Troublemaker

by Kayley Loring

  Your son is a very bright (flirtatious and talkative) student, and I’m sure that since his education is a top priority for both of us, I can count on you to respectfully refrain from grinning at me with that full mouth, using a flirtatious tone of voice, and undressing me with your annoyingly expressive chocolate brown eyes if we should happen to interact with each other again in the future.

  Thanks so much,

  Miss Stiles

  TO: Emilia Stiles

  FROM: Alex Vega

  Subject: Well, hello again…

  Dear Miss Stiles,

  Great to hear from you.

  I find it interesting that you chose to contact me regarding this matter using your personal email address instead of the school email address that you had previously used.

  To be clear—I was also surprised to discover that you are Ryder’s teacher. It is also interesting to me that the school has not included a photograph of you on the website. Perhaps this is to discourage single parents like myself from trying to date you.

  It sounds like you have recently Googled me. Please know that I personally do not consider myself to be one of Hollywood’s hottest bachelors. I’m an amazing dad first, wildly talented director second, irresistible and very much available single man third.

  My son’s education is indeed a top priority. As such, I respectfully agree to refrain from doing all of the aforementioned things in the likely event that we shall interact with each other again in the future. Furthermore, I agree to limit my thoughts of you sucking frosting off of my thumb to between five and fifty times a day. But I would be remiss if I did not mention just how pretty you look when you wear those glasses with your hair up.

  I cannot, however, promise that I will stop thinking about that kiss at that club this summer. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for the past month.

  It’s interesting how humorless and uptight you are about my son’s totally awesome personality, given that I have personally witnessed just how flirtatious and talkative you yourself can be when mildly intoxicated.

  You’re very welcome,

  Alex

  P.S. I just volunteered to be the parent chaperone for your next field trip. See you then.

  P.P.S. I like the name Emilia even more than I like the name Emmy. It suits you.

  P.P.P.S. I like it when you call me Mr. Vega. Please continue to do that.

  TO: ALEX VEGA

  FROM: EMILIA STILES

  Re: No, it is not interesting.

  Dear Ryder’s Dad,

  Please remove yourself as parent chaperone for the field trip.

  Thank you in advance,

  Miss Stiles

  P.S. Please understand that I didn’t email you from my personal email because I intended for our emails to get personal. I simply did not want to address “the issue” from my school account. Thanks for understanding.

  P.P.S. I didn’t actually read any of the online articles about you, or stare at the many, many images that came up when I did a search. I merely felt it was necessary to do some preliminary background research on the person who seems to have a great deal of influence on one of my students. Your Hot Hollywood Bachelorness is of no interest to me unless it affects your son’s education.

  TO: EMILIA STILES

  FROM: ALEX VEGA

  Re: I’m not in the habit of breaking my commitments

  Dear Emilia,

  I have no intention of removing myself as chaperone. I pulled out of a couple of projects so that I can be more present for Ryder while his mother’s out of town. This will be a great new way to spend time with him.

  And I do want to mention… I think Ryder’s behavior might have something to do with the fact that his mother just up and left town for a few months or more. She didn’t abandon him—she’s coming back of course, and we FaceTime with her when we can. He’s so upbeat, it doesn’t seem to me like he’s stressed out about it at all.

  But I guess I could have mentioned that stuff about his mom leaving in the parent homework assignment. That might have helped you to understand him a little better. I apologize. I can be a little overprotective of him.

  That was why I had to leave the club all of a sudden that night. On that night that we aren’t talking about. When we didn’t meet for the first time or dance together or kiss. When you didn’t run off and I didn’t follow you to the ladies’ room. Ryder’s mom had been calling me because she just found out she got a job on tour. So I had to go get him. She can be a little manic when she’s excited about a dance gig. I just didn’t want him to be around that all by himself.

  Otherwise, I would have stayed. I would have made sure you found your friend. I would have asked you to go somewhere else with me. I would have kept kissing you for as long as I could have.

  But, as you said, we move on.

  And as I said, I’ll see you in a few weeks.

  Best,

  Mr. Vega

  TO: ALEX VEGA

  FROM: EMILIA STILES

  Subject: Yeah, that would have helped

  I mean—if you had mentioned Ryder’s mother leaving like that. Not the part about you kissing me more. You mentioning that does not help. At all.

  You don’t have to apologize for omitting that information, though. I’m sorry if I’ve overreacted. I hope that Ryder does change his behavior in class now that we’ve spoken about it.

  But I mean, you are a director. Isn’t it your job to direct people? Can’t you direct your son to be less disruptive at school?

