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It’s a rough day, trying to do what I normally do with Teddy with this massive bruise on my stomach. My ribs ache and I feel nauseous all day, so I lean heavily on TV, which isn’t normally my style but is very appreciated.
At a few minutes before four, I’m just putting Teddy down for his second nap of the day when the front door opens. I close Teddy’s bedroom door softly, then smile at Colton over the bannister, hoping he had a great first day.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice quiet as I move slowly down the stairs, trying to be careful of my stomach muscles. “How did your first day go?”
But Colton’s face looks tense, agitated. Once I’ve made it to the bottom of the stairs, I realize he’s examining me. My face, my arms, my legs. Then my face again.
His hand reaches out and touches my chin, turning my head to the side so he can see the single scratch on my face from the mugging.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”
chapter nine
colton
I’ve visited this classroom a few times already since accepting my position as a summer school teacher, but there’s something that feels different about it today.
This morning, when I walk in, set my bag down on the desk, and walk over to the white board to write my name—Mr. Palmer—it feels like it belongs to me. In a good way.
I have an hour in the mornings to get things ready before the first of my two classes—a morning U.S. history class and an afternoon world history class—and I take advantage of the time available to print my syllabus in the staff lounge.
“Hey, you’re the new history guy, right?”
I turn, my eyes catching on a guy about my age walking across the room, heading for the coffee pot.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m glad they found somebody. Harriet was like a monument in this place, so her sudden retirement kind of took everybody by surprise.”
I nod. I’d heard something about the previous history teacher having been here a long time, but this is my first time chatting with a colleague, so the details I have are minimal.
“I’m Greg Davies, by the way. I’m the math teacher.”
“The math teacher,” I say, leaning back against the printer as it continues to churn out my papers. “As in, there’s only one of you?”
“During the summers anyway,” he replies. “During the regular year, there are two others. We’re pretty famous. I don’t know if you’ve heard of us.”
I just look at him, confused.
“The Three Mathkateers.”
I purse my lips, trying to hold in the ridiculous laughter that’s bubbling up inside of me at the horrible dad joke.
Ultimately, though, I can’t help it, and I let out a chuckle and shake my head.
“That name is…pretty epic.”
He pats himself on the back. “Came up with it me-self.”
Still smiling, I turn and tug the stack of papers from the tray then spin back to look at Greg.
“You worked here long?”
He tilts his head back and forth.
“Depends on your idea of ‘long’,” he answers. “I’ve been here five years. Before here I was teaching up in Monterey for three.”
“Any recommendations for a high school newbie?” I ask, grinning sheepishly. “I’m used to college kids, so I feel like I’m going to face something very different today.”
