by Kendall Day
“Yeah.”
There’s her grin again. “You’re totally getting busy with Slater, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
These reminders of Slater and me doing shit we shouldn’t have weigh heavily on me.
Leave the past where it belongs and face the future head-on, Roxie. Slater’s not part of yours beyond student teaching. Roll over this speed bump and then it’s full steam ahead.
I try hard to believe those words. I’m excited about how today’s lesson went, but Slater’s silence on that front—and the us front—is a real gut punch. A betrayal of the trust I thought we’d built.
But I can’t control him. I can only control me. With my supervisor coming to observe me tomorrow, I got no room for his bullshit.
Steady on, Miss Rambling.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I sit straighter and pretend to be interested in the principal’s talk about the importance of changing paradigms. Sadly, I only succeed in staring at the back of Slater’s sexy bedhead for the rest of the meeting.
God, I want to hate him. And yet, I can’t. Every time he throws a glance to me, butterflies do a drive-by in my stomach.
About twenty minutes in, my phone vibrates beside my notebook. I look down at the same moment Sophie does. I snatch the phone under the table and pull back to read what Sophie’s already seen. Text from Mr. Slater: I need to see you tonight.
Sophie nudges me with a huge smile and even bigger eyes. I knew it, she mouths.
I shake my head as I type back, No.
You know nothing, Sophie Snow.
* * *
ASSESSMENT: Roxie deflected gossip as best she could. MEETS EXPECTATIONS.
[Slater]
* * *
LEARNING GOAL: Jack Slater will grow a brain and learn how to use it.
As Dragov wraps up the most boring faculty meeting ever, I look down at the single, very negative word Roxie typed in reply to my text, and sigh.
Roxie wants to play hard to get? That’s fine. I’m gonna win her back. It’s decided. And I know exactly how I’m going to do it. I’m gonna make up for every horrible thing I’ve ever done to her and prove that I’m not the dickhead she thinks I am.
Okay, so first, I actually have to stop being a dickhead. I’ll remedy that shortly.
My teammates and I stand up when the meeting adjourns. I catch Darcy’s eye. The bitch snickers, wiping her gaze over Witcher, Love, and Vino like toilet paper over a butthole, as if to say, Nice bunch of losers you’re stuck with.
My hackles stand on end. That condescending horseshit is totally uncalled for. My teammates have proven to be hard-working teachers who stay late and come in early. They genuinely care about our kids, often contacting parents on the weekends and after hours to remind them about IEP meetings, homework, or tests. They’re a hell of a lot more on the ball than I am. If anyone’s the weak link in the team’s chain, it’s me.
Must. Do. Better.
I toss one more look at Darcy and pull my lips back, baring my teeth like a grinning wolf with the passcode to the chicken coop’s digital lock. You’ll get yours soon enough.
I fraternize with friends for a few minutes before saying my goodbyes. Roxie’s already gone by the time I reach the door. No matter.
I trot out to my car, get in, and scroll through my contacts, pulling up the first of many numbers I need to dial.
“Hey, Taylor, it’s Slater. How’s it going, man?” I say.
“Well, tweak my titties,” Taylor says. “It’s only been, what, two years? How the hell are ya?”
“Good, good,” I lie. “I’m still teaching at Bracken, which is part of the reason I’m calling.” It’s not part of the reason. It’s the only reason.
Yes, you’re right. I’m gonna have to work a little harder at that whole non-dickhead thing, but Taylor’s a dude. He’ll understand.
“You still working at CNN?” I say.
“Yeah, why’d you ask?”
“It’s a long story—”
“It’s about pussy, isn’t it?” Taylor knows me so well.
“When is it not?” I admit. “But this time, it’s different.”
“Color me intrigued,” Taylor muses. “What can I do for you?”
* * *
ASSESSMENT: Brain growth initiated. MEETS EXPECTATIONS.
The Hun Strikes Again
[Rambling]
* * *
LEARNING GOAL: Roxie Rambling will maintain an air of professionalism at school.
