This year, five of the girls are sophomores and new to the program. Three of the girls are juniors and two are seniors. The juniors and seniors had all been in the program since sophomore year. Even though they were hearing some of the information for the second or even the third time, I refused to kick anyone out of the program. If they were willing to show up, I was willing to help them.
I run the program the way I wished I could run my classes at the university. Small groups, open conversation. Give-and-take.
I may enjoy teaching at the university, but I love this after-school class.
The kids in my college classes all wanted to learn, but these girls were desperate for it.
I love that about them. I love the time I spend with them. Today, we’re reviewing SAT skills, something the sophomores in the class desperately need, since their testing date is right around the corner. By the time we all do a check-in and class starts, I’m starting to relax.
The girls are sitting in a semicircle close to the front of the room staring up at the SAT question I had projected on the whiteboard.
“Okay, who can tell me a strategy for answering this question?”
Rosa is the first to raise her hand, which doesn’t surprise me in the least because she’s wicked smart. Two of the other girls groan. One mumbles, “At least give us a chance to think about it.”
We all chuckle and Rosa dips her head, blushing.
I look at Julia, the girl who spoke. “Okay, you go. How would you solve it?”
But before she can answer, the classroom door flies open with so much force I hear it slam into the doorstop on the wall behind it.
My back is to the door, so I don’t see who’s there. But Iknowwho it is.
No, I don’t have some preternatural awareness of him.
I can just see it in the faces of the girls. The way Julia snaps her mouth closed. The way Tria, who dislikes all men—which is no surprise given her relationship with her dad—narrows her gaze in instant disgust. The way Rosa goes pale.
Yep. These are exactly the reactions any room full of teenage girls would have to Max Ramsey throwing open the door and stomping into the room.
I turn just in time to see the door bounce back towards him. He stops it with a palm and then glares at the door, clearly affronted the door would dare swing back at him.
I briefly wonder how he got in the building since all the doors lock automatically, but if he terrorized some poor teacher, student, or janitor into holding the door open for him, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be the person who gets someone reprimanded for that.
It’s raining outside—because it’s spring and the rain storms in this part of Texas are legendary. He’s dressed in some kind of long duster. It’s obvious he has no umbrella, because his hair is wet and disheveled. He’s dripping rain and trailing muddy shoeprints. His face is twisted into the scowl of a man who is tired of being messed with.
This is Max Ramsey at his most terrifying. So, yeah, I get why the girls look so taken aback.
What I don’t get is why my heart is suddenly pounding. And no, it’s not pounding in fear.
Nope, my thundering heart is definitely of the excited variety.
And, yes, it’s partly because it took me days of preparation to plan this prank. And I can’t wait to see how he’s going to respond. But it’s also because Max, standing there in the doorway, looking like he might break the doorframe if he breaths too deeply, in that duster and dripping rain, is all very Mr. Darcy stalking across a field at dawn.
Darn it.
Then he levels his gaze at me. “I need to talk to you.”
Why is his voice so growly? His gaze so intense?
Double. Frickin’. Darn it.
How am I supposed to not melt into a puddle of goo?
Thank goodness I have a reason to put him off.
Because I am a strong independent woman. Who is doing her darnedest to be a strong independent role model for these girls.
And immediately jumping to do his bidding would not set a good example. Nor, for the record, would be melting into a puddle of goo.
