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She nods, and I hope she’s not trying to persuade herself. Then she adds, “A few kids came into chemistry talking about your class. They already love you.”
I’m not convinced, but I don’t say so. I appreciate the gesture too much to contradict Ginger. Then she breaks out into another of her single-syllable laughs. “I mean, they loooove you.”
Eww.
“Several of them.” Her eyebrows waggle, and she laughs at me.
I might make a face that reflects the horror inside me, because she adds, “Did your university not have the class teaching you how to deal with getting hit on by seventeen-year-olds? Poor you. That might be the burden you’re strapped with. Sorry about that.”
I must look deflated by the very idea because she shakes her head. “Don’t worry. By midterm, pretty-girl problems will be the least of your concerns. You’ll be way more swamped with parent demands.”
“Not that helpful,” I tell her. “Not on my first day.” I let my head droop, and Ginger laughs again.
“Maybe,” I say, raising my head at the new thought I’m having, “the kids will see me as a real teacher, worthy of their respect, when I get the arts chair position.”
Ginger’s eyebrows go up. “You’re going for it?”
“You think it’s too soon? I don’t have enough experience?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. I think you’re free of the baggage that comes from knowing how things have always been. But Dexter is going to want it. He’s been vocal for a few years about the arts not being represented. I bet he’s courting favor with the board. Sure you want to go up against him?”
“I am not afraid of Dexter Kaplan,” I say.
The diner’s door creaks open, and I see Lola put her head out of the kitchen. Her stern face melts into a smile, and she waves vaguely toward the tables.
“Come in. Sit down.” Her grin shows all her teeth. “How nice to see you, gentlemen.”
I peek over my shoulder. Above the top of the booth, I catch a glimpse of that carefully messed-up hair. Dexter Kaplan is here, followed by the charming, if a little awkward, Hank. My skin goes all bumpy on my arms, and I have to re-think. Maybe I am just a little afraid of Dexter Kaplan. At least of how he makes me feel.
Of my physical responses. Of the shivers and the smiles and the stars in my eyes.
Ginger gives a sigh, but it doesn’t seem like her heart is in it. Especially when it’s followed by a wave.
They walk over to the table. “Mind if we join you?” Hank slips into the booth next to me before anyone gives him an answer. “Do we know what we’re eating?”
“Do we ever?” Dexter’s grin bounces from me to Hank as he lowers himself into the booth next to Ginger. For a bare second, I wish he sat beside me, but I catch another of his wide smiles, and I’m glad he’s opposite. He might be an arrogant jerk, reminiscent of terrible boyfriend-from-the-past, but he does look nice, and I can see him much better from this angle.
He settles into the booth, straightens his bow tie, and runs his hand down his shirt.
I want to run my hand down his shirt.
What? Where did that come from? No, I don’t.
“So,” Dexter says, looking around the table, “how’s the new batch of Chamberpeople?”
I’m so grateful to Ginger for replying to this question. It’s like she can see that I need space to release some of today’s compounded tension. Ginger tells about what happened in chemistry, where she let the kids put hand sanitizer in their palms and then light it on fire. Every time Ginger smiles, I feel another layer of worry roll away. Ginger’s dimples flash as she throws her head back and laughs, and I wish for my camera.
I can see that Ginger doesn’t actually hate Dexter, and I’m so relieved. He can be a jerk, but we can all still be friends, right? At least kind-of friends? The thought of repeating today another hundred and eighty times feels easier if I have friends.
Ginger is mid-story about past years’ students lighting things in her lab on fire when Lola backs out of the kitchen, arms loaded with trays.
“All right, my people. Here we go. Start with the hush puppies and crab cakes. Lola’s going Cajun tonight.”
Hank leans forward and watches Lola as she sets all the food down, then he grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You’re a dream, you are.”
She gives him a little pat on the head and moves back to the kitchen. He starts pushing plates around on the table, moving and rearranging them.
“Hank.” Ginger gives him a look. “What are you doing?”