“Roxie, your lesson today was fantastic,” my supervisor, Dr. Davis, raves behind me as I head into the hall to monitor the class change. “Your method for getting the students’ attention when they wandered off task by using the song to redirect and get them focused worked perfectly. I could tell how much they liked that. And the project itself has such wonderful potential.”
“Really?” My heart is beating so hard, I can hardly breathe.
“Suck on this Swedish fish,” Attila shouts on his way out of the room, arms swinging, running into other kids. He turns to me, totally interrupting our conversation. “Hey, miss, you and Mr. Slater gon’ get some more bagels this weekend?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll bet you like yours with lotsa cream cheese.” Quentin busts out laughing beside him.
And there goes the neighborhood.
I could strangle him. Instead, I try some more of that redirection Dr. Davis liked so well.
“Great job today coming up with those interview questions, Attila. That was the bomb.” I point and throw a hand explosion his way. “Tonight, I want you to think about who you’d like to use them on. We gotta start filming next week.” I don’t tell him we’ll be using my camera phone’s video app to do it, but it’s better than nothing.
“A’ight, a’ight,” Attila says, bopping to a song only he can hear as he twirls and tumbles down the hall like a pinball looking for bumpers to keep his momentum going.
Dr. Davis smiles after him, but some of the light has dimmed from her eyes. “He’s a handful, isn’t he?”
“You could say that.”
Slater appears in the doorway and nods to Dr. Davis. My hand flinches at my side, itching to touch him after the nerve-wracking observation. I catch myself staring at him staring at me and we both look away. Dr. Davis glances at him, then to me, then after Attila. Her expression takes on a knowing edge that makes my lungs cramp.
“Can we talk privately for a few minutes?” she says to me.
“Sure,” I reply.
Slater waves us toward the room. “I’ve got hall duty covered. Go ahead, Miss Rambling.”
I close the door behind us and pull up a chair for Dr. Davis on the other side of my desk. She takes it and studies me a moment before speaking. She’s a kind, patient woman who’s always been there to answer my questions—even the really dumb ones. Believe me, I ask a lot of dumb questions. But she never judges.
“How’s your experience going so far, Roxie? Have you settled into the routines?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “The students are fun—sometimes challenging, but I enjoy them.”
She lifts a brow. “And the teachers? I know you started off on shaky ground. Is Mr. Slater meeting your expectations now?”
And then some.
“He’s been very helpful. We spent a lot of time putting the pieces together for my unit.”
“After hours,” she says. Not a question.
I press my lips together. No point lying. “Sometimes. Mr. Slater and I met for bagels once on a Saturday, like Attila said. We saw him on our way out.”
“Roxie, you’re a stellar teacher with a lot going for you.” Dr. Davis removes her glasses and lays them on the desk. Somehow, without the glass barrier between us, it feels like she can see right through me. “Is something going on between you and your mentor that I need to know about? Did he … do anything to you?”
“What?” I’m so shocked, it takes me a moment to figure out her meaning. Once I decipher it, a wave of anger rushes into
my cheeks. “If you’re suggesting he harassed me or did something inappropriate, the answer is no. Of course not.”
She holds out her hands as if to calm me. “Okay, let me rephrase. I was observing on the eighth-grade hall earlier today and overheard some … mumblings about you and Mr. Slater. When I asked Sophie Snow about it, she refused to comment. I blew it off as silly rumors. But then I hear one of your students calling you out. Now you admit you met with Mr. Slater outside of school … It doesn’t look good.
“I’m just saying, you don’t want to mess up a good thing by falling into … questionable behavior. The supervisor-student relationship should be purely professional.”
I squirm in my chair.
She shines her spotlight right in my eyes and drops the mother of all questions. “Are you seeing Mr. Slater outside of school?”
Caught in the glare, I can’t look away. I can’t run. I can’t hide.
