TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER
Mrs. Peterson closes the door to her classroom. “Good afternoon and welcome to senior chemistry.” She walks to her desk, leans on the edge, and opens her class folder. “I appreciate you picking your own seats, but since this is my class, I make the seating arrangements . . . alphabetically.”
Groans erupt from the students, the same sound that has greeted her on the first day of school for over thirty years at Fairfield High.
“Mary Alcott, take the first seat. Your partner is Andrew Carson.” Down the list Mrs. Peterson goes, students reluctantly sitting in their assigned seats next to their chemistry partners.
“Paco Fuentes,” Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the table behind Mary.
The handsome young man with pale blue eyes like his mother’s and smoky black hair like his father’s takes his assigned seat.
Mrs. Peterson regards her new student over the glasses perched on her nose. “Mr. Fuentes, don’t think this class will be a piece of cake because your parents got lucky and developed a medication to halt the progression of Alzheimer’s. Your father never did finish my class and he flunked one of my tests, although I have a feeling your mother was the one who should have failed. But that just means I’ll expect extra from you.”
“Sí, señora.”
Mrs. Peterson looks down at her notebook. “Julianna Gallagher, please take your seat next to Mr. Fuentes.”
Mrs. Peterson notices Julianna’s blush as she sits on her stool and Paco’s cocky grin beside her. Maybe the tide was starting to shift after thirty years of teaching, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“And for those of you who want to start any trouble, I have a zero tolerance policy. . . .”
