Troublemaker

by Kayley Loring

Miss Stiles

  P.S. This “assignment” can be sent back with your child as a letter or emailed to me at estiles@silverlakeelementary.org

  TO: estiles@silverlakeelementary.org

  FROM: directoralexvega@gmail.com

  SUBJECT: Ryder Tully-Vega

  Dear Miss Stiles,

  Ryder is hilarious and brilliant and creative and perfect.

  He’s the light of my life and a healthy influence on his mother.

  He has been since the day he was born.

  It is my hope that school won’t ruin everything that is special about him.

  Thanks for your attention to this matter,

  Alex Vega

  TO: Alex Vega

  FROM: Emilia Stiles

  SUBJECT: Ryder Tully-Vega

  Dear Mr. Vega,

  Thanks so much for your prompt response to my letter. I agree that Ryder is a very special boy, and it warms my heart to see that you are so supportive of him. I’ll certainly try my best not to ruin anything that is special about him or any of my students.

  I would really appreciate it if you could elaborate a bit, though.

  Please feel free to share any concerns about him with me, as regards his education.

  Sometimes parents like to share anecdotes about their children. Whatever might come to mind. Hobbies, favorite after school activities. Any significant life changes that you would like me to know about?

  I can see from his past report cards and records that he is an excellent scholar.

  The “parent homework” is meant as a fun opportunity for parents and guardians to provide some insight into anything that might not be reflected in the students’ paperwork.

  Best,

  Miss Stiles

  TO: Emilia Stiles

  FROM: Alex Vega

  SUBJECT: Ryder Tully-Vega

  Ryder has had nothing but good things to say about you today, Miss Stiles.

  I hope he continues to have a positive experience in your class.

  As far as I can tell, I have completed your fun assignment.

  I have nothing further to add to my earlier email and would rather spend this time with my son.

  If there is anything you would like to ask me, please do so in a direct manner.

  Thanks,

  Alex Vega

  TO: Alex Vega

  FROM: Emilia Stiles

  SUBJECT: meeting re. Ryder Tully-Vega

  Dear Mr. Vega,

  I hope this email finds you well.

  Sorry you weren’t able to attend Back to School Night last week. I tried calling you yesterday, but I didn’t leave messages. I’m writing to inform you that your son, Ryder Tully-Vega, is an extremely bright boy. The quality of his schoolwork and homework are excellent. However, he has been exhibiting a certain amount of mildly disruptive behavior in class since day one.

  While being very friendly and upbeat, his excessive talking takes my time and attention away from other students and also takes my students’ attention away from the lessons. I would love to nip this in the bud before it becomes a larger issue.

  I would like to meet with you as soon as possible so we can work together to help Ryder overcome this problem.

  Please let me know when you are available for a Parent-Teacher conference. You are welcome to stop by my classroom after school. Ryder can be present, and I would encourage his involvement in this discussion.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Stiles

  8

  Alex

  Seriously, what is this lady’s problem?

  Because there’s no way that Ryder has a problem.

  “Hey, buddy?” I stare at the email on my phone while crossing over to the kitchen table. He’s doing his homework there—like a good kid. All hunched over and concentrating because he’s an awesome student. “How’re things in class?”

  “Fine, I guess.” He shrugs.

  “What’s your homework assignment?”

  “To put all the letters of the alphabet on pieces of paper. And then put the pieces of paper inside a bag. And then pull out three pieces of paper. And then write out all the words I can think of that starts with those letters.”

  “The words that start with those letters. Where’s the bag with the letters in it?”

  He looks up at me sheepishly. “That part of the assignment is dumb. I just picked three letters in my head. She won’t know.”

  “Show me the letters you picked.”

  He slides the worksheet paper across the table so I can see what he’s written. An impressive number of words that begin with the letters F, R, and T. Am I a bad parent for being really fucking proud of him?

  “Hey. You need to erase the word ‘turd.’”

  “Why? Is it a bad word?”

  “It’s bad word–adjacent.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means it’s almost a bad word. You can’t use words like that in school. You know better than that.”

  “I think it’ll make her laugh.”

  “Your teacher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that your goal? To make Miss Stiles laugh?”

  He stares down at the paper while carefully erasing the word. “I like it when she laughs.”

  Shit. Does he have a crush on his teacher? Is that what’s going on here?

  “So you still like her, then? Miss Stiles?”

  He pauses his erasing for a very telling second before looking up at me. “Yeah… I think she’s good. Why?”

  “You think she’s a good teacher?”

  He blinks and shrugs his little shoulders again. “I don’t know. Why don’t you meet her?”

  “Well, it’s funny you should ask that, because I just got an email from her about having a meeting. She says you’ve been talking a lot when you’re not supposed to in class. Is that true?”

