“You nervous?” Katie asks through the speaker of my phone where it’s resting on my bathroom counter. I’m applying a third coat of mascara in the mirror anxiously.
“Yes,” I answer, putting the cap back on the tube of mascara. I fish through my makeup bag for some lipstick, unsure if I should go my usual dark red route or if it’s too scandalous for a high school teacher. I decide on a matte peach color and apply it silently while Katie keeps talking.
“You have nothing to be nervous about. This is your destiny, babe. Go in there, kick some ass, and then call me when you get home so we can talk all about it.”
I rub my lips together. “What if I accidentally drop the F-bomb in the middle of class? Or if I bend over and my skirt rides up too far? Oh god, I am not meant to be a role model, Katie.”
She laughs. “You’re perfectly capable of holding yourself accountable for your own actions, and you mastered the art of pretending to be a grownup a long time ago. Deep breaths.”
I groan loudly, throwing the lipstick back into my makeup bag. “What if–”
“Stop,” she cuts me off, and I crinkle my nose at myself in the mirror. “No more what ifs! Get your shit together.”
I huff. “Fine, my shit will be together by the time I arrive at school.”
“Good girl. Call me when you get home.’
A small smile touches my lips. “I will.”
“I am very proud of you, Penelope Leyton,” Katie says, making my smile grow bigger.
“Love you.” I know if I give in to a lovey-dovey conversation right now, I’ll probably end up crying. “Call you later.”
“Kill it!” she says, then my phone beeps as the call drops.
I take a breath and stare at my reflection. My face is beat to perfection, my contour chiseling my already decent bone structure, but I went easy on the eye makeup, skipping my usual black eyeliner and just using a neutral eyeshadow and mascara. I chose a black skirt that hangs right about at my knees, paired it with a burgundy blouse and my lucky pair of Louboutin’s, and my mom gifted me a to-die-for Prada bag as a good luck on your first day present to tie the whole outfit together.
I slip my feet into my shoes as I pass through my bedroom, then head to the kitchen to grab a protein bar. I don’t want to risk being late if I battle the line at the coffee shop, so I also fill up a thermos with coffee and add some cream.
Making sure my phone is in my purse, I grab one of the folders I brought home from lesson planning with Mrs. Justice last week and my keys, then head outside.
The sun has yet to rise into the sky, and a chill kisses my bare legs as I head out for my car.
Excitement bubbles in my chest as I crank the engine of my Cayenne. I can’t believe this is really happening. After almost a decade, I’ve hit the goal I’ve been working toward.
What do I work toward now?
I chew on my lip as I pull out of my parking space, and then start heading to Luxington High, the question bothering me. What do people look forward to when they have already fulfilled their goals?
What’s after the finish line? Or is this when I settle down, get comfortable, and eventually start decaying? Oh god, is this what my life is now?
Something dark settles inside of me, and suddenly, I feel trapped.
Yeah, things have changed. I’m still getting my groove on this whole adult life thing, but I’ve never not had a purpose or a goal before.
What’s next?
“Good morning, Mrs. Justice.”
I greet my cranky partner-in-crime, who’s flipping through a textbook at her desk, and then I find my own desk and sit. Putting my now empty coffee cup down, I throw my purse into the bottom drawer of my desk and then power on my computer.
My desk sits in the far corner of the room, parallel to Mrs. Justice’s, which is in the center of the wall like she’s the main attraction and I’m just her sidekick. I guess I am.
While my computer starts up, I stand back up and grab my coffee cup. Stopping in front of Mrs. Justice’s desk, I smile. “I’m going to run to the teacher’s lounge and get some coffee, would you like anything?”
She points to her cup, which is filled with the same thick, green liquid she had every day of the last two weeks that I met her here. “I’m fine.”
I nod, trying my best not to look disgusted at the concoction she’s decided is a substitute for breakfast. I know my way around pretty well, since I spent the last couple of weeks here lesson planning, but there’s a decent sized crowd of students mingling in the halls now, which adds an extra layer of anxiety. I’m thankful I had time to get to know this place without students; I would hate to be the new person who needed a map.
The thought reminds me of how many times I was that person growing up. I was constantly changing schools when my foster homes changed, so I got used to being the new kid after my third elementary school. But the embarrassment never went away.
It wasn’t until fifth grade that I just stopped giving a fuck altogether. I had enough of new introductions, new lockers, new seat assignments, and that awkward ‘class, we have a new student’ speech the teachers gave. That’s when I started being that foster kid, the stereotypical one. Never brought a pencil, always got sent to the principal’s office, the bad kid from the broken home who no one wanted to be friends with.
