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“I’ve got Wade from over at the aquarium as my marine biology specialist this semester.” Frank Peters, the sophomore science teacher, plucked a stale doughnut from a box on the table. “I’m hoping we can keep him for summer school. He’s been awesome.”
“I’m getting a Real World Specialist for our archeology unit in the fall.” Rebecca nibbled on a carrot. “An Egyptologist, apparently. I’m hoping for Indiana Jones.”
Grace grinned and took a sip of the coffee. Last year, the school district had received a sizeable grant to implement a “Real World Specialist” program that brought guest teachers and lecturers into Bliss Cove High classrooms.
The specialists were people who worked in fields relevant to the curriculum—scientists, researchers, artists, medical professionals. The program had been a major success so far, giving students a window into how academic studies could be applied in the “real world” and showing them the practical sides of different careers.
The specialists were implemented in the departments on a rotating basis, and the Literature department was scheduled to participate a year from now.
Maybe. Principal Spruce had already expressed his opinion that reading and creative writing had no “real world” applications. Therefore, he believed it would be more advantageous to hire semi-pro athletes to coach the sports teams rather than bring a poet or a Shakespeare scholar in to help teach the Literature classes.
His attitude annoyed Grace in theory, but she secretly didn’t mind the idea of not having to accommodate another teacher—this year, at least. She’d worked hard on her curriculum, and between classes, tutoring, supervising the drama club, and…well, the rest of her life, she needed as few disruptions as possible.
“Hey, Grace, how’s your Shakespearean insults assignment going?” Erica Bartholomew approached Grace with a Tupperware container of pasta salad. Erica had been teaching at Bliss Cove High for thirty years, and Grace dreaded the day when the older woman retired. “It’s such a creative way to study all the nuances of his vocabulary.”
“I think they’re really enjoying it, and they’re following the rules not to use the insults against their peers.” Grace dumped the bitter coffee into the sink. “I found a chart that maps the insults into different categories, like animals, plants, or inanimate objects.”
“Miss Berry.” Principal Spruce stopped in the doorway of the lounge. “I need to see you in my office at two-thirty sharp. You have your prep period seventh hour, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have no reason to be late.” He turned and left.
Now what?
Aware of the other teachers glancing in her direction, Grace turned to the sink and began washing out herShakespeare is my Superpowermug.
“Maybe it’s not about the Oliver issue,” Erica whispered. She was the only one Grace had confided in about the “corruption” charge, as she knew Erica wouldn’t gossip.
“Maybe.” Grace wasn’t too hopeful. “But if it’s not about that, then it’s about cutting the budget for the drama club. Whatever it is, I guarantee it’s not good.”
“Few things are when it comes to the cream-faced loon,” Erica remarked.
Grace laughed.
* * *
If Grace hadn’t known Principal Spruce was as humorless as a dry stick, she would have sworn he’d just told her a bad joke. Unfortunately, the man didn’t know a pun from a limerick, which meant…
Acclaimed, award-winning fiction author Lincoln Atwood was in Bliss Cove for five weeks. He was Sam from Title Wave’s older brother.
And he was coming to Bliss Cove High toteach Grace Berry’s literature classes.
What in the freaking frack—
“I can’t allow this, Principal Spruce.” She pushed up from the chair in front of his desk and paced to the windows. She’d been prepared to defend herself against the Olivers’ accusations or to fight for the drama club’s resources.
Instead, the principal had blindsided her with…this.
“My classes aremyclasses.” She turned and spread out her hands. “The school board won’t allow a random stranger to come in and take over, especially on such short notice.”
“Lincoln Atwood is hardly a random stranger.” Spruce rose to his feet in front of the office shelves displaying his various plaques and certificates. “And the board already fast-tracked the approval as part of the Real World Specialist grant. Do you not want to participate in the program?”
“Of course, but the Literature department isn’t on the schedule until next spring.”
“The schedule has changed,” Spruce replied curtly. “The school board knows what a great opportunity this is for the students and Bliss Cove High. We’ll be the only school in the state with a Pulitzer-prize-winning teacher, which will be a major advantage for next year’s funding.”
“But Lincoln Atwood isn’t a teacher, and as far as I know, he’s not a Shakespeare or poetry expert either.” Grace shook her head. “Look, I can see the point of having him come in for a guest lecture or two, but teachers are supposed to have a minimum of six months to work on a curriculum and schedule with the specialists. How can I work with a man I’ve never even spoken to?”