“We … I … It’s complicated.” I’m getting so tired of repeating that line.
Dr. Davis levels me with an apologetic stare. “Yes or no, Roxie? Tell me the truth.”
“No,” I say, looking away. “Well, we sort of were, but it’s not what everyone thinks. It’s over, but even if it wasn’t, our relationship hasn’t interfered with his job or my practicum. We work well together.”
She picks up her glasses, turns them over in her hands for a moment, and puts them on. “I hate to do this, Roxie, but I have no choice,” she says sadly. “I have to report your activities to Dr. Dragov.”
“What? No! You can’t do that. We’re consenting adults,” I stammer. “And I only admitted it because I thought you’d keep it between us!”
My mouth is dry. I feel so violated. I trusted her!
Stupid, Roxie. Stupid!
“Mr. Slater could be fired for this kind of behavior,” Dr. Davis says. “He may be in violation of state or county ethics standards. And I’d be in violation by not notifying his supervisor.”
“But, we didn’t do anything on campus,” I say, tears filling my eyes. I may be pissed as hell at Slater, but the last thing I want is to get him in trouble.
A flustered Dr. Davis looks to the door and then back at me. “I understand you’re upset, but I don’t make the rules. The rules are in place to protect you.”
“I don’t need anyone’s protection,” I argue. “There was no coercion or pressure on his part. I did this. If anyone should take the blame, it’s me.”
She sighs and offers a terse smile as she stands and gathers her things. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I hope you’ll understand my decision has nothing to do with you. It’s not a choice I can make. It’s a mandate. I’m sorry, Roxie. I’ll contact you soon about my next observation. Maybe things will have settled by then.”
She reaches for my hand to shake. I get up and accept, my grip weakened by the bomb she just dropped. I’m shell-shocked without a thing to say.
Dr. Davis heads for the door and looks over her shoulder before opening it. “Your unit is one of the most ambitious I’ve ever seen out of my student teachers. I believe you have something magical there. I look forward to watching it unfold.
“I’ll send my observation notes tomorrow. You knocked this one out of the park.”
She turns the knob and lets herself out.
I collapse into my chair, drop my head into my hands, and bawl my eyes out.
A minute later, Slater storms into the room and slams the door behind him. “What the hell happened?”
He drops to his knees and stares up into my face. I try to wipe away the stupid tears, but he curls his strong arms around me and squeezes before I can. I’m not ashamed to admit it feels good. Really good.
I cry into his shoulder, leaving watery plops of mascara on his shirt, feeling like the dumbest, biggest loser for breaking down in front of him. He must think I’m a such baby.
“Talk to me, Roxie Rambling,” he says softly in my ear. “What did she say?”
I sniffle and try to speak, but my voice cracks and seizes. The emotion is flowing full force, in overdrive, powered by insecurity, hurt, and fear for what I might’ve done to endanger Slater’s job. The sobs ratchet up as I unlock Blubbery Level on the Oh-Shit-What-Have-I-Done Meter.
But Slater holds me through all of it, never loosening his grasp on me, never flinching, even when I get his collar snotty. After a minute, I pull back and try to wipe my biological oozings off him with a tissue from my pocket, but it just smears the slime. “Sorry,” I whisper.
He grabs my wrists and stares at me with a tender, gentle expression that assures me he’s got me no matter what. I haven’t been “got” since Gramamma was around.
Slater’s fingers smooth the tears away and he rests his forehead against mine. Our noses rub.
“She found out,” he says, looking down.
I can only nod. If I try to speak again, there’s a good chance I’ll accidentally leak episode two of the Blubbery Bluster Show all over his other shoulder. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I inhale a full breath and let it out slowly. A little calmer, I chance a look at him. He catches and holds me tight in his gaze.
“Don’t worry,” he says, stroking away a fresh tear that snuck past the dam. “If anyone’s going to take the fall, it’ll be me. What’s the worst that can happen? The Dragonlady fires me?” He shrugs. “Who cares? I’ll find another job if I have to. What’s more important is you graduating.”