  A huge smile spreads across his face, and I have no idea what to make of it. “You got an email from Miss Stiles? What’d you say?”

  “I haven’t written back yet. I want to talk to you about it first. Are you talking in class when you aren’t supposed to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you telling her jokes all day or something? Trying to make her laugh?”

  “No.”

  “Buddy. You need to give me a little more information so I know what to say to her.”

  “Are you gonna talk to her?”

  “It looks like I’ll have to. Does she get mad at you in class or something?”

  “No. She’s nice.”

  “But do you get in trouble?”

  “Not yet. Kind of. I don’t know. Are we calling Mom tonight?”

  “No, but I’ll help you write an email to her.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ryder. Why does your teacher say you’re talking too much in class?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her? Can we get pizza for dinner?”

  God dammit. He gets the evasiveness from his mother. He gets the talent for driving me nuts from his mother. But he’s still the greatest kid ever.

  And now I totally want pizza for dinner.

  The phone in my hand vibrates with an incoming call from an unknown number. Normally I’d ignore it, but I now realize I’ve gotten a couple of missed calls from this number recently. I think I know exactly who this is.

  “We aren’t done talking about this, buddy.” I stride out of the kitchen and to my home office before answering. “Hello,” I say in a tone that is perhaps a little-to-a lot more gruff than usual.

  I can hear air blowing out of the person’s nose, and I swear I can hear eyeballs rolling too. “Mr. Vega?”

  Well, I was not expecting such a sexy voice on the other end of the line.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Miss Stiles. Ryder’s teacher.”

  I was definitely not expecting Miss Stiles to sound young and hot.

  There’s no photo of her up on the school website, so I’
ve been picturing the teacher from that picture book I used to read to Ryder—Miss Nelson is Missing. Viola Swamp. With the creepy witch nails and the potato nose and the mole on her pointy chin.

  “Hi. I just got your email. I was going to respond.”

  “Great! Are you able to come in after school?”

  Now I can hear the distinct sound of a wineglass being placed on a table, followed immediately by the sound of the glass hitting the table and Miss Stiles saying “shhhhhiiiit!” and rustling things around.

  “Everything all right over there, Miss Stiles?”

  “Yes! Shhhhh—hang on a second, I have to—hang on.”

  She drops the phone, and I’m treated to a mumbled monologue that begins with “Fucking balls!” and ends with “motherfucking cocksucker—Atticus, no! Don’t lick that! No!”

  And then for about five seconds, I can hear the unmistakable score to Cinema Paradiso in the background before it gets switched off.

  There’s a moment when I can just hear her exhaling into her phone. I can’t tell what she’s doing, but she’s moving around and exhaling, and I fucking like what I’m hearing. More than I do when she’s talking. What exactly are you doing over there, Miss Stiles?

  “Hi. You still there?” she finally asks.

  “Yes. How’s it goin’?”

  “Well, I had to wipe something up with my shirt so my dog wouldn’t drink it, but everything’s fine now.”

  Does that mean she took her top off to wipe it up? She sounds topless. Exacerbated and topless.

  “I hope it was white and not red.”

  She almost laughs. “It was white. Hopefully I haven’t ruined the remote control. So can you come in for a quick meeting? It would be best if we could all talk face-to-face. The three of us.”

  “Was that Cinema Paradiso I heard in the background?”

  A brief pause. “Yes.”

  “Are you watching it?”

  After another brief pause, she answers. “I was about to start it. Or finish it. Sometimes I just like to watch the ending. With all the kisses.”

  So do I.

  Miss Stiles is a romantic.

  “Would you be able to come in this week?”

  Miss Stiles is impatient.

  “Could you maybe elaborate on how exactly my son’s talking is disruptive?”

  A sigh.

  Miss Stiles is annoyed.

  “Like I said in the email, it’s mildly disruptive behavior so far. And he is a very bright student. But he talks a lot in class. About topics that are not directly related to what I’m teaching, and he doesn’t raise his hand or wait for me to call on him. He gets the other kids at his table worked-up about things, and it can take me a while to get everyone back on track.”

  “What topics, exactly, does he bring up?”

  Another brief pause. “That’s not necessarily the issue. The issue is that we discussed the classroom rules about talking on the first day, and he continues to disregard them.”

  “This hasn’t been an issue for him before, you know?”

  “I’m aware of that, yes.”

  “My kid is not a troublemaker. Maybe you just didn’t explain the class rules in a way that he understands.”

  “At no point did I refer to Ryder as a troublemaker, sir.”

  Sir?

  Why does my cock like it so much when she calls me sir like a sassy little teenager?

  She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean to imply that your son is a troublemaker, Mr. Vega.”

  Why does my cock like it so much when she calls me Mr. Vega?

  “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’d just appreciate your involvement in helping me to convey the classroom rules to Ryder, for the benefit of his education and that of the entire class.” She exhales loudly—and not in a way that sounds even remotely sexy.

