“Thank you, Tatum,” I reply, emphasizing her first name.  “Please hand out the tests for me.  While she does that, are there any more questions?”  I receive several shakes of heads and I take a seat behind my desk.  “Then you may begin.  Please bring your papers to my desk when you are finished.”

The room quickly quiets of chatter and I try forcing myself to relax.  Just being in the same room as Tatum has me wound up tight.  Turning on my computer, I check the sport scores from last night’s baseball game, glancing up periodically to check for any cheaters.  Not that it particularly matters since the test isn’t graded, but it’s the principle of it.  After reading a recap, since I was too busy with Melissa to watch the game, I log into my personal email out of habit.  It’s not like I have anyone to email me anyway, but there’s a new message in my inbox.

Speak of the devil.  I click the link, surprised to see a message from Melissa.  She sent it earlier this morning.  Way earlier this morning, as the message timestamp reads 4:35 a.m.  Christ, this will be good.

Jacoby,

I wanted to send you a little note to thank you for the wonderful time I had last night.  I know you don’t want to be more than what we are, but so you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here and would be a great listener.  I’m sorry you had such an awful day yesterday, and I hope today is much better for you.  If not, I’ve attached a little ‘something’ that’s bound to cheer you up!  Call me later.

 

XoXo

Mel <3

Fuck.  I panic as a very scantily clad Melissa loads onto my screen in a small preview of the download.  I glance around quickly to make sure nobody is near enough to see, and frantically click the logout button at the top of my screen.  Damn, she’s going to get me fired pulling a stunt like that one.  I can’t sit here any longer, the adrenaline is still coursing through my system.  As I turn to stand, I catch Tatum sitting on the stool with that damn phone under her nose once again.

“Give me your phone,” I demand, students glancing up to watch the drama unfolding before them.  Instead of distracting the entire class, I decide to take it outside.  “In the hall, now.”  Her eyes widen fractionally before she meanders slowly into the hallway.  The way she walks pisses me off even more because I have to actually force myself to not stare as her hips sway alluringly.  Her body gives off provocativeness like a bonfire gives off heat.

Generously.

“We are down to the last fifteen minutes.  Please continue working until the end of class.  I will be right back,” I tell the class, my voice sounding throaty and a bit rough, before leaving the room and closing the door behind me.

Tatum is standing across the hall, leaning against the brick wall looking at me, almost as if she’s studying me.  I cross the small walkway to stand in front of her.

“Is this a game to you?” Credit to her for not flinching away from me.  She holds my gaze steadily with her own darkly lined hazel eyes.

“No, it’s not a game.”

“Then why were you on your phone after I asked you to put it away?”

“I don’t know, why were you on your email looking at porn?” she throws back at me.

Frustration flares inside of me, but I keep my hands loosely at my sides, trying to not give away any sign she’s getting to me.  And for fuck’s sake, she’s getting to me.  I don’t know whether to shake some sense into her, or grab her and kiss her senseless.

Uh, what? Let’s leave that thought right there.

“I wasn’t.  And it’s none of your business what’s on my email.”

“What would Mr. Stephenson think?” she threatens me, the glare in her eyes betraying her contempt.

“Don’t threaten me Miss Krause.  Do not forget that I am your teacher this afternoon.  You may be in my class now as my aide but later you will be my student, and you will not disrespect me in class again.”

“I’ll be finding a new class,” she says, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.  I’m the only teacher of the college level calculus class.  There isn’t another comparable class for her to take.  I don’t know her well enough to be certain, but any senior taking a college level class usually has an agenda.  It would be foolish for her to change her plans on my account.

“Don’t sacrifice your education because you don’t like me.  You’re enrolled in my class for a reason and it’s probably a good one.  If you can be on your best behavior, we’ll get along just fine.  You can be dismissed for the rest of this morning’s class.  I expect to see you later.”

“Whatever,” she says, already turning towards the staircase.

“Miss Krause?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave the phone in your bag.  If I see it again, it will spend the next two weeks in my desk drawer.”  I’m pretty sure she’s giving me the bird as she walks away.  I let out the sigh I’ve been holding in for the past twenty minutes and take a moment to calm myself, in more ways than one, before finishing up my first class of the day.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tatum

On my mad dash down the stairs to escape Mr. Ryan, I ran myself right into the school principal, who was oh-so curious about my first day as a TA.  I completely forgot to apologize for yesterday’s drama, and Mr. Stephenson demanded I make a public apology first thing sixth period and that he would be attending.

I’m still contemplating switching classes, but Mr. Ryan was right.  I do need calculus and he is the only teacher for that class.  I made it my priority this year to take as many classes for college credit as possible to save some money on my generals.  If all I accomplish is an AA degree, it’s better than nothing, and having 30 plus credits under my belt will save me almost a year of schooling and student loans.

My phone buzzes for what feels like the thousandth time this morning, breaking my thought process.  I don’t need to look at it to know who it’s going to be.

You still haven’t answered me.  We getting together tonight? 

Can’t tonight.  I have to study.

Never stopped you before ;) Just for an hour.

Sorry, no can do.  Maybe later this week.

I doubt I’ll have homework tonight, but I don’t want to see him again so soon.  I silence my phone so I don’t have to read his reply.  Wyatt and I have gotten together maybe once a week in the past, if that, but lately he’s been much clingier than usual.  He texted me all through second period, trying to get me to meet for lunch today, which subsequently led to Mr. Ryan getting pissed off at me once again.

I’ve never been a relationship girl, even as a young teen.  I was always too embarrassed of the state of my house, and my mom, to invite anyone over.  I think I intimidated a lot of the guys my age.  When I met Wyatt, I had just relocated after leaving my mom’s house and I was still reeling with the knowledge of her near death and everything that followed.  He offered me an escape, and our relationship was built on sex and comfort.  But even when he compliments me, I still see myself as the image of that scared little girl I used to be when my mom was too busy doing drugs to care.  Dirty, worthless, unlovable.  Any time someone tries to get a little too close, I push them away by any means I can.  Because people can only hurt you when you let them in.  And after over a year, Wyatt is trying to get dangerously close.

After lunch, my day is smooth sailing up until Mr. Ryan’s class.  No matter how much confidence I think I have, I hate public speaking of any sort.  My stomach has been a ball of nerves for the past half an hour and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling.  Twisted, tormenting flames burn deep in my gut as I pace the hallway outside his classroom.  My hands are knotted at my waist, palms damp with uncontrollable sweat.  Only a few moments.  I just have to say a couple of words and I’ll be done.  Feeling as though I’m about to cry, and pissed for bringing this upon myself, I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cold brick wall.