“That—is Mr. Ryan, my calculus teacher.”  And the number one pain in my ass as of yesterday.  My series of bad luck just keeps growing.

“Why do you have to spend two classes with him?”

 I haven’t had the chance to fill Emerson in about my day yesterday.  “Sorry, Em.  I forgot to tell you, but I won’t be able to spend study hall with you for a while.”

“What, why?”

“Um, I sort of pissed off Mr. Ryan yesterday and stormed out of class, and he called Mr. Stephenson.  Now I’m stuck being his second hour TA for the next two weeks.”

Her look reflects the disgust I’m feeling inside.  I fill her in, every glorified detail, cringing inside at my own behavior.  Except, of course, the kiss.  I’ll take that knowledge to my own grave.

“That’s bullshit!  What a dick,” she says when I’m finished.  I nod my head enthusiastically as I reach for the breakfast sandwich.  Slowly, delicately, I peel back the paper to reveal the contents inside.  Perfect, gooey, not even squished in the slightest.  “Wait—you’re going to eat that?  It came from the enemy!”

I smirk at my best friend.  “Hey, food is food and this muffin is not enough to tie me over until lunch.  Besides, I need to have my wits about me if I’m going to be spending second period with the jerk.”

CHAPTER SIX

Mr. Ryan

I hit the gym to lift and blow off some frustrations before I have to be to school.  My schedule doesn’t have a first hour class, so I don’t need to be there until 9:15.  As nice as it is to have a late start, that also means for the next two weeks I will spend my first class and last class of the day with The Brat.  This semester is off to a great start.

Since Trey isn’t here this morning, my mind begins to wander throughout my set.  It seems to have only one train of thought: Tatum.

My latest assessment of her is an understatement.  Brat doesn’t begin to cover the childish immaturity she encompasses.  What the hell was I thinking?  Last week, she seemed like an intelligent, well rounded woman.  Sure, there were a few moments of self-consciousness and anxiety that threw me for a loop, but beyond that she seemed…normal.  And here I thought I was a good judge of character.

She couldn’t even accept a simple, kind gesture from me, and I haven’t even done anything wrong.  She stormed away from me.  She rudely called me out.  The only thing I’m guilty of is standing by while she left me in a dark, deserted parking lot after the most magnetic kiss of my life.  Evidently kissing her was a colossal mistake.

I’m so damn stupid.  I watched from the doorway while she struggled with herself to not buy breakfast, and then I go and buy it for her in some kind of what, truce?  Jesus, I must have looked like a fucking idiot.  Her friend couldn’t stop starting at me, probably thought I was trying to woo Tatum with my gift of suitable breakfast material.  I just couldn’t help but remember her struggle with money at the diner.  Some deep seated internal instinct simply wanted to help.

These next two weeks are going to be a disaster if I have to see her twice a day.  Maybe she’ll come down with the flu, or mono.  Put her out of school for a week or two.

Though, if I were honest with myself, I’d miss seeing her delectable little body swaying around my classroom twice a day.  Although the sarcasm she spews is annoying at best, there’s a small part of me that enjoys her challenging me.

I need to get a grip.  I can’t think of her that way.  I was pissed when she ran away from me, but she wasn’t my student then.  Now she is.  Thoughts like those are so damn wrong.

After a quick shower, I dress in slacks, a navy blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, and a tie.  Because of yesterday’s events, I make sure to arrive 15 minutes before the start of class, giving myself ample time to prepare for today’s lesson.  And a small part of me wants to prove a point.

The classroom is on the second floor and the door opens into the back center of the room.  Six columns of metal desks fill the open floor and face the white board hanging on the wall in the front.  My own desk is a basic hunk of light colored wood that I moved off to the left side of the whiteboard when I first started.  Originally, it was on the right side of the classroom beside the rows of desks, but I didn’t like not being able to see my students’ faces.  I have an ancient desktop computer, a stapler, and a cup of pens covering the surface.  The walls are bare, and in the front right corner sits an ancient projector machine.  That’s it.  The room is boring and plain, but it’s math class, what does one really expect?

This Algebra II class is mostly sophomores with a few advanced freshmen.  Today I have a semester pretest so I can gauge the level of my students.  It’s nice to get a grasp on who’s ahead and who needs a little more help right from the get-go.

The warning bell rings, and I pull the crisp papers fresh off the copier from my brief case, settling them on the corner of my desk.  I stay seated, watching as students begin filtering in, giving small hellos and nods of my head as they choose their seats.  Unfortunately, I don’t miss the flirtatious grins and giggles erupting behind the hands of several of the female students.  Far from flattering, I find myself becoming annoyed.  And as I didn’t think my annoyance couldn’t take on another level, in walks Miss Krause, looking as arrogant as ever.

“Okay class, let’s settle down,” I start, trying to quiet the chatty students.

“Anything for you, Mr. Ryan,” one young girl sporting way too much makeup calls out.  I laugh with discomfort, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t start waving them around.  I tend to get a bit animated when I’m flustered.  Even through my embarrassment, I don’t miss the unladylike snort from close behind me.

“Alright, let’s get started.”  I pick up the papers off my desk, finding Miss Krause standing behind me, quite awkwardly and seriously distracting.  “Why don’t you sit down?” I offer.

“And where should I do that?” she sneers at me, with that glorious attitude of hers.  Christ, she’s difficult.  I feel sorry for her mother.

“There.  Sit at my desk and show me you can behave yourself,” I tell her, while I grab a stool for myself to sit on.  “Okay, class.  As we discussed yesterday, I have the pretest here.”  I wave the stack of papers in the air to the sound of many groans and protests.

“But it’s the second day of class!”

“And tomorrow is the third, and Friday is the fourth and so on...Mr…?”

“Thompson.  Ben Thompson.”

“Right, Mr. Thompson.  This is not a typical test.  It is a test of your abilities.  As I mentioned yesterday, this is a tool so I can get an idea how much you already know.  It will help me determine if someone might need a little extra help, or if someone is already ahead of the group.  My goal here is to make sure each one of you is challenged individually.”  Pausing to look around the room, one girl slowly raises her hand in the air.  “Yes?  Your name, please?”  The young girl blushes—actually blushes—when I acknowledge her.

“My name’s Megan,” she says shyly, and when she doesn’t continue, I prompt her.

“Yes Megan, did you have a question?”

“Um, yes.  Um, who’s that?” she asks, gesturing to my TA.  I give her a brief smile before turning around to look at Miss Krause, and find her texting fiercely on her phone.

“Put the phone away!” I snap, exasperated with this girl.  She looks up at me coldly, before slipping the phone back into her back pocket.  “Come here, please,” I request through tight lips.  She complies, sauntering over to where I’m seated.

“This is Miss Krause.  She is going to be my teaching assistant for the next couple of weeks.”

“My name is Tatum.  I’m a senior.  This is a punishment for me, so don’t expect me to be your friend,” she finishes her introduction for me.  I groan inwardly.  She couldn’t have been more unfriendly if she had started spouting profanities during her little speech.