The Player Next Door

I tell myself that whatever Wendy wants to discuss is nothing to worry about, and I duck back into my classroom to receive my herd.

But I worry, all the same.

I knock once on the open door. “Is now a good time?”

Wendy pauses mid stroke on her keyboard to peer over her reading glasses at me. “Scarlet. Yes, come in. Please.” She waves me in toward one of two chairs across from her desk, normally reserved for delinquent students and irate parents. “Close the door, would you?”

I do as asked and settle into a seat, doing a quick cursory scan of the bookshelves behind her—lined with framed pictures of her three golden retrievers and her nieces. If you were to ask Wendy if she was married, she’d tell you: “yes, to my job.”

She clasps her weathered hands in front of her. “Well then, let’s get right to it, since we don’t have a lot of time. It has been brought to my attention that you are involved in a relationship with Cody Rhodes’s father.” She’s wearing her principal’s hat now. Her words are pronounced slowly and calmly. It’s how she begins when reprimanding students.

Fucking Bott. It had to be her. How else would Wendy hear so soon?

My chest tightens with a flare of panic. The last thing I want is to be at odds with Wendy, especially so early in the school year.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. “Do you mean Shane Beckett, my next-door neighbor and childhood friend?” I ask in an equally composed tone.

“Yes, that’s right.” She pauses. “Are you saying your relationship is strictly of a platonic nature?”

This is where I could lie to Wendy. By the hopeful way she’s looking at me, I’m thinking she’d prefer it. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

And yet I find that I can’t. What’s more, I don’t want to.

I decide on simple honesty. “It is very early days, but Shane and I have gone out to dinner a few times, yes.”

“I see.” Her brow puckers. “This isn’t a comfortable conversation for me, Scarlet.”

Then let’s not have it.

“I know this is your first year teaching and you might not be familiar with policies—”

“There’s no policy against a teacher having a personal relationship with their student’s parent.”

Her breath hitches. “So, you have checked.” She seems caught off guard.

“My job is important to me. I didn’t want to break any rules.” That it was Shane who did the actual checking isn’t important here.

“Right, well, while it’s not against the rules, it is definitely not recommended, given the strain it can put on the child’s happiness and classroom experience. What if the relationship doesn’t work out? What if it ends badly? And, even if it does work out, children can face ridicule from their classmates. I’m sure we both agree that Cody deserves a safe and happy year in your class. Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Of course. I want nothing more than that for all my students.”

“Okay.” She waits. For me to respond, I suppose. What does she want, though? For me to agree to cut ties with Shane? That’s not happening.

“Look, Shane and I have a history. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Now that we live beside each other, old feelings have resurfaced and we decided after careful consideration to pursue them. We’re doing it slowly, to make sure nothing happens that would jeopardize Cody’s happiness.” I’m making myself sound mature and thoughtful, not like the jealous drunk who was screaming at Shane and nearly taking his best friend home that night at Route Sixty-Six.

“I see. So, it’s not just a matter of casual dating.” A pensive expression takes over her face. “I assume you haven’t told Cody yet?”

“No. It’s too soon. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Wendy’s lips twist. “Does his mother know?”

“She suspects but Shane will tell her when it makes sense. Like I said, this is all still new and, because of Cody and our living situation, we’re not rushing anything.”

“Right. Well, Cody’s mother can be …” She searches for the right word. She settles on “problematic.”

“Believe me, I know what Penelope Rhodes can be,” I mutter, my voice more acerbic than I intended.

Understanding passes across Wendy’s face. Yes, Penelope was a mean girl. Yes, the affair between her father and my mother pitted us against each other. “When Lucy”—she winces, as if she wasn’t planning on revealing her source—“came to me, she did so because she was worried about you.”

“Worried?” I laugh.

My reaction earns Wendy’s confused frown. She doesn’t understand why I’d find Bott’s concern for me amusing. She doesn’t know the story of what Lucy Bott did all those years ago. I don’t want to drag out old memories, though, no matter if Bott deserves to be fired. In the end, karma dealt her the ugly hand she deserved.