It didn’t bother me – what was I going to do, invite a friend for a slumber party in a house that wasn’t mine?
That little stripe of embarrassment stayed, though. No matter how tough I tried to be, I was always the new kid with no family, the one who didn’t know where she was born, the one who didn’t know her middle name.
When I started university, and officially settled on teaching as my major, I promised myself I would never make a student feel isolated like I felt growing up. I would never make a kid stand up and introduce themselves on their first day in the middle of the year. I would never let a troubled kid go ignored simply because of their situation.
I find my way to the teachers’ lounge without incident and make a beeline straight for the fancy-pants coffeemaker on the counter.
Me and this coffeemaker are on a first name basis already, so I dig around in the drawer for the caramel macchiato pod and slip it into the machine. Making sure there’s water in the back, I pop my empty cup under the spout and hit the BREW button.
While the coffeemaker does its thing, I turn around and lean my back against the counter.
“First day?”
My gaze finds a young blonde woman sitting at one of the tables, using a plastic fork to cut into a stack of pancakes.
“First day with students,” I answer.
“Oooh,” she says, taking a bite of her food. When she’s chewed and swallowed, she gives me a smile. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t turn your back on them.”
There’s humor in her light eyes, so I laugh. “Good tip.”
She wipes her hands on a napkin and stands up, extending a hand to me. “Lucy.”
I take three steps to put my hand in hers and shake. “Penelope.”
She smiles, releases my hand, and sits back down to continue eating her breakfast. “Welcome to Luxington High, Penelope. What’re you teaching?”
“I’m Mrs. Justice’s aide.”
“Oh shit.” She almost chokes on her bite. “How’d you get stuck with that old witch?”
I laugh. “Glad to hear she’s a bright and shining treasure to everyone. I was starting to think it was personal.”
“No, no,” Lucy says, grinning as she uses the side of her fork to cut her pancakes. “She’s rotten. Why do you think she’s getting the boot?”
“Retirement?” I question, my tone hesitant.
“Code for she pissed off too many board members,” Lucy says, lifting a brow.
“Yikes.” I walk back to the coffeemaker and grab my finished macchiato, then head for the door. “Good to meet you, Lucy.”
“I’ll be here for lunch if you want to join. Good luck on your first day.”
I nod, giving her a thankful smile. “Thank you.”
I step back out into the hallway, which is busier now that it’s getting closer to school starting. I make sure to pay attention to where I’m walking so I don’t bump into anyone and spill my coffee.
Seeing all these students brings back memories of my own time in high school, which seems like twenty years ago, but also like it was only yesterday. Luxington seems more relaxed than my private school, but it still doesn’t give the normal high school vibe. The interior of the school alone is immaculate, everything clean and modernized. The entire hall is a crisp shade of cream, except for the lockers that sit in the walls, which are the perfect contrast in black.
I find a pair of dark eyes outside my classroom door, the man belonging to them leaning against the wall carelessly, with a smirk curling his plump lips.
My stomach falls to my ass, and when he realizes I’ve spotted him, his expression screams mischief.
Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and skinny brown chinos that hug the muscles of his thighs, he’s a walking statue chiseled from marble. His tattooed arms are crossed over his chest, and his black hair is styled perfectly on top of his head.
I lick my lips as I approach him. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes twinkle with humor. “That’s the greeting I get?”
I want to smack the perfect smirk from his face, but I also want to choke him with my thighs.
“Hayden, why are you here?” I question, smiling so no one around us can tell I’m about to beat him to death.
“You don’t sound very happy to see me.” Hayden laughs. “Have I done something to offend you, Miss Leyton?”
I look around, noticing there’s an alcove by one of the windows that’s free of students. I jerk my head toward it, then start walking, hoping he’s gathered to follow me.
I turn around once I’m at the window, happy to find he’s behind me. His dark eyes are boring into mine, making my stomach turn to liquid.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, keeping my voice low.
“It’s a long story,” he says, his face still painted with amusement.
“So,” I continue, growing impatient. “Tell me.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile. A moment passes between us, the only noise the hustle and bustle of the hall around us.
“Hello?” I snap, trying to stay quiet. “Anyone in there?”
“Don’t freak out.”
That’s all he says, and then his hands travel up his torso and grab two thick straps that are around his shoulders.
My brows pull down as I try to understand the situation, and it feels like everything is moving in slow motion around me until it finally comes together and clicks.
