The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

I didn’t have time for coffee, so now I feel a headache coming on as I run down the hall to my classroom. The bell rang five minutes ago, so there’s a line of confused students waiting by my door. I slide to a screeching halt in front of the door and apologize profusely to my students who are all watching me in dismay. I must really look a sight.

A girl standing in front of me starts giggling and pointing at my feet. I look down and realize that I’m wearing two different shoes. They don’t even look remotely the same. One is a black loafer-style flat with a group of silver chains on top, and the other is a brown ballet flat—the pair I was intending to wear. How did I manage this?

I reach for my lanyard around my neck that has my teacher ID and classroom key on it so I can unlock the door, only to realize it’s not there. Wonderful. I must have left it in my car in my rush to get inside. I turn and run back to the parking lot to grab my lanyard. So much for not sweating. I can feel a sticky sheen forming on my back. On my way back inside, I pass by Colby in the front office, talking to the secretary. He takes one look at me, and his face scrunches up in confusion.

Yeah, yeah. I look like a mess. Go ahead and rub it in.

He looks down at my feet, and the man actually smiles…at me! It’s not a full smile, showing his teeth, but it’s a smile nonetheless! And I caused it! Sure, it’s because of my inability to properly clothe myself while in distress, but for once he isn’t rolling his eyes or scowling at me. I, Norah Sullivan, made Colby Stuart smile. I will mark it down on my calendar so I can always remember this moment. I feel victorious. At least I have that going for me today.

And I also have a little something to look forward to at lunch time. I arranged for a surprise for our dear Mr. Stuart here during his second-period class. Hannah and I spent an hour brainstorming and plotting while I was at her bookstore this weekend. The woman is a literal mastermind. I was originally just going to set all the critters in his classroom free and call it a day, but embarrassing him in front of his students will be so much better. Unfortunately, I won’t get to see it all go down, but I can’t wait to hear all about it. I’m also counting on the fact that at least one student will catch it on video for my viewing pleasure later on. He’s going to hate it. I can’t wait to see his angry face afterward. He has the best angry face.

Colby

I’m in the middle of teaching my second-period class. My students are listening intently, which is saying a lot for a bunch of tenth graders. Half the time, I’m tempted to give up, sit behind my desk with a book, and let them all fail. But that’s not an option if I’m interested in keeping my job, so I usually end up yelling at them and threatening them with extra assignments. Today, though, they’re interested. No yelling required. I’ve noticed throughout the years that this is typically the case when learning about the reproductive system. It’s the hormones.

But all that goes out the window when, twenty minutes into my lesson, some idiot barges into my room with approximately fifteen balloons, a bouquet of fruit cut into flower shapes, and a bouquet of actual flowers. Who needs fruit flowers and real flowers? I’m momentarily stunned silent, but my students, however, are not. All the girls are ooh-ing and ahh-ing and trying to figure out who my supposed girlfriend is. There is no girlfriend.

“I think you have the wrong room,” I say in my most intimidating voice.

“You’re Colby Stuart?” the man stops walking toward me and asks.

“I am. But it’s not my birthday or anything…”

“Oh, good. A gift from your secret admirer,” he says. And the man has the audacity to wink at me. The room explodes in giggles and chattering.

A secret admirer? Yeah, right. Am I back in third grade? I know exactly who is to blame for this commotion. The boys are all smacking each other on their chests and backs and laughing hysterically.

As if balloons, flowers, and weird bouquets of fruit aren’t enough, the strange man standing in my classroom starts singing that annoying song that spells out love and tells you what each letter stands for. I’ve always hated that song. I’ve had enough. This is where I firmly draw the line.

Hannah used to sing that song all the time after hearing it in some stupid movie about some twin sisters at a summer camp. I wanted to duct tape her mouth shut.

“Get out,” I demand through gritted teeth. The man takes one look at my face and stops singing. The kids all quiet down, and the silence in the room is so loud. I flex my hands and then ball them into fists to try to control my raging temper.

“Umm, uhhh… I was paid to sing the song,” the man mumbles. He looks around the room, stopping when he sees the students barely containing their laughter. He looks back at me and my face that’s probably a shade of red that shouldn’t be possible for a human face. I’m barely holding it together. The twenty cell phones currently recording me right now are not making it any better.

“Where do you want all of this?” he asks. I want to tell him he can throw it all in the trash, but I point at my desk without a word. This will probably get rid of him faster. He scurries over to put it down. I watch him as he sets the vase of flowers down right on top of a stack of quizzes that still need to be graded, and I groan. I’m sure the students would love it if he spilled water all over them and they had to retake the quiz. He moves them over and turns to face me. “I’m sorry,” he says in a hushed voice and then rushes out of the room, mumbling about needing a better job.

As soon as the door clicks shut, the entire classroom bursts into laughter and a slew of questions. “Coach Stuart, you’re not going to die grumpy and alone after all,” one girl says.

“I’m not a coach!” I shout as I walk out of the room to calm myself down. I ought to barge into Norah’s classroom and interrupt her lesson. I know she did this. Who else would have done it? The woman’s a nuisance. An absolute menace to society.

I’m sitting at a table, eating my lunch (leftover turkey meatballs from last night), when Norah breezes into the teacher’s lounge with a huge smile on her face. Several other teachers call out a greeting to her, and she waves before locking her eyes on me. She moves through the room to the back corner where I’m sitting and sits across from me. I watch as she takes out her lunch: carrot sticks, a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and a banana. The lunch of someone who can’t cook. She holds up a carrot and then pauses, looking at me. “So, Colbster, has anything interesting happened today?” She munches on the carrot, and the crunch of it grates on my nerves just enough for her to get a rise out of me.

“Must you be so loud with those?”

“You seem a little tense,” she says. “You should try meditating or getting a massage.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Woman, you’ve got a lot of nerve,” I grumble, and she has the nerve to laugh. The woman knows just what to do to push my buttons. I clench my fists and take a deep breath in through my nose and out my mouth.

“Oh, come on. Lighten up. It’s funny! And plus, you got fruit and fancy chocolates and flowers! It’s not like you’re walking away from this empty handed.”

“Don’t forget the balloons,” I add. She nods her head as if that’s really something to be excited about.

“Yeah, they’ll add a little excitement to your dreadfully dull classroom!”

“My students didn’t listen to a word I said for the rest of the class! And what the heck am I supposed to do with flowers? Watch them die? If you want to waste your money on nonsense, then fine by me. But don’t interrupt my class to do it!”

“Wow. I was confessing my undying love for you, Colbster, and this is how you choose to reject me? In front of all these people?” She waves her arm around at everyone in the lounge. “Harsh!” she says with a maniacal smile on her face.