hide it. Swallowing down the retort on the tip of my tongue, I lie. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. My emotions got the better of me.”
Truth is, I’ve had panic attacks since I was a little girl, when I’d hide away in the corner whenever my mom would bring a John home, or her dealer. I remember cramming myself into the small space beneath the staircase and hyperventilating behind my hands, praying they would leave so I could finish coloring or playing with my doll. Mom always told me I must never be seen, and would scare me with horrific stories of what would happen to me if I didn’t hide. Now that I’m older, I realize telling your kid fucked up shit to make them listen is just plain wrong. Even if there
were some truth to her words.
“Okay. Look,” he sighs. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I am still your teacher. If you need someone you can talk to me, and I promise I will keep things confidential.”
I snort rudely when he finishes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, composing myself. It really takes a lot of effort to not be rude around him. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. I don’t need your charity therapy sessions.”
He sighs again, running a hand through his long, shaggy hair. “Alright, Tatum. Just know I am here if you need someone. Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, dismissing me.
Walking away from his classroom and out to my car, I have a new sense of unease in my belly. As much as I don’t want to, I almost feel excited about Mr. Ryan’s offer to listen to me. Besides the few girlfriends I have, I’ve not once had a male friend offer to lend an ear to listen to my petty problems. And even though it’s highly unlikely that I will ever act on his offer, considering our miniscule, yet complicated history, the fact he even offered is monumental. He must feel something for me or he wouldn’t even acknowledge me. Some messed up daddy complex I have.
When I get home, I have an hour to kill before Em will be here, so I call Kelsey to check in on Mrs. Marsden. Kelsey works doubles on Wednesdays, so she should be on a break right now. She picks up on the second ring.
“What’s up girl?” She answers, and I hear the unmistakable sound of her exhaling a drag from her cigarette.
“Just checking in. How’s work today?” I ask, while seating myself on my bed.
“Oh, you know, pretty typical. I’ve been stuck here with Kathy today, and you know how she can be. Always bitchin’ about her kids and that ex-husband of hers. At least I have Finn replacing her so tonight should be drama free.”
“Dang, I love working with Finn. It sucks I’m off tonight.”
“Well I was going to call to see what you’re up to. Might want to stop in and see Mrs. Marsden today. She’s really not doing well.”
