The Other Side of the Pillow

Damn, even surgeons are using text shorthand, I said to myself.

But it did make me blush and that was a feeling that was both unexpected and unwelcomed. There was no way that I was trying to catch feelings for him, but it was going to be a challenge unless I refused to ever see him again.

I opted not to respond to the text, cut off the light, and laid there in the dark struggling to fall asleep. I got maybe two hours total before I had to get up and head to school.

Chapter Four

“The giving of love is an education in itself.”

—Eleanor Roosevelt

All students, please report to your homerooms immediately.”

Lilibeth Parker was the school secretary. I am not sure why she felt the need to make that announcement every school day. There was not a single student in the entire high school that didn’t realize their asses needed to be in their respective homerooms by eight thirty-five AM or they’d be considered tardy.

“Lilibeth, did we ever get those test scores in?”

“No, not yet, Ms. Daniels. Do you want me to call the school board and check on them?”

I stood beside her desk, considering how I wanted to respond. “No, that’s okay. Hopefully, they’ll arrive by this afternoon. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Gotcha.”

I went into my office, closed the door, sat down at my desk, and waited to see if any drama would start so early in the morning. I had instilled fear in the majority of my students by implementing a zero-bullshit tolerance policy and making examples out of people who tried to come for me before I came for them. I was among the youngest of principals in the DC Public Schools system and I was determined not to fail in the position that I had held for the past three years. That was why I was concerned about seeing the test scores; I didn’t want to appear to be in an all-out panic, though.

The federal No Child Left Behind Act had forced the DC Public Schools to comply with Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP) rules or face major consequences. A lot of the schools failed miserably on a yearly basis. We had failed the first year that I was here, but I turned it around by threatening to put foot to ass with any of my teachers whom I felt had funky attitudes. I did not literally kick them, but I made it clear that heads would roll if they did not start assessing the students who were struggling and offer them additional assistance. I did not care when they did it—before school, during recess, or after school—but if they truly cared, it should not have been a big deal. Teachers customarily have a shorter workday than most and get summers off so it was what it was.

I was about to eat my vanilla crumb muffin and drink the coffee that I had purchased at a local organic market on my way to work when my cell phone rang. It was Tevin. This was going to be a test to gauge how he received being neglected via text messages. Honestly, he was about to get a piece of my mind.

I smirked and answered the phone. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Jemistry. It’s Tevin.”

I acted as if his number wasn’t already saved in my phone, rather less already embedded in my memory. “Oh, hey. I didn’t recognize the number. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I take it that you arrived home safely last night. I sent you a text.”

“Wow, did you? I didn’t see it. I’m not too hype on texting. It seems kind of detached and impersonal to me.”

He got quiet for a few seconds. “I see. Well, I wasn’t sure if I should call you that late. I didn’t want to risk waking you up.”

“Then your plan worked because I was sleeping like a baby.” I took a sip of my coffee. “But in theory, the chime from the text message could have woken me up as well.” My tone reeked of sarcasm. “I’m just saying.”

“True. Anyway, I’ll keep in mind that you are not a fan of text messages.”

“Let me ask you a question, Tevin. Before there was text messaging, how did you communicate with people who were not right in front of you? How did you let them know you were thinking about them? That they were special to you?”

“Well, I would call them like I’m doing right now.”

I played with my muffin, which looked and smelled delicious, but I didn’t dare put even a morsel in my mouth. I didn’t feel like we were at the point where I wanted to be eating on the phone while we spoke. That was kind of a trifling habit, but with my schedule, it was not unusual for me to engage in it.

“That’s how I would communicate,” he continued. “As for letting a person know that I am thinking about them, I would probably send them flowers with a card letting them know my sentiments.”

“I like flowers, so maybe I’ll receive some one day.”

“Maybe you will.”

Both of us got quiet, as though we were searching the caverns of our minds to come up with a topic. We had spoken for hours the night before, so it was quite awkward.