  Just wondering,

  E

  TO: EMILIA STILES

  FROM: ALEX VEGA

  Subject: So much for moving on…

  For someone who claims to want to put things behind herself, you seem to be more interested in moving forward with the conversation rather than moving on. If you would prefer to continue this conversation over gelato, Ryder’s offer still stands.

  But to answer your question—people usually think it’s a director’s job to be manipulative. To tell everyone what to do. It’s not. It’s my job to tell a story. It’s my job to answer a hundred questions a day while letting other people do the job that they were hired to do. It’s my job to make decisions. The big picture. That’s my job. It’s my job to know what the big picture is and to remember it. All the time.

  That is also my job as a father.

  The big picture is that my son became the most important person in my life as soon as I found out about him.

  The story I want to tell my son is that he is amazing, and that people are good, and the world is a safe and wondrous place. And that I’m here to listen to the things he needs to say, whenever he needs to say them. Within reason.

  I understand that he needs to learn to control himself. Don’t we all? But some of us grown-ups are still honing those skills. Maybe we should cut the seven-year-olds a little slack.

  How do you like teaching at Silver Lake, anyway?

  TO: ALEX VEGA

  FROM: EMILIA STILES

  Do you really want to know how I like teaching at Silver Lake, or are you just being polite?

  TO: EMILIA STILES

  FROM: ALEX VEGA

  I think you should know by now that I’m not all that polite.

  And I will tell you that I’m not in the habit of asking questions that I don’t want answers to.

  So I will ask again—how do you like teaching at Silver Lake?

  And I will also ask—has your blouse dried out yet? What do you have against shirts? It seems you use them to soak up various forms of liquid. Maybe next time you’re on Google you should research “towels” instead of “Alex Vega”…

  TO: ALEX VEGA

  FROM: EMILIA STILES

  I like teaching at Silver Lake very much and would like to continue teaching there.

  And none of your business.

  But I do have another question, and then I’m done.

  What’s the story behind that peach pit necklace? Did Ryder make it for you? I have
several beaded necklaces that were made for me by former students, and I treasure them. I would have worn them out that night that we didn’t meet, but my roommate would not have it. Why didn’t you wear it to the club? Do you not think it’s cool? Because I think it is.

  TO: EMILIA STILES

  FROM: ALEX VEGA

  Ryder did make it for me, yeah. And it’s one of the coolest things I own. Which is why I would never wear it to a place like that club. If I lost it there, I’d never forgive myself.

  Are you sure you’re done?

  Because I’m sure I’m not.

  Is there some rule about teachers not dating the parents of students?

  If there is, I know of at least one staff member who did not get the memo.

  Said person may have practically tackled me when she saw me in the hall when I was on my way to Room 15 this afternoon. I tried to make it very clear that I’m not interested. She may not have gotten that memo either.

  If there isn’t a rule, I want to take you out. For gelato. Or more frosting. Or sushi and sake. Whatever you want. As soon as possible.

  TO: ALEX VEGA

  FROM: EMILIA STILES

  There is no official school or school board rule about this, no.

  However, I have my own reasons for being hesitant.

  I appreciate the offer.

  I really do.

  But more than gelato or frosting or sushi or sake, I need time.

  Without getting into it, I think I still need to get some emotional distance from someone.

  So my thoughts and feelings about him don’t get tangled up in my thoughts and feelings about someone else.

  And I also don’t want my thoughts and feelings about you (if I were to have them) to get tangled up in my thoughts and feelings about Ryder when I’m teaching him.

  Do you agree that my relationship dynamic with Ryder is more important than my hypothetical attraction to you?

  TO: EMILIA STILES

  FROM: ALEX VEGA

  Yes.

  I agree.

  I’m not happy about it, but I agree.

  Like I said—I’ll see you in a few weeks.

  Or sooner, if you change your mind.

  Best,

  Alex

  ALEX VEGA INSPIRATION JOURNAL – October

  – Current mood… horny. Filled with anticipation. But also, strangely calm. Ready.

  – La La Land. All of it. Fuck you for making the movie I wish I’d made, Damien. But also, good for you, bro. You nailed it. I just haven’t been in the right place to make a love story yet.

  I will be. Maybe even sooner than I thought.

  – Listening to “I’m God,” Clams Casino and Imogen Heap.

  Fucking gorgeous, dreamy, emotive music. It complements this feeling in my chest. The one that’s finally replaced the closed-off heaviness. There’s movement. Something’s swaying and circling around in there, ready to take flight.

  – Autumn is my favorite season in LA. This really is an ugly town filled with beautiful people. The fall here isn’t anywhere near as gorgeous as it is out east, but the diffused light now in early October makes it easier to really see people. I am so fucking ready to see Emilia Stiles again. I’m ready to see what the Santa Ana winds are going to blow in. I’m ready to fall again.

