The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

I’m tempted to stop at each and every student and set the record straight, but that would take all day. And I also don’t want to have to explain to my students that my coworker was forced to take care of me after I barfed all over myself at a party. It was all innocent, but that’s not how the town is interpreting it. It’s just not the look I’m going for in front of my students—or anyone, for that matter.

I decide to shake it off for now and head to my classroom. I don’t owe them an explanation anyway. The only person I need to talk about this with is Colby, and I have no idea how to broach the topic with him. Hey, did you hear that totally wack-a-doodle rumor that we’re dating? I can hear my awkward laugh now.No, not that, because that implies that I would never date him…

But what does it mean that I don’t want to imply that? I just don’t want to hurt his feelings. That’s all. I clearly have no interest in dating him.

Keep telling yourself that, girlfriend.

The bell rings, and students start filing into the room one after another. They take their seats, and soon, the room is full of chatter.

“Ms. Sullivan, how could you go and break my heart like this?” one of the boys says in a loud, booming voice. The talking around the room suddenly stops, and everyone watches and waits for my reply.

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning ignorance. He’s clearly making a joke about the rumors going around.

“Are you really dating Mr. Stuart?” he asks. Why does it feel so hot in here? Did everyone just take ten steps forward?

“Oh my gosh, she’s blushing,” one of the girls squeals. “They’re totally dating!” The room erupts in a cacophony of sound again before I can respond to anything. And it’s all chatter about me and Colby. I’ve inadvertently made everything so much worse just by blushing. They’re going to have a field day with this.

I flicker the lights in the room to get them to quiet down before saying, “Nothing is going on between me and Mr. Stuart…”

“Yet!” a boy in the back of the class yells, eliciting laughs around the room.

“And even if there was something going on, it’s not an appropriate topic of conversation for the classroom,” I say. I try to give them a stern face, but I’m absolutely positive my face is still flaming red, making it entirely ineffectual.

I direct their attention to the board, giving them their writing topic for the day. They spend the next ten minutes writing, but I hear the hushed whispers around the room. This rumor is just getting started. Eventually, it will take on a life of its own, like every other rumor in this town.

Colby

All I heard today at school was a mix of, ‘Congratulations!’ and ‘How could you do this to me?’ from all the sixteen-year-old boys in my classes. And even some from random guys passing in the hallway.

At first, I had no idea what was going on, and I just chose to ignore it and carry on with my day. But then, after the fiftieth boy said something, I had to know what it was all about. Apparently, there’s a crazy rumor going around that Norah and I are dating, and she basically confirmed it in the middle of her class this morning.

Was taking care of her and then buying the sweater for her sending some kind of signal I wasn’t aware of? I’m not savvy when it comes to women. Now, I’m going to have to talk to her about this, and that sounds almost as fun as a root canal. I like Norah. A lot. I don’t want to upset or embarrass her, but the record has to be set straight.

I had planned to talk to her at lunch, but she never showed up. I assumed she had gotten too busy grading papers, emailing parents, or finishing up lesson plans to make it into the teacher’s lounge, but now I know for a fact that she’s actively avoiding me.

It’s the end of the day. All the students are out of the building, and I’m about to head to the gym to blow off some steam. Norah was just walking in my direction, and a smile a mile wide landed on my face when I saw that she wore her new sweater today. She immediately stopped walking when she saw me moving toward her. She looked around like a cornered wild animal and then ran into the bathroom. What does she think she’s accomplishing by running from me?

So, now I’m just propped up against the wall, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom, because I’m not going to let her get away with hiding from me. She has to come out eventually. Surely she wouldn’t choose to stay in there forever just to avoid talking to me.

I check my watch. It has been five minutes. Another woman has already come and gone. Did she climb out a window or something? I knock on the door and then crack it open.

“Norah,” I call out. “Are you still in here?”

“Go away! I’m pooping!” she says. I wasn’t expecting that much honesty. Now I feel really foolish.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” I’m about to back up and let the door close, but she turns the corner, brushes past me, and walks out.

“I was just kidding,” she says. She stands in front of me, looking at my chin. I duck down to look her in the eye, but she looks off to the side, avoiding my eyes. Something’s going on in that head of hers. She wouldn’t believe us to be dating, like I had assumed from the rumor, and then act like this with me. That would be some serious middle-school behavior.

“The sweater looks really nice on you,” I say, trying to ease her discomfort. Her face turns bright red, and she looks down at the pointed-toe high heels on her feet, so I’m guessing I just did the exact opposite of what I was going for. I place a finger under her chin and lift her face to look at me. She squeezes her eyes closed.

“I did not start those rumors, I promise!” she says. I chuckle, and her eyes finally pop open. I love her eyes. The brown reminds me of stained wood—beautiful and full of depth.

“I didn’t think you did,” I say. She nods her head, and I drop my hand from her chin. “I already know Shandi started them, but why did people tell me you confirmed the rumor?”

She covers her face with her hands and groans. “This is so embarrassing.”

I wait a moment for her to drop her hands and explain. She tells me about how she was bombarded with questions in her first-period class and how they misconstrued everything she said. I can’t blame her for that. She’s right. It is inappropriate for a teacher to discuss their love life with their students. We’re here to teach them science—or English, in her case—not gossip with them. And high schoolers will see what they want to see, and I guess today they wanted to see me and Norah in a relationship.