Cruel and Unusual (Somewhere In-Between)

by C. E. Wilson

  “Oh, hey,” she said, finishing up erasing the board. “Did you run into the student teacher on the way here?”

  “You know I didn’t come down here to talk about the student teacher who reminds you of that guy from that paranormal teen show,” Chloe said. “What other rumors should I know about?”

  She set the eraser down, carefully dusting her hands off away from her clothes. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t ask unless I did. Come on. I have to set up for my own lessons.”

  “It’s only a sub plan.”

  “Monica!”

  She held her hands up. “Okay, okay... Relax. I’ll tell you. Do you want to take a seat?”

  Chloe crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m fine where I’m at.”

  “Okay. Look. Some of the staff are kind of old-fashioned. You know, a lot of them don’t have Asists.”

  “Except the ones who have kids and can’t spend time with them and those who want to keep their husband or wife busy—”

  “A lot of people who matter think you’re too close to your Asist,” Monica said over her.

  “Rogan? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He’s your Asist and he walks you to school every day.”

  “So?”

  “So? It’s weird. He”—she shuddered slightly, though it were obviously only for effect, because Monica kept her room at a scorching temperature so she could wear skimpy outfits year-round—“kisses you goodbye.”

  “So what? Students here bring their Asists—”

  “Here’s the difference. Students pay the school to go here. You are paid to work at the school.”

  “It shouldn’t matter—”

  “He’s not your boyfriend, Chloe. He’s not a person. It’s a machine and people know the difference.”

  “My relationship with Rogan shouldn’t have anything to do with me working here. I have great classroom management skills, a spotless attendance record, strong recommendations, and I know the students.”

  “A spotless attendance record? It’s the end of September,” Monica said.

  “It’s something and I’m proud of it.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be proud. Subbing is a bitch, and I wouldn’t be a sub again even if they doubled my pay.”

  “So then you know I should be proud for coming in every day.”

  “Be proud all you want. All I’m saying is that it’s all for shit if people think you’re in a relationship with your computer.”

  “No one actually cares that much.”

  “I’m warning you,” Monica said. “At least consider going on a date with a real-life guy, okay? It’ll look good. Clara’s going to put in her notice any day now. Do you actually want a full-time teaching position?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then you might want to face facts that the people who make important decisions are going to judge you just as much for what you do outside of the classroom as in it. I’m sorry to be such a bitch, but it’s true.”

  The bell rang over her head.

  “You should get ready, but think about what I said, okay? There’s no harm in going on a few dates.” She smirked. “It’s not like your Asist is going to get jealous.”

  “No. I suppose he wouldn’t.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I’ll see you tonight at the open mic, okay? I hope this Mr. Fitzsimmons guy actually shows up.”

  “Yeah, sounds good,” she said, growing more distracted as she headed down the hall to set up for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Four

  Monica’s words rang in Chloe’s ears for the rest of the day. Luckily, her schedule was easier in the afternoon, so she didn’t lose any focus with the students. She loved music, and there was a chance she would have a job that could pay the bills. She hated giving up “becoming a star,” but she was sure Rogan would be able to help her find some weekend gigs so she wouldn’t have to completely give up performing.

  With a sigh and a wave to her last student of the day, Chloe started to clean up the room, wondering if Clara would be back Monday or if she would be lucky enough to spend another day in the music classroom. Maybe the headmaster would want her to spend more time in the room since she was probably going to take over. She was smiling at the idea as someone lightly knocked on the door.

  “No homework tonight,” she called, keeping her attention on the board. “There’s no detention for students, either, so you can head home for the day.”

  “What about student teachers?”

  Chloe turned around and a tall, baby-faced brunette stood in the doorway with a crooked grin that was almost as dangerous as it was innocent.

  “Hey,” Chloe said. “It’s you. How was the rest of your day?”

  “Interesting…” he said, entering the empty classroom. “A few of your students are a bit forward…”

  “They’re not my students.”

  She pressed her lips together and drug her tongue across her front teeth. His dark hair was slicked back, and his russet-brown eyes were intense. His face was young, but he was easily over six feet tall. His outfit was simple compared to most of the things she put Rogan in. A pair of slacks with a simple belt. A button-down he obviously wasn’t used to because it was already unbuttoned close to his chest, where she could see a simple, black T-shirt poking through. Chloe could see the resemblance to the man on Monica’s cell phone. He certainly wasn’t everyone’s taste, but he was adorable in his whole “I picked corn for a living when I was little” type of way. Immediately she wanted to style him, possibly with a fitted flannel shirt.

  “You can’t blame girls for trying,” she replied with a grin. “You’re not exactly a troll, Mr. Fitzsimmons.”

  He rolled his eyes and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Don’t get me started on the name,” he said. “Some of the girls here, they loved it.”

  “It’s a lovely name, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Chloe said, still teasing.

  “Please,” he said, sounding exasperated, if not also embarrassed. “Call me Fitz.”

  “Fitz? What about your first name?”