“Oh no,” I whisper, dread making my blood run cold.
It’s a backpack.
I can only imagine what my face looks like, because he takes a small step toward me and whispers under his breath. “Don’t freak out.”
“Oh my god,” I say, unable to stop myself. “Oh my god.”
“You’re freaking out,” he says, and I see red.
“Hayden,” I whisper, my fingers touching my mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re in high school.”
“Listen…” He reaches for me, and I step back.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I say under my breath. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me right now.”
“Penelope.” His eyes are big and sad as he looks into mine. I want to claw them from his skull. Who is he to be sad right now?
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, taking a breath to calm the fire burning inside of me. “You aren’t going to talk to me. You aren’t going to fucking come near me. You’re going to pretend like you’ve never met me before, do you understand? Do not fucking come anywhere near me ever again.”
“P…” he says, hands squeezing the straps to his backpack so tight that his fingers are turning white.
“This is my life, Hayden. You do not get to ruin this,” I snap, looking around again, just in case someone is watching us.
This is a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.
This isn’t how I wanted to start my career. I need to make a name for myself, show my worth, prove the headmistress right. Instead, I’m going to be the gossip in the fucking hallways on day one.
Oh god.
“P?” he says more insistently, pulling my attention. I find his eyes wild, and they make my chest clench painfully.
“What?” I answer, and his gaze moves to my mouth.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice comes out in a tender whisper, like the information he’s sharing isn’t for anyone else, not even a fly on the wall, like he’s almost trying to hold the words back.
My gut falls, and his gaze finds mine again.
I take a breath through my nose, saying what I wish I didn’t have to. “Pretend we never met.”
“You look good enough to eat in that skirt, how am I going to do that?” he asks, husky and pained.
“You’ll just have to try a bit harder,” I say, clearing my throat and stepping to the side so I can walk past him. “Have a good life, Hayden.”
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even watch me walk away. He just stares out the window.
The first few classes pass by without a problem. Mrs. Justice doesn’t waste a moment with time fillers, instead just jumping straight into a lecture on the importance of our government. I tuned out after 2nd period – because it seems we won’t see eye to eye on a lot of things regarding the U.S. government.
Most of the students seem genuinely engaged. There’re only a few I would classify as troublemakers, and even then, they’re quick to shut up when Mrs. Justice uses her mean voice. It might be because it’s the first day of school, so I guess we’ll see if the students are well-behaved year-round when senioritis starts to kick in.
Mrs. Justice doesn’t ask for my participation, so I don’t offer it, opting to observe her teaching style and learn how to control a crowd of teenagers. She carries herself with arrogance, and it rubs me the wrong way. I don’t want to be her when I grow up, old and bitter and forced into retirement because I have a stick up my ass.
She doesn’t seem to care about the students. She follows her lesson plan down to the letter like a robot pretending to be a woman.
When 3rd period rolls around, my head hurts and my ass is asleep from sitting in my desk chair for so long without standing up.
Luxington High gives students fifteen minutes between classes, so after the minute or so it takes 2nd period to clear out, I have about ten minutes to myself before the next class comes in. Mrs. Justice says something about going to get a bottle of water, so I take the freedom to put my head flat down on the surface of my desk and will my headache to stop.
After about two minutes, I’m interrupted.
“Bad first day?”
His voice makes my head pop up too quick, so it throbs. I groan, meeting Hayden’s dark gaze. “You’re kidding, right?”
He smiles, tapping his tattooed fingers on the top of my desk like it’s a piano. “That bad?”
“Remember when I told you to pretend you don’t know me this morning?” I ask him, wanting to hurl myself over my desk and strangle him.
“I have some recollection of that, yes,” he answers, twisting his lips to the side playfully.
I clear my throat, placing my hands flat on my desk. “You’re really bad at it.”
He laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Eh, we all have our flaws.”
I shake my head, seeing Mrs. Justice in my peripheral vision walking through the classroom door. “Get out.”
His laugh echoes out again. “So fucking polite, Miss Leyton.”
“Mr. Monroe,” Mrs. Justice says, pulling both of our attention to where she’s standing at the whiteboard. “Find your seat.”
I look back at Hayden, whose mouth spreads into a sinister smile that makes a chill run down my spine. I stop breathing as I watch him slowly walk to the back of the classroom, and when he turns around to sit down in one of the vacant desks, he still has that smile cutting across his face.
Oh my god.
How didn’t I connect that he would be in my class?
