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Chapter 8
In over fifteen years of education, Lincoln had taken classes with teachers who ranged from excellent to terrible and everything in between. He’d had teachers who encouraged him and others who acted as if they’d rather be anywhere else but in a classroom. A few lucky times, he’d had teachers who cared deeply about their job, were passionate about the curriculum, and went above and beyond for every student in their class.
Before the first period ended, he knew Grace was in that last category. She was warm, knowledgeable, and clearly loved both her subject and her students. With a few exceptions, the kids treated her with respect, if not outright adoration, and the discussions were lively and interesting. She gave them all a chance to talk, listened to what they had to say, and provided gentle encouragement and corrections.
She was good. He’d want to watch her teach even if it weren’t for the specialist contract. Not only did she make the Renaissance and Elizabethan eras bright and fascinating, she was an undeniable pleasure to look at.
Lincoln took full advantage of his “sitting in on class” to admire everything about her, from her fire-colored hair to her slender body clad in a pleated skirt and buttoned-up cardigan. Only her shapely calves were visible beneath the skirt’s hem, but she didn’t look frumpy or even remotely plain.
Just the opposite. Her conservative clothes combined with the elegantly animated way she spoke about sonnets and poetry gave her a sexiness that was all the more appealing because she was totally unaware of it.
Her breasts filled out the front of her sweater, and the V of pale skin peeking out at her neckline made him want to unfasten all those little buttons and discover what lay beneath. Her hips rounded out her skirt, and when she turned to write something on the whiteboard, his gaze drifted to her utterly perfect ass.
Though Lincoln didn’t know much about Shakespeare, he was sure the old Bard could come up with some great quotes about how to describe Grace’s singular beauty.
Not that he intended to go after her. He was intrigued by her on multiple levels—physical, intellectual, instinctive—but he knew the limits. Even if he hadn’t been a rule-follower, there were a hundred reasons why pursuing Grace Berry would be wrong. She was a good six or seven years younger than him, but aside from that, she had a clear-eyed warmth and gentleness that he’d never want to disrupt.
Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d come back. Yesterday, he hadn’t been sure he would, but he hadn’t wanted to end things badly with her. Not the diner girl with her glass of milk, and not teacher Grace Berry with her quiet ferocity. He also didn’t want to disappoint her, which was a feeling he chose not to examine too closely.
The high-school classes started every hour. After the bell rang, she introduced him to the students and explained that he’d start teaching with her next week.
The students looked vaguely interested but unimpressed, since few of them had actually heard of him and none had read his books. He found himself enjoying their indifference. Kind of nice just to be some author rather than Lincoln Atwood.
As fourth period started right before lunch, the kids shuffled in with their usual chatter and laughter.
He’d been watching the students, too, and noticed the disparity in their clothes and belongings. Most of the kids had phones, fashionable clothes, smartwatches. But others wore threadbare jeans and T-shirts, old sneakers, and carried ancient backpacks.
Spruce had told him some of the kids were bused in from poor, rural areas where economic hardships had led to school closures. In an effort to bridge the education gap, the district had instituted a transportation program so the kids could attend Bliss Cove schools.
Though the economic gap was evident, Grace’s students didn’t appear to make an issue of it—at least, not in her classroom. A few kids looked bored or tired, but that was par for the course. The only outright disrespectful boy was Todd Oliver, whose refusal to participate didn’t surprise Lincoln.
Grace quietly spoke to Todd before class and made an effort to engage him during their discussions, but his response was to yawn and slump lower in his chair. Though Grace’s eyes darkened with both dismay and exasperation, she didn’t let her issues with Todd affect her interactions with the twenty-three other students.
The junior-level class was studying Shakespearian vocabulary, and Grace had them all stand in a circle for an activity about insults. The assignment was to create their own insult based on Shakespeare’s structure and word use, then to explain how it related to their studies.
“Last time, we ended with Dennis, so we’re starting with Anne.” Grace nodded at a blond girl with a ponytail.
Anne stepped into the circle. “What about the music?”
“Oh. Almost forgot.” Grace smiled a little nervously and picked up a ukulele from a shelf behind her desk. She strummed a few notes of what sounded like a Renaissance folk song.
“Thou spongy, plume-plucked canker-blossom!”
“Ah,canker-blossomis one of my favorite phrases.” Grace strummed the ukulele again. “What play is it from?”
“As You Like It.”
“No,A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” called another girl from the circle’s perimeter.
“Yes.” Grace nodded. “Extra credit to anyone who can tell me the context in which it’s used and what it means.”
Hands shot up around the circle. Grace pointed at a tall, skinny boy, who stepped into the circle and cleared his throat. Grace played the intro music.
“Hermia calls Helena a canker-blossom,” he announced. “‘You juggler! You canker-blossom!You thief of love!’And she’s referring to a worm that eats flowers, so it’s like she’s saying that Helena is a worm that, like, ate away her love. Or something.”
“That’s exactly what she’s saying.” Grace strummed another tune, and the boy stepped back into his place. “Good job. Liam?”
Another boy stepped into the circle. The activity continued with applause, laughter, and the occasional groan, all accompanied by Grace and her ukulele. Finally the last student finished, and the circle broke up as they returned to their desks.
