Getting Schooled

by Parker, Ali

  I’d studied the photos emailed to me by the landlords meticulously before agreeing to the rental terms. Pulling the trigger on a decision like this was hard for me, especially since I couldn’t see the home in person and was signing for a full twelve months of residency for the home.

  The landlords had accommodated me nicely, sending more and more photos at my request and understanding why I was cautious. I’d read and heard horror stories of people getting caught in homes that were not as the ads stated. I didn’t want that to happen to me and Linden. We needed this to go right.

  So far so good.

  I followed Linden up to the front porch and found the key under the welcome mat, as promised.

  “Ready, champ?” I asked, twirling the key in my fingers.

  Linden nodded eagerly.

  I slid the key in the lock, gave it a twist, and stood back as the door creaked open, revealing a freshly painted interior with gray laminate floors and modern crown molding. It smelled brand new and a little like sage.

  Linden and I moved inside, and I toted our carry-on over the threshold to leave it against the wall.

  I winked at my son. “Let’s explore.”

  Linden grabbed my hand and dragged me down the hall to the first doorway, which opened up into the kitchen on the left. The kitchen gave way to the dining room at the back of the house, which had a set of sliding glass doors leading to a back porch and a yard. Linden rushed to the door and pressed his nose to the glass.

  “Mommy,” he gushed, “they have a swing set! And a playground!”

  I’d known about the kid-friendly yard but wanted it to be a surprise. “Cool, huh? I’ll hose it all down for you tomorrow, and you can knock yourself out. Come on. Let’s look at the bedrooms.”

  The bedrooms extended off the back of the house, along the side of the porch. Linden’s came first, then the bathroom, and then the master. Both rooms were open and pristine, clean slates for us to do with as we saw fit.

  We went back down the hall and up the other side of the house to the living room. Our furniture was already there, piled high in the living room along with all our boxes. I had a long couple of days ahead of me before I started work on Monday.

  Linden gazed up at me. “I’m hungry.”

  I frowned. “Me too. What do you think? Pizza and a movie on the living room floor?”

  Linden’s eyes lit up, and he nodded.

  “All right.” I grinned. “Help me find all the boxes with your name on them. We’ll bring them into your room, and we can slowly unpack over the next few days. Sound good?”

  Linden helped me push the boxes down the hall. The movers, bless their souls, had already set up our beds and heavy furniture like dressers and our kitchen table, with a bit of an extra cost. It was well worth it. I didn’t have anyone I could call out here, besides John and Marie, and I didn’t want to bother them with something as tiring and loathsome as moving, especially when the moving company offered it as a service.

  After sorting through some of the boxes, I discovered that my sofa was buried underneath our stuff, which meant if Linden and I worked hard for about an hour, we’d be able to sit on the sofa and enjoy our pizza while we watched TV.

  The house had come outfitted with a flat screen on the wall from the renters. I also discovered they’d stocked my fridge with some basics: milk, eggs, bread, jam, cream cheese, and some veggies. On the fridge, they’d written me a lovely note welcoming me and my son to their home. They’d left their phone number, just in case we needed anything, as well as secured some local takeout menus under a magnet for us to sort through.

  I found Linden in his room and showed him the pizza menu. He opted for plain cheese, which did not surprise me, and I ordered. While we waited for our delivery, we tinkered. Linden started unpacking boxes in his room; unpacking wasn’t the right word. He started unloading the contents of the boxes all over his floor and then proceeded to play in the mess.

  That was fine. We had time to sort through everything.

  I saw to putting things away in the kitchen like pots and pans and dishes—the things we would need sooner rather than later. All of the cupboards and drawers were lined with new inserts with a pretty floral pattern in shades of powder blues and pinks.

  While Linden played, I took the opportunity to investigate the things that I was curious about that his young mind would find boring. Like the appliances. The oven was spotless and shiny new, as was the microwave. The stovetop was a modern glass insert, and it took me a couple of minutes to figure out how to work everything.

  When I’d unpacked three boxes, I stood back to admire the kitchen.

  It was all coming together in my mind’s eye.

  I’d put the coffee pot on the counter against the far wall, beside the refrigerator. The creamer and sugar would all be within reach. On the other counter would be the breakfast section where we’d prepare cereal and toast, and the empty counter space beside the stove would be reserved for utensils, oils, and spices.

  “This will do just fine.” I smiled to myself as I tugged the elastic off my wrist and secured my hair in a ponytail. “Linden?”

  “Yes, Mom?” his tiny voice called from the bedroom.

  I moved down the hall and paused in his doorway. As expected, he was merely playing in the mess of toys he’d dumped out of his moving boxes. That was all fine and good. Moving was stressful. There was no harm in a little mess before everything got assigned its rightful place.

  I gripped the doorframe and swung into his room. “Should we check what movies we can rent on the TV? Pizza will be here soon.”

