She checks her phone. “Looks like we still have six minutes. Awesome! Follow me to the special place. You can’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Um, okay?”
Walking briskly, she rounds a corner, ducks down a dark hallway near the student restrooms, and then opens a door and ushers me inside.
I blink at the dim light. “Oh my God, how many storage closets are in this school?”
She waggles her brows. “Three. I know them all. The lounge is always crowded, and these are the best places for alone time. There’s a rumor that Melinda tried to corner Coach in one, like, she locked the door and wouldn’t let him leave, but I don’t know if that’s true. It might have been his office? It’s no secret she’s after him.”
“Tell me about it,” I grouse.
She reaches in the pocket of her black pants. “Here, take a toke on this. It’s my extra. Hope you like peppermint flavor. I might have a vanilla or strawberry. I have so many. I get them off the kids on the daily.” She holds out two e-cigarettes and a handful of pods.
My mouth opens. “You vape on school grounds?”
“Don’t be a snitch, Nova, but hell yeah. Everybody needs a break.”
I giggle. “I always thought you were a goody two-shoes except for those times we skipped PE.”
She sucks on an e-cigarette, the vapor billowing around the closet. She grins. “Are we gonna be friends?”
“Definitely.”
“I can tell you’re nervous about the deviants you’re about to face—”
“Deviants?”
She smirks. “I’m kidding. Trust me—I love these kids, and teaching science is amazing, but the English teachers will have given you the kids they don’t want. Mrs. Pettigrew is head of the department and a wanker. I have a thing for British words, by the way.”
“Bloody hell, all kids should be wanted,” I mutter.
She giggles and takes another toke. “I spent a summer abroad there, and it stuck with me. So yeah, here’s the skinny: there’s good and bad teachers just like in any profession. All I’m saying is, Petty Pettigrew cherry-picked who got your class, and guess who her bestie is?”
“Melinda?”
“Yep, and Melinda also teaches junior English. But don’t worry about your first rodeo into the life of horny teens. I’m going to help you.” She flashes a smile. “Also, Principal Lancaster asked me to be your mentor.”
“And my mentor smokes.” I grin as I take the e-cigarette and take a toke, then choke on the flavor. I hand it back. “I’ll pass on this, but thank you, and yes, I’m nervous. Any tips?”
“My advice is to walk in there like a badass. Pretend they’re prisoners, even though they aren’t, of course. Come out of the gate tough. Slam your fist on the desk, march around like a sergeant, rant and rave about how mean you are, and don’t let them give you any lip. If you start out soft, they’ll eat you alive. You can always be nicer, but they won’t buy it if you suddenly become hard. You’ve already lost them.”
My eyes widen. “Got it. Be tough.”
“Now, let’s get to the good stuff. Spill the tea—you and Megacoach a thing?”
I pause, then nod and smile. “Oh yeah. He is . . .” Off limits. “Amazing!”
She narrows her eyes. “That sounded fake. You put your accent in. What’s going on?”
Another bell chimes.
“Bullocks. No time.” She stands up and waves at the air frantically. “I’ll see you at lunch. Good luck, and let me know if I need to beat anyone up. Cheers!”
We slip out of the door and into a crush of students rushing to their lockers. I tell her bye, then walk toward my classroom.
I pause as my eyes catch Andrew as he stands at his podium. A few students are around him, and he’s smiling, his stance easy and confident, and it hits me that he loved US History in school. I wonder if he’s a good teacher, not one of those boring ones like Sabine talks about. He glances over at the door, sees me, and smiles tentatively.
My chest does a weird tightening thing.
After he left New York, I forced myself to become stronger, to wear armor around men, to never get too close. I packed him away in the dark closet of my mind like a forgotten sweater. I told myself I moved on.
Have I?
He comes to the door. “You okay? I can go in and introduce you?”
A memory hits me, one of him giving me a promise ring on our graduation day in front of the entire class. Dammit. Why am I remembering the good things about him? He hurt me. Horribly.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I’m about to turn when he says my name. “Yes?”
He sticks his hands in his slacks. “Does it feel weird to be back here, you know, where we . . . dated?”
I stiffen. “We’re different people now. It doesn’t feel the same.”