“Can I say one thing? Just one?” He must've seen my hesitation, because he says, “I'll be brief.”
“Okay.”
God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. That he’s not going to be a total dick to them. I work hard to make these girls believe this is their space. That they are safe here. If he messes this up . . .
Well, it would solve one problem. It would kill this weird attraction I feel. Because crossing this line is the one thing a guy could never come back from, at least as far as I’m concerned.
I open the door and lead Max in.
Rosa is standing by the whiteboard, pointing to a paragraph of text. When she sees us, she trails off.
“You can keep going,” I say.
But Rosa just shakes her head and slinks back to her seat, keeping her eyes glued to the desk in front of her like the swirls of faux woodgrain might transform into a magical incantation if she stares at them long enough.
The other girls are looking at Max like he’s the enemy.
Not that I blame them. He is fresh from terrorizing the comm building.
I give them my most reassuring smile. “This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Maximilian Ramsey. He’s a professor at the university. He would like to meet you. Max, these are my students. This is Rosa Hernandez. And—”
I expect to rattle off each girl’s name. To get this over with quickly.
But as I introduce Rosa, he steps forward and thrusts out his hand.
Rosa looks terrified for all of a second, then she gets it together.
We’ve practiced professional introductions. That was the very first class. The second she figures out what’s happening, she visibly relaxes. Yes, she’s shy, but mostly she just hates not knowing what to expect.
She stands, shakes his hand and looks him in the eye as she offers a quiet, “Nice to meet you, sir.”
I don’t know who looks more awkward, him or her, but I’m certain I’m the one who looks the most surprised. They shake hands as he gives her a respectful nod and says, “Likewise.”
Somehow, this man—this gruff, impatient man who regularly makes students, and sometimes even other professors, cry—greets Rosa like she is his equal.
And I swear she’s three inches taller by the time she sits.
I have to swallow a lump in my throat before doing the rest of the introductions.
It’s notnotawkward. Not for any of them. But it could be a lot worse. A lot, lot worse.
Once I’m finished with the introductions, I’m not sure what to say next.
Sure, the introductions went well, but I’m sure the girls won’t be comfortable continuing our SAT prep with him watching.
But before I can figure out how to shoo him out the door, he says, in a rush of words like he’s been mentally practicing them, “Ms. Dolinsky is an excellent teacher. You're very lucky to have her. And I am sorry that I interrupted your class.”
Then he looks at me, a question in his eyes. As if he wasn’t sure he’d said the right thing. But he had. Oh, he hadsosaid the perfect thing.
Even Tria gives him the faintest nod. Almost of approval.
“I'll wait outside until you're done here,” he says to me. And then he’s gone.
It takes all of us a moment to get back on track after he leaves. Not surprisingly, the girls recover before I do.
I do an okay job faking it—I’ve been teaching some variation of this information for six years now. Besides, whenever possible, I let the older girls coach the younger. It’s a reminder of how much they know and how far they’ve come.
So I don’t think any of them notice how disconcerted I am for the rest of class.