  Linden scrambled up from his place on his bedroom floor and rushed past me through the door. I ruffled his hair as he went by and followed him down the hall into the living room. As I went, I ran my fingers over the walls, envisioning how I wanted it to look. Within the week, I’d have our family pictures hung up here. Most were in black and white and trimmed in elegant black frames. Along the wood floor, I’d throw down my Turkish rug runner, complete with tassels on the ends, in brilliant shades of red, royal blue, green, and gold.

  “Just fine,” I said, as if reassuring myself that soon this place would feel like home.

  When I emerged in the living room, Linden was wiggling his butt onto the sofa between two moving boxes. Somehow, he’d found the remote for the TV and already turned it on. It always blew my mind how effortlessly he navigated technology.

  As he sifted through the rental options, I took the boxes down from the sofa and pushed everything against the far wall to be dealt with over the rest of the week. I did my best to face the labels outward so I knew which box went in which room, and as I fell into the sofa with an exhausted sigh, the doorbell rang.

  “Pizza!” Linden cried, leaping off the sofa and running, heels hard on the wood, to the front door.

  “Hold your horses.” I pushed myself up, grabbed my wallet from my purse, and answered the door. The pizza guy, a pimple-faced kid with a big smile and a well rehearsed customer service voice, made small talk with Linden while I put in his tip on the debit machine.

  “Did you two just move in?” the pizza guy asked Linden.

  My son nodded. “Yep. Today.”

  I patted Linden’s head as I handed the debit machine back to the young man. “I’m sure you’ll see a lot more of us. Linden and I are pizza fiends. Aren’t we, champ?”

  Linden nodded eagerly.

  The pizza boy chuckled, gave Linden my receipt to hold on to, and then passed me the box of pizza. “There you are. You two have a good night. And welcome to the neighborhood!”

  I closed and locked the door, and then Linden and I took up our seats on the sofa, selected a goofy cartoon to watch, and dug into the pizza. It was loaded with cheese, piping hot, and everything I needed after a long day of flying and leaving behind my old life.

  Chapter 5

  Jace

  The break room at Annapolis Secondary hummed with its usual Wednesday morning sounds.

&
nbsp; Spoons rattling against the sides of coffee mugs, teachers muttering to each other in tired voices as they sat in familiar clusters around the round tables, hot water pouring over tea bags, the microwave beeping as John finished heating up his oatmeal.

  So ordinary, yet so pleasant all at once.

  I leaned back in my spot at my usual table by the window and sipped my coffee. John wove between the other tables and teachers to join me.

  “Did you hear?”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “Hear what?”

  “They hired a replacement for Mrs. Mooney.”

  “Oh?” I leaned forward curiously. Mrs. Mooney had been gone for three months already, and her classroom was being overseen by a steady rotation of substitute teachers, a bad combination for the students and the teachers. There was no opportunity to create a bond or, more importantly, set boundaries. Teenagers liked to push, and when they saw a new face every few days, it was easy for them to start slipping and lose accountability.

  Whoever this new teacher was, they were going to have to make up lost ground.

  “Well, it’s about time,” I said.

  John nodded.

  That was when I noticed the peculiar curl of his lips. The knowing smile. The twinkle in his eye.

  I frowned. “What?”

  John rolled his shoulders. “Nothing.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “Sure do.”

  My frown deepened. I couldn’t think of a single person in town I knew who had their teaching degree. Maybe someone who’d already retired and wanted to come back? Or someone from the private school?

  Not likely.

  “Who is it?” I couldn’t refrain from asking, and I didn’t like guessing games.

  John chuckled.

  “Come on, John,” I pleaded. “Don’t do me like this. Class starts in four minutes.”

  My friend leaned forward. His beard hovered dangerously close to the oatmeal left over in his bowl. When he spoke, his voice was low and devious. “It’s Emelia West.”

  Emelia.

  Old memories long forgotten came rushing to the foreground of my mind in the form of an eggplant gown with swishing skirts as she twirled around me on the dance floor. Perfectly manicured toes, the lightest laugh that sounded like water running over rocks in a small stream, deep brown eyes a man could get lost in, and a smile that lit up the night.

  John nudged my elbow. “Earth to Jace.”

  I shook my head to clear the rushing in my ears. “Damn. I haven’t thought about Emelia in ages.”

  “Liar.”

  I hid my smirk in my coffee cup.

  John was, perhaps, not wrong.

  Emelia came to visit me in dreams every now and then. And whenever I did dream of her, we were always back at the wedding, dancing, singing, kissing… and then other things. I could recall every inch of her body, every freckle on her shoulders, even the small birthmark on her right ass cheek. I remembered how her curves felt under my palms, full and firm and, just for that one night, all mine.

  She was the kind of woman who dared a man to be better.

  It was a shame we’d only had that one night together.

  She’d left shortly after to go to school.

  Ah yes, I recalled. She’d always wanted to teach. She’d been embarking on her journey the week after John and Marie’s wedding. She’d picked my brain about my career, and we’d gushed over how passionate we were about working with youth. Specifically, kids between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.

  I’d told her she’d be great at it. I’d meant every word. Although I’d wished, selfishly, that I’d met her sooner in life. Or that she’d been able to stay in town a little longer.