Since when does Jack Slater put my college career in front of his teaching career?
He hugs me again, and a whiff of his cologne pulls me closer. I want to say something, but I’m a muddle of misshapen words and uncontrollable worry. So, I just let him hold me until everything feels a little less raw.
The science closet door between our room and Vino’s opens. The woman sticks her head in, and Slater and I quickly pull apart.
“Sorry,” she says, looking back and forth between us, her cheeks reddening. She starts to close the door but pauses and grins as I try to pretend that I wasn’t just clutching my supervising teacher in an inappropriate embrace.
God. I was just clutching my supervising teacher in an inappropriate embrace. Does this mean what I think it means? Am I considering forgiving him?
“You two make a nice couple,” she says. “I heard the rumors. I’m glad they’re true.”
“They’re not.” Slater dons his stoic I’m-a-manly-alpha-man face and straightens his tear-blotched tie. He clears his throat and looks down. “I was just … uh …”
“Comforting me,” I say for him. “I had a bad day.”
“Riiight.” Vino draws out the word like she believes us about as much as she believes in tutu-wearing unicorns on a mission of peace from the planet Baltneergov. “Hey, you got a minute?”
“Sure,” Slater says, walking toward her. “What’s up?”
She leans around him and catches my eye. “You too, Rambling.”
I stand up from my slouch, sniffle, and blow my nose into the ratty tissue I’m still holding, then I follow them into her room through the closet. Vino gestures for us to sit. We do.
“The kids are wild about this video you guys are working on, and I was wondering if I could get in on the action. We’re starting a poetry unit in language arts, exploring all the different types, reading, analyzing, writing. Several students expressed an interest in performing and want to hold a poetry slam. I’d love to record them reading their original stuff, and if it turns out well, maybe submit it to be included in your project, Rambling. What do you think?”
“Wow,” I say, dumbfounded she’d want to be a part of my unit. “That sounds …” I look to Slater for his opinion.
The corners of his lips curl up into a supportive grin, and he nods.
“That sounds amazing, Ms. Vino,” I say, relieved and elated all at once. “But I don’t have very good equipment for recording. Mrs. Lance in the media center says the video cameras are all either checked out for the rest of the quarter
or in need of repair, so I was just going to use my phone.”
“I’ve got recording covered,” Slater casually interrupts.
My pulse trips. I whirl on him. “What?”
He shrugs and studies his fingernails. “I know people at CNN. They’re coming to help and bringing some loaner equipment. I’ve enlisted their services to train the kids on how to use it. They’ll be here for a week, whenever we need them. I might’ve secured a small grant for editing software as well.”
“You … what?” I can’t breathe. Slater did that … for me? For our kids?
“It’s no biggie,” he says, looking away.
My lips tremble. “Oh, yes. It’s a very big deal. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Mr. Slater. Thank you so much.”
He nods.
I’ll deal with him later. In the meantime, I turn to Vino. “I’d love to include your class, and I think our kids will want to get in on the action too. Maybe we could stage a performance during lunch, with microphones and everything.”
Witcher and Love walk in through the open door.
“Just the student teacher I wanted to see,” Witcher says. The woman never smiles in front of her students, but she’s smiling now. “We’re planning a simulation game about economic systems in North America and want your kids to document it for posterity. One of those you-scratch-our-backs-and-we’ll-scratch-yours kind of things. Got room on your schedule?”
Overwhelmed by Slater’s change of heart and the other teachers’ sudden interest in what my classes are doing, I can only nod mutely.
“Great,” Witcher says, her sharp eyes and equally sharp nose pointed at me like a broomstick. “Let’s do it. What you got this weekend? We’re gonna need to put our heads together for this. Best to plan the fool out of it. We don’t want these kids hanging by their toes from the chandeliers. Gotta keep ’em on task with no downtime.”
“Uh,” I look to Slater, unsure how to respond.
