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Norah
This week has been going better than I ever could have imagined. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve missed teaching since I had to take time off. My students are so sweet, the other teachers have been beyond welcoming (with the exception of a certain someone who shall remain nameless–Colby), and I’ve loved spending time with my sisters after I get off work. Being back home in Waverly is like breathing in my first breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long.
I’m finishing up for the day, and then I have to make my way to the cafeteria to oversee a meeting for the club I’m now the sponsor of—well, one of the sponsors. There are two of us. I don’t know who the other teacher is yet. Hopefully someone kind and fun who won’t expect too much of me right away. I have no idea what a club sponsor is meant to do. I wonder if it’s too late to back out of this.
I make my way to the cafeteria and open the door to peek inside before entering. My heart sinks all the way to the hideously tiled floor beneath my feet. Do I really need to say it? We all know who’s sitting at the table off to the side with his nose shoved in some dull science journal, ignoring all the students sitting around the cafeteria. Why does it have to be him? Maybe it’s a fluke. Perhaps the normal teacher is sick today, and he’s just filling in. Or maybe I’ve gone to the wrong place, and this is a different club meeting. There’s bound to be more than one club in this school.
I push my shoulders back, and I walk into the cafeteria with my head held high, determined not to allow him to get the better of me. Several students turn to glance at me, but Colby’s still in his own world with his magazine…that I notice has a human heart on the cover now that I can inspect it up close. Gross.
I toss my things down on the table right in front of him, and the man doesn’t even flinch. He turns a page in his magazine and acts like I don’t exist. I clear my throat to get his attention and wait for him to acknowledge me. I get nothing. Not a glance. Not a hello. Not even an eyeroll. I clear my throat again, louder this time.
“You might need to take something for that,” he says, sounding bored. I would be, too, if I was reading about…what is he reading about? I lean slightly toward him to see the page he’s on. Heart conditions in infants. Wow. That’s sad. And I bet he loves every second of it.
“Beg your pardon?” I ask.
“For that cough. It’s annoying.” He tosses the magazine onto the table and glances at his watch. Without looking in my direction, he stands from the table and calls out to get the students’ attention. The chatter immediately stops, and all twenty-four sets of eyes turn to look at him. I’m amazed. I usually have to flicker the lights and clap my hands five thousand times to get my students to notice me. And even then, they go right back to talking half the time. I feel like I should take some notes on his techniques, but that would pet his ego too much. We can’t have that.
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to get started. Today, we have to nail down what you want to do for your service project so I can call and get it set up. Does anyone have any suggestions?” Colby asks.
Several students raise their hands, and Colby calls on a girl sitting up front. “Coach Stuart, are you going to introduce us to the new teacher?” she asks. Several of the girls sitting around her begin giggling, and the girl’s wearing a wicked smile on her face.
“Lorraine, how many times do I have to tell you? I do not coach any sports, therefore I am not a coach. It’s Mister Stuart! Being a male teacher does not equate to being a coach.” Colby looks like he’s about ready to spit fire. This is pure gold! He would be the guy who viewed being called ‘Coach’ as an insult. Does his arrogance know no bounds?
“Sure thing. How about I start calling you Mr. Stuart when you start calling me Lo?” the girl says. Laughter erupts around the room, and Colby moves closer to talk to her. The girl is still smiling, so she apparently has no sense of self-preservation.
“Lorraine, do I need to have a conversation with Millie and Jameson?” he asks. She sits up straighter in her seat, and her eyes grow wide as she takes hold of his arm and pleads with him not to talk with whomever Millie is. I know Jameson from high school, of course. I didn’t hang out with him much because he was part of the Three Stooges gang with ol’ Colby here. There was only so much Colby I could stand, and hanging out with Seth already required more Colby time than I could handle. I talked to Jameson in class every once in a while, and I got to know him a little better when I dated Seth, but that was about it.
Colby swore up and down that I was only dating Seth to get on his nerves, which was so untrue. Seth and I were friends. He lived down the road from my grandparents, and we played together all the time growing up. We genuinely liked each other and decided to give dating a try. Driving Colby insane was just an added bonus for me. Unfortunately, Colby’s torment only lasted for a few weeks before Seth and I realized we were better off as friends. Kissing him felt like kissing a brother.