  But then everything would have been different and I wouldn’t have Paxton.

  And he was worth all the wonder and what ifs my mind could conjure up in regards to Emelia West.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to keep your head on straight with her walking these halls?” John asked after spooning a generous amount of oatmeal into his mouth.

  Good question. I raked my fingers through my hair and tried to keep my expression neutral. “Sure. Why not? It feels like it’s been a lifetime since we last saw each other. We’re probably completely different people.”

  “Or not.”

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  John held up both hands and swallowed his massive mouthful of oatmeal. “Relax, Jace. I won’t meddle. Besides, I don’t want to screw something like this up.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, Emelia is Marie’s best friend. And the two of them haven’t lived in the same postal code for, what, six years? And with the baby coming, it’s perfect timing.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Don’t say anything. Marie and I still haven’t told anyone else, and she wants to tell Emelia in person.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I promised.

  Lips.

  I remembered Emelia’s lips. Full. Soft. She tasted like strawberries and sunshine, a bouquet of summer scents and tastes. Her hair smelled like roses and her skin like coconuts and pineapples.

  “Do you mind if Marie and I invite her to our dinner on Friday? She’s going to be getting settled, and it might be nice for her to see a familiar face.”

  “Sorry?”

  John rolled his eyes at me. “Emelia. Do you mind if we invite her?”

  I’d gotten caught up thinking about her lips. And her hips. And everything else about her. “No. Of course not. It would be nice to see her.”

  “You can keep it in your pants?” John teased.

  “Nose down, John. Paxton will be there, for Christ’s sake. Just give her the heads-up that I’ll be there, will you?”

  John snorted. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t dream of letting her walk into you without a warning. I know what went down that night. You gave me… details.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned, running a hand down my face.

  John chuckled and was about to say something when the bell rang. Grateful for the reprieve, I pushed myself to my feet and looked pointedly at my friend. “Don’t go running around trying to play matchmaker, okay? This is the workplace. We’re not kids anymore.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Not convinced that John wasn’t already planning a master plan to get me and Emelia back together for a steamy reconnection, I left the break room with my coffee in hand and a new pep in my step.

  What would Emelia be like now? Would she still be the carefree, youthful, wild-hearted girl who took my hand and dragged me out onto the dance floor at John’s wedding? Was she still the girl everyone in the room wanted to know?

  I couldn’t imagine a world where that would have changed.

  But there was a bigger question rolling around in my brain as I stepped into my classroom well before the second bell to start class rang.

  A heavier question.

  Was she going to look forward to seeing me as much as I was looking forward to seeing her?

  Or would she prefer I not be at the dinner on Friday?

  It was a question I couldn’t begin to know the answer to, so I did my best to push it away and focus on the lesson plan I had set up for the day. I moved to my desk at the front of the class, dropped my book bag into my chair, and turned to the clean white board at my back as the students began filing in.

  Most of them, if not all, wished me tired good mornings as they went to their desks. I met them with enthusiasm and told them to pull out their Shakespeare books. As the students did as I asked, I scrawled on the board with my blue marker: “Shakespeare: Are our interpretations of his literature truth or fiction?”

  In my experience, students were easier to engage when you posed a question that could potentially be seen as controversial. My students were no exception. They were already muttering to themselves as I opened my own Shakespeare book to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, the play we’d been reading through as the weeks passed as part o
f the mandatory curriculum.

  If I didn’t have to teach it, I doubted I would.

  English teachers might come for me for admitting it, but it was the truth. In my mind, there were more relevant and important pieces of literature for young people to immerse themselves in. This stage of youth was the perfect time to fall in love with reading—but it was also easy to fall out of it if you were constantly bombarded with stories and books that you hated.

  And for every young student who loved Shakespeare, there were five who hated it.

  The second bell announced the start of class, and a hush fell upon the room.

  “All right, lords and ladies,” I said, popping the cap back on the marker and spinning dramatically to face my class. Eager eyes and tight faces gazed up at me, and I looked upon the young minds I was responsible for on a daily basis. I hoped to enrich their lives rather than bore them with tedious and mandatory bullshit. “Today we are diving into Shakespeare. I know, I know.” I held up my hands as their unanimous groans rose up to the ceiling. “It’s not our favorite subject. However, I think I may have found a way to make it a little fun. I’ve heard a few of you discussing the interpretations of ‘literary geniuses’ when you think I’m not paying attention. And, might I say, your opinions are quite entertaining. So I thought we’d kick off the hour with an open discussion about what you think about Shakespeare. Did he mean the things we think he did? Or was he just writing what sounded good? Like Eminem?”

  A chuckle rumbled through the room.

  I grinned and clapped my hands together. I had them right where I wanted them.

  Hooked.

  I cast my gaze around the room. “Who’d like to start?”

  A bunch of hands shot into the air.

  Excellent.

  Chapter 6

  Emelia

  I swept my paper napkin off the red and white checkered tablecloth of the old-school diner in downtown Annapolis and flattened it upon my thigh. The greasy burger before me was going to be messy—very messy—and I had to be prepared for such things.