  Is she reading from some teacher’s handbook on how to talk to parents right now?

  I really want to point out that it’s a pretty basic part of her job to explain something to a student who’s been raising his hand before talking in class for two years now—but I don’t want to be a dick. And she probably needs to go put another shirt on.

  “I can come in tomorrow.”

  “Great! If you’re coming to pick him up after school, you can just come to Room Fifteen.”

  “Great.”

  She waits for me to continue, but I don’t.

  “I will see you tomorrow afternoon, then…”

  “Yes, you will. Thanks for calling.”

  “Thanks for actually answering.”

  Jesus, I want to give this topless teacher a spanking.

  Fuck, I need to get laid.

  Why am I so horny right now?

  “Dad! Did you order a pizza yet?”

  Aaaaand we’re back to our regularly scheduled program.

  “I will see you tomorrow, Miss Stiles.” I end the call, and I don’t have time to wonder why the fuck I sounded like Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind just now.

  Returning to the kitchen, I find Ryder about to put his homework back in a folder.

  “You finish your homework?”

  “Yes.”

  “What word did you use instead of ‘turd?’”

  “Trouble.”

  “How’d you spell it?”

  He sighs. I’m just as exasperating to him as I am to Miss Stiles. I’m killin’ it today.

  “T-r-u-b-l-e.”

  “You sure that’s right?”

  “That’s how it sounds.”

  “Don’t you need to check the spelling before turning it in?”

  “Can’t you just tell me how to spell it?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  I can’t wait until my kid is old enough to actually tell me to fuck off, because that’s what his face is saying to me right now.

  “Just look it up on your iPad. I gotta order us a pizza. And speaking of fun—guess who’s coming to visit your classroom after school tomorrow?”

  He looks way too pleased to hear this. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. You, me, and Miss Stiles are having a meeting. We’re gonna have a super fun talk about the rules about talking in class. Nice going.”

  He finally looks concerned for about one second. “Am I in trouble?”

  “You will be if you don’t learn the right way to spell it.”

  Honestly, I have a feeling Miss Stiles might be the troublemaker in this scenario.

  Miss Stiles is feisty.

  Miss Stiles is about to get schooled, Vega-style.

  9

  Emilia

  Fuck you, Brent.

  What kind of asshole sends his ex a text at two thirty in the afternoon after a month of radio silence and writes: I miss you.

  Seriously.

  What am I supposed to do with that?

  I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do with that.

  I’m going to finish this leftover sugarless, gluten-free cake from Poppy’s birthday party before Ryder’s dad shows up.

  I was already a mess because I kept tossing and turning all night. And I’ve been pounding coffee all day. I need to be on my A-game for Mr. Vega. I don’t know why he rubs me the wrong way, but he does. I need to show him who’s boss in this classroom.

  I need to show Brent who’s boss in my brain.

  Okay, I need to show myself who’s boss in my brain.

  And I need a glass of milk to go with this cake.

  Shit!

  And my water bottle’s empty. I’m going to have to drink the tap water from the classroom sink because I don’t have time to go to the teachers’ lounge. Ryder should be back with his dad any minute. I swallow the last bite of cake while filling up my water bottle and then knock back a big gulp of it…and start choking. And spewing water all over my blouse.

  My white blouse.

  All over my general boob area.

  So that’s fantastic.

  The one day I don’t wear a cardigan to school.<
br />
  Now I have to dry off my general boob area before…

  “Miss Stiles?”

  That fucking sexy voice that I couldn’t get out of my head last night.

  I stop swearing and dabbing at my boob with the paper towel before slowly turning around to find a tall, handsome man with dark wavy hair, honey-colored skin, beautiful brown eyes, and a full mouth that I want to kiss for days.

  Alefuckingjandro.

  What is my sexy stranger doing in my classroom?

  Am I hallucinating from too much caffeine?

  Why does that smirk make me want to slap him?

  Why is he looking at me like he wants to spank me and then kiss me?

  Why do I want him to?

  “Alejandro?” I can barely speak above a whisper.

  Does he even recognize me?

  My hair is up in a tight bun, and I’m wearing different glasses, dressed a lot more conservatively than I was that night at the club.

  I watch his expression change as he realizes who I am.

  Even when he’s confused, he has a smoldering look on his gorgeous face.

  “Emmy?”

  We stand still, staring at each other for what feels like a smoking hot eternity. And then he continues walking toward me. I can’t move. I lean back against the counter, gripping the edge of it for support. He’s not smirking anymore. He looks so serious. His gaze sweeps all the way down the length of me and then back up, from my flat shoes, along my bare legs and fitted black skirt, hovering around the wet, vaguely see-through boob area of my blouse, and then farther up to my mouth.