Iris gasps, scandalized, and I think I hear a thump under the table.
“Hey now! Don’t be lookin’ at my ass.”
Layla cackles while Iris glances down at her cup with color rising on her cheeks, the crude comment making her blush.
Fuckin’ cute.
But I can’t help but notice she looks different than last week.
Sure, she was awkward when we talked, but I can’t blameher. She doesn’t know me, and I approached her out of nowhere. It’s not like I was making my attraction to her a secret either.
Today, she just seems uncomfortable, a tension that wasn’t there when I talked to her in the hallway.
“You okay?” I ask, even though it ain’t my place.
Something about seeing her like this, I have to check on her.
“Mhm,” she responds, still staring down at that damn cup.
“Some of your team weren’t being very nice to Iris today,” Layla jumps in, giving me a pointed look.
I frown, a flicker of anger coursing through me.
I know my team. Most of them are good guys, but I’ve seen the way they treat the kids who don’t quite fit the mold. The way they mess with their teachers, especially the new ones.
I try to shut that shit down, but it was going on when I was in school, too, and I know there isn’t much I can do about it. But the thought of them messing with Iris, making her look like this?
I don’t like that at all.
“It was nothing. Everything’s fine,” she says, but I shake my head.
“It ain’t fine if they’re makin’ you upset. I don’t like to see that, Ms. Patel.” Her eyes meet mine for the first time. “You’ve got enough to deal with being new. You don’t need them making it harder.”
She presses her lips together, like she doesn’t know how to respond. And maybe she doesn’t, maybe that was too much, but I mean it.
That sad look doesn’t belong on that pretty face.
“I’ll talk to ‘em,” I add. “Promise.”
The guys are crowded in the locker room after a long practice.
Everyone needs a shower, myself included, but there’s something I gotta address first.
I’m standing near the whiteboard, arms crossed, while they pile into the small space. “Alright, listen up,” I say, raising my voice.
The chatter dies down, and a few seniors straighten up at my tone.
Alex is perched on a bench near the back, earbuds in like they always are these days, looking at his phone. Probably playing one of his phone games, waiting on me for a ride home.
Kid needs to get his license.
I turn my attention back to the team. “Heard some of y’all were acting like little punks in art today.”
That gets their attention. Some snicker. Jamal elbows his buddy.
“We were just jokin’, Coach. Wasn’t that serious.”
“If it wasn’t that serious, why does she look like she’s second-guessing comin’ to work here?” That shuts ‘em up real quick. “She’s new. She’s trying. And from what I hear, she’s damn good at what she does. Now, you don’t gotta love art, but youwillshow her respect. That ain’t negotiable.”
