Still, a bubble formed in my throat. I’d been at this school long enough to know how things worked. Anything even slightly out of the ordinary needed approval from the top. Department chairs oversaw the teachers in each department and documented every break from routine with forms and detailed notes, which were then sent directly to Principal Albright. Paper trails were essential to avoiding lawsuits. That’s what my own department chair, Vera Hubbard, reminded me multiple times a year. Luckily, she was older than dirt and didn’t have the energy to nitpick with me or anyone else in the chemistry department. Other than passing out a few unauthorized business cards, swiping an occasional pad of sticky notes from the supply room, and brushing the odd parent complaint under the rug, I usually played by the rules. Vera had never been aware of any reason to write me up.
Elena should have gotten approval. Her outing would get back to Jefferson and then to Albright. The Principal was a control freak, a lover of standardized tests, and a figurehead who only surrounded himself with yes-men and yes-women, like Vice Principal Nina Mittal, who rushed from meeting to meeting in her pressed trousers and shiny heels, always too preoccupied to speak directly to the teachers. Albright loved Vice Principal Mittal because she kept herself busy and didn’t rock the boat. His glowing public perception and the continuation of Ravenswood High School’s Top Ten in-state ranking were his utmost concerns.
As I debated whether to warn Elena about not following protocol, she adjusted the beaded bohemian bracelet on her wrist and pulled a book of American short stories out of her bag. I bit my lip and lowered myself onto the chair across from her.
She slid her book to the side and glanced up at me. “How are things in the world of chemistry?”
Her lean body and carved features would have fit in better on the cover of a fashion magazine, instead of trapped inside a teachers’ lounge that smelled of ranch-flavored Doritos and old soup. Her clothes had their own effortless style; a crochet cardigan was draped over her tank top. Not like the uniform of khaki pants and a black shirt that I wore every day, too lazy to formulate a different combination.
“Could be worse. I think I have a good group.”
Elena tipped her head toward me. “It’s so nice when you have students who actually want to learn.”
“Have you settled in okay?”
“I’m all moved into my classroom and my apartment.” Her eyes flickered to the side and I thought I saw a flash of sadness. “I have a commute. My apartment is all the way south of the mall.”
“You gotta love how we’re barely paid enough to live in the town where we teach.” Elena smirked, her eyes giving me the knowing look of all teachers who were overworked and underpaid.
The door burst open and Nick Bell’s six-foot frame strode inside, a brown bag clutched in his hand.
“Ladies,” he said, dipping his chiseled chin toward us.
I raised my hand. “Hi, Nick.”
His gaze paused on Elena, whose own oceanic eyes were glued on him. My fingers rested on the lid of my container of blueberries. I was caught in the middle of something.
Nick stepped forward, jutting out his muscled arm. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Nick Bell.”
“Hi. Elena Mayfield.”
Their hands connected, free of wedding bands, sparks practically flying before my eyes. Now this was chemistry.
I pretended to look at something outside, wishing I could evaporate. I’d been buddies with Nick for years. He’d been a reliable friend, a respected teacher of ninth- and tenth-grade social studies, and a successful coach of the varsity soccer team. But, in certain circles, he had a reputation as a freewheeling bachelor and ladies’ man.
The weight of watching eyes drew my head toward the far side of the room, where the ceramics teacher, Annie Babcock, pulled her bottle of organic tea closer to her and dropped her gaze. A stray piece of auburn hair stuck up behind her headband in a curlicue. Her eyes darted in several directions, giving her the scattered look so often seen in artists and writers.
Annie and Nick had dated for a few months last year. She’d gotten burned. I wondered if Elena would be his next victim. The faces of all the girls with crushes on Mr. Bell circled in my mind. The arrival of Ms. Mayfield had just extinguished their misguided hopes of a fairytale romance with their handsome teacher. And there were probably plenty of hot-blooded boys in Ms. Mayfield’s classes who’d already fantasized about what they’d do with a few minutes alone with their new teacher in the supply room.
Nick twisted his lips to the side, activating his dimple. “So, you’re the amazing new English teacher I’ve been hearing about.”
“I don’t know if amazing is the right word.” Elena blushed, releasing his grip.
I shook my head and flashed a wry grin at him. “It’s called ELA now, Nick. English Language Arts. Get with the times.”
“ELA. Of course. Can you forgive me?” he asked, refocusing on Elena.
Elena crinkled her cute nose. “Just this once. What do you teach?”
Nick smiled. “Social studies. Ninth and tenth grade.” He pulled his gaze away from Elena, produced a pad of paper from his bag, and uncapped a pen. “I have to figure out the starters for practice today.”
“Nick coaches the boys’ varsity soccer team,” I said.
“Nice.”
The door creaked open, and Albright’s wide hips sauntered through, his presence sucking the air out of the room. The principal’s visits to the teachers’ lounge weren’t common—or welcome—so I braced myself for whatever request was coming next.
Albright clapped his hands together as he approached. “How about this good-looking crew?” His close-set eyes gleamed from within his Frankenstein-shaped head. He had a knack for flattery but would stab a teacher in the back without a second thought if it meant saving his skin. He’d thrown Elena’s predecessor under the bus for mentioning his increasing class sizes and the non-increasing amount of his salary to parents during Curriculum Night.
“Classes going well?”
Elena’s flawless face beamed. “Yes. Thank you.”
Albright huffed out a labored breath. “I’m looking for a few good men and women to head up the Geeks and Goblins fundraiser. It’s the Wednesday before Halloween. There’s a group of parents involved already, so it won’t be much work.”
Oh, lord. I pressed my spine against the back of my chair. I’d fallen for this before. I glanced over my shoulder to see if I could direct him over to a different set of more gullible teachers in the corner, but, other than Annie, there was only a coiffed middle-aged woman who worked in the office heating something in the microwave. She turned to the side, and I realized it was Phoebe’s mom, Amy Granger. My hand lifted in a wave, but Amy only stared out the window as she waited for her food to heat.
Elena angled herself toward Albright. “Geeks and Goblins. What’s that?”
“It’s basically a Halloween party on school grounds—DJ, food trucks, haunted graveyard,” Nick said. “Except teachers display some of their students’ work, too. Kind of like an academic art exhibit people can walk through.”
Albright strummed his stubby fingers on the table. “It was our largest fundraiser last year.”