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I contemplated not wearing them since they were my least favorite for all of about five seconds before I said, ‘fuck it’ and put them on.
Now I was walking quickly up to the door, very much aware of the way my thighs rubbed together. And the way people liked to zero in on my thighs when I was wearing them.
However, my give-a-fuck meter was busted today.
Especially after having to deal with my problem children again.
When I’d first taken over that class, I’d had great hopes for us.
But as the days passed by, things didn’t get better.
In fact, they got worse.
How much worse?
Well, today my students thought it would be utterly hilarious to pull my chair out from under me when I went to sit down.
And now I had a rather large bruise on my back and butt where I’d fallen and hit the rolling wheels of the chair.
The first person I saw when I entered the gym was my brother.
He was doing strict pull-ups from the rack.
He dropped down upon seeing me, and his face narrowed.
“Where were you today?” I barked.
In Flint’s place was a newbie cop who, upon hearing about what my students had done, had given them a lecture on ‘how that wasn’t nice’ and had left. My brother would’ve scared the absolute Jesus out of them and then returned it.
“Camryn had an appointment that I wanted to make,” he answered. “Why?”
I turned around and showed him my back, not bothering to pull my shorts waistband down because I knew that he’d be able to see the bruise just fine.
“A few of the kids from my class thought it would be hilarious to pull my chair out from under me today,” I said to him. “I…”
My pants were tugged down, and I squawked. But when I looked over my shoulder, it was to see Croft there examining my backside and not my brother.
“That looks bad,” he said softly.
I nodded. “It hurts so bad that I’m not even sure I can teach today.”
Today was a lot of squatting, and I wasn’t even sure that I could stand up for that long.
“Go home and rest,” he suggested. “When you get home, put some of that ointment on my nightstand on it.”
I felt a smile growing on my face for the first time all day. “That’s your home, not mine.”
His eyes gleamed as he pulled me into his chest and buried his face into my neck.
“I hate, like super fuckin’ hate, that you were hurt,” he said. “Have you ever considered leaving that particular class?”
I had. A lot.
“Everybody helps,” I said. “Ezra comes in twice a day sometimes and shows his presence. As does Flint. I just… I don’t want to give up on it. I want to work there, and though I may not like the particular class that I’m teaching, I do like being at the school and feeling involved in something. I just… I don’t really want to teach CrossFit all damn day. It’s not my dream. Being a teacher is.”
“What did you want to teach?” he asked, his hands traveling up the inside of my shirt as we spoke.
“I wanted to be a middle school English teacher,” I said. “Then, when that wasn’t an option for me here, I chose being a high school English teacher. But the only opening the entire school system had was the theater department. And, to be honest, I don’t really have an interest in theater. But it was a job to get my foot in at the school.”
“Then tell them that you want a different class. What can it hurt?” he asked.
What could it hurt?
Well, it wouldn’t be like they’d fire me from the position because I wanted to change classes. They’d ask why, and they damn well knew why, so then they could either say ‘I have no openings’ or say ‘I have an opening.’
“Just ask,” he suggested. “That’s the only thing that you can do.”
I did know of one teacher leaving at the end of the year. Her class was senior English.
If I could stick it out until the end of the year, I didn’t see why I couldn’t get that particular class. All of the other teachers at the high school were well liked and loved their classes. I doubted that they’d leave because they wanted senior English.
“Okay, I’ll ask in the morning. I’ll leave early and do that before school.” I smiled. “And I don’t really want to go home. I’m just going to go lay on this mat over here until class. Then I’ll move up to the office to get some paperwork done that Flint is too much of a little bitch to do.”
“I heard that,” Flint grunted in between pull-ups. “And just so you know, it’s not that I don’t like doing the paperwork. It’s that I don’t like listening to you bitching that I’m doing it wrong. Those are two different problems.”