“This is Ms. Sullivan. She’s taking over for Mrs. Lane since she retired,” Colby says, cutting into my rambling thoughts. “Now, does anyone actually have a suggestion for a service project?”
A girl in the back of the room slowly raises her hand. Her face is pinched like she’d rather crawl under the table than have Colby call on her, but she’s the only one to raise her hand. Colby points at her, and her face turns bright red. Poor thing.
“Umm, we could volunteer at the animal shelter,” she says before immediately putting all of her attention on the table in front of her.
“No!” Colby declares without giving her suggestion any thought whatsoever. If he’s going to reject their ideas, why bother asking in the first place? Why not just tell them what he wants them to do? Several kids grumble and complain at his refusal.
“Come on, Mr. Stuart. Don’t be a party pooper,” a boy says. Colby’s jaw clenches, and if looks could kill, that boy would be incinerated. I’m scared, and the look wasn’t even directed at me.
“How many times do I have to tell y’all? I’m allergic to anything and everything with fur. I cannot go to the animal shelter,” he says. The kids all grumble about their disappointment, and I can’t help but feel bad for them. Working at the animal shelter for a day sounds like a wonderful idea. Think of all the puppies and kitties that are neglected and need a little love in their short lives. No one’s forcing me to do volunteer hours, but I think I’d go anyway just for the fun of it.
“Oh, come on. How bad could it be? It’s only one day. Take some Claritin. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I say. The students all hear me and begin sitting up straighter in their seats to see how this will go down. Colby shoots daggers at me with his eyes, and I shrink away from him a little. Maybe I shouldn’t have poked the bear on our first real day working as a team. He opens his mouth to say something to me, but he’s cut off by students chanting “animal shelter” over and over again and banging their fists on the tables. He rolls his neck and mutters something about liking Mrs. Lane better before turning back toward the students and raising his hand to quiet them.
“Alright, we’ll go to the animal shelter. Ms. Sullivan can call and schedule it this week because I’ll be too busy popping Claritins to prepare for my impending doom,” he says. Good grief. What a drama queen. He acts like he’s going to die from sneezing and a stuffy nose. I’m sure there’s plenty he could do outside where he won’t even have to be around the animals that much.
The students discuss a few other things, and before I know it, the meeting is over. They all shuffle out of the cafeteria with their backpacks slung on their shoulders, chatting with each other. I watch as Colby gathers up his things, debating whether I should try to talk to him or just walk away.
“Look, Colbster,” I say, reverting back to the stupid nickname I gave him in high school to try to lighten the mood a little. His head snaps up to take me in. He used to get so annoyed by it, but maybe it’ll make him laugh remembering it now.
“Don’t call me that. We aren’t friends, and we never will be. I will tolerate you, and you’ll tolerate me. That’s it,” he says before turning and walking away from me. Okay, so definitely no laughing. I’m stunned. I was about to try to make a peace offering. I was going for that whole ‘It’s been over a decade, and I’m sure we’re both different people now. Let’s start over’ thing. But I see Colby is exactly the same as he was on the first day I met him—a big ol’ jerkface.
I march after him, the click of my heels on the blue-and-white tile painfully loud in the silence left by his harsh statement. I catch up to him and tap him on the shoulder. He stops and turns around in a flash, and my face crashes into his rock-hard chest. I step back and rub my throbbing nose while my eyes water. I force my hand back down to my side, refusing to show how much it hurts.
“Yes?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. His blue eyes are piercing into my soul. It’s not fair that someone with a cold, dead heart has such a beautiful exterior. I’ve always thought he was a handsome devil—emphasis on the devil. I mean, I used to lie through my teeth about it back in the day, but obviously everyone knew. No one could possibly think that a face like his was ugly. He looks like he was chiseled from stone by a master sculptor. Or maybe a fallen angel. And I hate him all the more for it.
“Did you need something?” he asks more forcefully.
“Goodness, what’s your problem?”
