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“Well, it’s going to have to be in this case,” she said, her sweet voice taking on a hint of steel.
I bit down on my protests. They wouldn’t do any good. It didn’t matter to Principal Simmons that I’d spent weeks doing research, creating a presentation, and then winning over the school board to institute my program. Ever since that stupid shrinkage plan had been approved, she’d been even more laser-focused on measurable results.
As the principal, she reported to the superintendent, who was a liaison with the city on how the proposal could impact our schools, so I understood that she got pressure from above too. It still rubbed me wrong. Kids were more than numbers on a page.
“I’ll do what I can, but I’m not set up for tutoring. I won’t have enough mentors.”
She nodded, and her expression softened. “Clark, I respect you. We need more teachers like you, who are so passionate about their work. But we all have to do our part. The school system is stretched thin, and the elementary schools are feeling it the most. They don’t have the resources to help these kids. I know it’s not the vision you have for the program, but you’re the best option they have right now.”
“I understand,” I said with a nod. “I don’t want these kids to fall behind either.”
“I know you don’t,” she said with a smile. “That’s why you’re one of the best teachers we have.”
“But students are more than test results, and I’ll stand by that. They’re whole people with varied interests, and getting them invested in their community, in doing good and having good role models, will mean better students later, when they reach high school. I still believe that.”
“As you should, Clark. I’m behind you.” She sounded almost cheerful now that she had gotten her way, but that was the magic of Ellen Simmons. She could be strict when needed, but most of the time she was open and friendly, respectful with staff, and sweet with the kids. “I know we have different philosophies, but we both care about our kids. And, hey, we’ve got that tutoring software the tech club developed. Maybe you can put it to work.”
“I’m not sure that’s compatible with elementary level…”
I trailed off as she pushed a slip of paper across the desk. She’d already moved on to the next step. “Here is the info for the students and their parents. I’ve taken the liberty of approving them and having brief meetings set up so you can get a feel for what the kids need and get whatever forms you need signed.”
“Okay, sure.” I picked up the slip, casting a glance down.
I skimmed right over the first name, not recognizing it, but the second jumped out like a neon sign.
Toby Rhodes. Father: Hunter Rhodes. Meeting: 5:30 Tuesday.
My heart fluttered like a hummingbird at the thought of talking to my dream man, then sank into a dive when I realized what this meant.
It was silly. Hunter was nothing but a fantasy I entertained from time to time, but finally having a reason to see him more often was ruined by the fact he was now a parent of a student.
The forbidden DILF, as Wes and Beckett would put it.
Once Toby entered the program, I’d have to put a lid on my infatuation with Hunter, one of the few pleasures I’d allowed myself since moving to a small town with a limited pool of good dating prospects.
Nana might be scoping out men for me, but I had no illusions. I was a nerdy history teacher, not exactly a hot number to draw out eligible bachelors, and the number of men interested in a guy at all would be slim to begin with. I wasn’t a math teacher, but if she found a good dating prospect, and that was a big if, the odds of us hitting it off had to be infinitesimal.
And now, it seemed, I couldn’t even have a nice fantasy to keep me warm.
CHAPTER3
CLARK
“Save me,Clark. I’m on the verge of madness!”
Maisie made a dramatic entrance into my room, hand raised to her forehead as if she were in a Shakespearean play. I fought a smile, knowing I shouldn’t encourage her.
“Aren’t you always, though?”
She laughed, and unfortunately took my joke as an invitation to perch on my desk. Maisie wasn’t easily deterred in her attempts at friendship, and each time she tried, I felt my resolve weaken. It wasn’t that I wanted to be unfriendly; I just felt uncomfortable with the idea of getting too close with anyone at school. I didn’t want to be in the position of choosing between ethics and friendship ever again.
“Seriously, though, please tell me you can pencil in time for tacos and margaritas. I can’t deal with another of these essays while sober.”
I almost wished I could take her up on it today. I had a meeting with Hunter in a few minutes and my stomach was a ball of nerves.
“Sorry, Mais, I’ve got an appointment.” I tapped the neat notation of the 5:30 p.m. meeting in my planner that sat alongside doodles, gold star stickers—I was a teacher after all—and color coding to denote my moods each day. It was half journal, half schedule—my whole life, in other words.
“You’re breaking my heart.” She leaned in, eyes on the page. “Wait, what’s that say?”