  12

  Emilia

  “Stop. Stop panicking.” Franklin is squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. This is what he always does when faced with my closet. “Nobody has a fashion emergency before going to work at an elementary school at seven o’clock in the morning. That’s not a thing. Why must I be awake?!”

  “It is all kinds of emergency when the guy I made out with at that club is going on the field trip with me.”

  His eyelids fly open and he shakes his head like Atticus after I’ve given him a bath. “Which guy?”

  “The one guy I made out with at a club—before I vomited and he disappeared.”

  “Three questions. One—did you just find out that this guy is going to be going on the field trip with you this morning? Two—if you did not, then why am I just hearing about it now? Three—please tell me this guy isn’t a seven-year-old or a school bus driver.”

  “He is neither a seven-year-old nor a bus driver. He’s a hot divorced dad director with sexy earlobes and a mouth that I want on my mouth, but I can’t kiss him again because his son is in my class.”

  Franklin blinks at me once. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? We’ve had nine hundred conversations about Baby Yoda and how annoyed you are that Brent hasn’t texted you again even though you never texted him back, but we could have been talking about sexy club vomit guy?”

  “Eww. Don’t call him that.”

  “Why, Hermione? Why did you not tell me?”

  “Because! If I had told you about Sexy Single Dad, you’d just tell me to date him. And I can’t. So I’ve been trying not to think about him. Even though I’m mildly anxious about the fact that he hasn’t tried to ask me out again, even though he’s respecting my wishes. Because what if he’s dating someone else now? I mean, why wouldn’t he? But now I have to think about him because I’m going to see him today and I need you to help me choose something to wear. Something that says, ‘Hi. I’m a responsible teacher who is also an attractive young woman with overpowering physical needs that she can’t satisfy with you right now even though she really, really wants to and hopefully you aren’t satisfying your physical needs with anyone else either.’”

  “I could just have that printed on a T-shirt real quick.”

  I punch him in the arm. “Is this really going to be the only time in my life that you aren’t going to tell me what to wear to look less teacher-y?”

  He claps his hands together, waking up my dog. “Nope. I’m on it. My brain has caught up. I just need more information. Where are you going, and do you mean you can’t kiss him or you can’t kiss him during sex, like a prostitute?”

  “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just wear a beige cardigan and khaki pants.”

  He gasps. “You shut your mouth, little girl. You will wear a pretty skirt and you will like it.”

  “A pretty skirt? Really? You don’t think that’s too ‘please put your hand between my legs when the kids aren’t looking?’”

  He scoffs. “Well, I don’t know, Miss Stiles. Is it?” He reaches inside my closet and pulls out a billowy, ankle-length skirt that I’d forgotten I had.

  Yessss. “Franklin Baldwin, you’re a genius.”

  “Right? Covers your legs, but it’s playful and you always have the option of pulling it up and spreading your legs when the kids aren’t looking.”

  Noooo. “Franklin, you’re a dirty bird.”

  “Well, one of us has to be.”

  Yes. Franklin, you’re right. It’s my turn. But not yet.

  Getting my students to calm down for half an hour prior to getting on a bus to the Griffith Observatory has been about as successful as my attempts at not picturing Alex Vega bending me over my desk and drilling me. I wonder if my second-grade teacher Mrs. Norbert was having secret dirty thoughts while teaching us about long and short u sounds. Or maybe I should just marry a nice, quiet, bald guy like Mr. Norbert so I can focus more on my career and don’t accidentally write out very bad examples of words that feature a short u sound.

  There’s a knock at my classroom door, and I see the sweet face of Miguel’s mom smiling through the small window. She’s the other volunteer chaperone for this field trip, and I’m so grateful to have another adult around, one who doesn’t make me want to lick said adult’s face or run away crying because I can’t.

  I tell the kids that I’m going to be right outside for a minute, grab my field trip folder, and step out into the hall. “Hello, Mrs. Torres.”

  “Hello, Miss Stiles. I hope I am not late. Traffic on Sunset is very bad this morning.”

  “You’re not late at all; we’re still on schedule. And please call me Emilia.”


  But then I glance down the hall and see a tall, broad-shouldered figure headed toward us, and I’m already salivating.

  Fuuuuck.

  I should have worn at least three pairs of panties today, but I thought for sure I’d be able to control my body’s reactions with fifteen amped-up kids around. Or at least my mind’s. Even from forty feet away, the sight of him in a white button-down shirt and fancy jeans makes my knees give out just a little. I lean back against the closed door for support and rifle through the many papers in my folder, trying to find a printout, so I don’t have to look at him.