  He violently shook his head. “Heh, no way. Believe it or not, I’m even less of a fan of my first name.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Let me be the judge,” he said, musing for a second. “And the verdict is in: It’s that bad.”

  Chloe laughed. “Come on,” she said, still teasing “Tell me your first name, Mr. Fitzsimmons.”

  He smiled. “Fine… So long as you start calling me Fitz.”

  “You have my word,” she chuckled.

  “It’s…it’s Gary,” he grumbled.

  “Gary?” she asked, surprised by the simplicity of it. “Gary’s not terrible.”

  “It’s not…but please call me Fitz, okay? Since moving here, I’ve kinda let that name go. Gary’s a name from home—er, I said too much. It would just mean a lot to me if you kept the ‘Gary’ thing quiet.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thank you,” Fitz said, relieved as he ran a hand through his hair, ruining its styled appearance while somehow making him look more approachable. “The students though. I hope Mrs. Raine isn’t upset with me because of it.”

  “I’m sure she’s cool about the whole thing,” Chloe said, taking a seat at the front desk to start shutting things down. “At the very least, I’m sure she appreciates the eye candy.”

  “Eye candy?”

  Chloe arched her eyebrow and looked up at him. “Are you kidding? Do you see a lot of male teachers in the building? Let alone ones who are close to your age?”

  “My age?” he asked with a laugh. “I can’t possibly be that young.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Fitzsimm—I mean, Fitz. You’re closer to the age of some of our students than you are most of the staff. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” he reasoned, taking a seat on top of one of the empty desks.

  His long leg
s hung over the edge, and Chloe was struck by how tall he was despite his young face. How the heels of his black loafers still touched the ground until he leaned back so he could swing his ankles. Mismatched socks peeked out from the cuffs of his slacks, and Chloe couldn’t help but smirk.

  “What’s your major?”

  “Music.”

  “Mine’s French.”

  She laughed out loud. “Yeah, I kind of figured that a student teacher in a French classroom was a French major. Is this your last semester?”

  “Sure is.”

  “So, you must be ready to get a real job, huh?”

  “Aren’t we all? I don’t have your luck though.”

  She snapped her head up to attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard you talking to Señorita Steele. Are you trying to get a full-time position here?”

  “It’d make things a lot easier at home,” she said, enjoying the casual conversation. People rarely went out of their way to speak to her, but there was a young and friendly guy chatting her up even with a flirty Monica down the hall. “A permanent teaching job would certainly help my self-esteem.”

  His dark eyes flashed up. “How?”

  “I mean…” She trailed off, looking towards the window as some of the full-time teachers waved to each other as they walked to their cars. “You’ve worked in other school buildings before, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. I had sophomore and junior seminar.”

  “Did you ever bother talking to the substitutes?”

  He lowered his head. Chloe still managed to catch him smiling as a chunk of his dark-brown hair fell across his face.

  “I’ve found substitutes to be the most interesting part of a school team.” He chuckled to himself as though sharing an inside joke with his own mind. “Other than the janitors. I love talking to the janitors. They see all, know all, and yet no one thinks they’re listening. They’re the eyes and ears of a strong school system. The backbone.”

  Chloe nodded, agreeing. She was beginning to like the new guy. “I couldn’t agree more. So you must know what I’m talking about with the subs?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “With the other teachers…” She trailed off, nervous about what he would think about her honest opinion.

  Gossiping wasn’t something she enjoyed participating in too often, especially when it involved teaching and educators. Her parents certainly didn’t understand her worries and complained that she was paranoid. Mr. and Mrs. Robins could hardly be bothered with anything except good news—specifically good news they understood and could brag about to their friends at the country club. But Chloe didn’t dare mention that.

  “You might as well tell me,” he said, his voice soft again. “You’ve created quite a buildup.”

  “Why do you talk like that?” she blurted. “Sorry for prying, but…why do you?”

  The stranger’s tongue drug over his teeth as he appeared to think this over before speaking. “Talk like what?”

  “So softly,” she said, lowering her voice for effect. “It’s weird.” He blushed.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s a force of habit,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was only curious. Do you talk that quietly in the classroom?”

  He thought it over for a moment. “Probably. Maybe that explains why so many people lean forward to talk to me.”

  “I doubt anyone minds having to do that.”

  He looked towards the window for only the briefest of moments before bringing his attention back to her. “Tell me what you were going to say about being a sub. Seeing that I’m going to be one in the near future, I’m sure I should know. It’s not something they generally talk about in college.”

  “I know right?” Chloe said. “They always made it seem as though everyone is going to be out and teaching the moment they get their degree. They never talk about the horrors of being a sub. I wish they would have. I might have majored in something else.”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know.” She smiled briefly. “Oh yeah, but before I digress, the horrors of being a sub.”

  “Yes, you have to tell me.”

  “It’s like you’re never good enough to get ‘in’ with the teachers. The worst part is at the beginning of the year. Everyone’s talking about state standards and lesson plans, and when you try to add to the conversation, wanting to help out, they look at you like ‘oh, you don’t have to worry about it.’”

  “Has anyone ever said that to you?” he asked.

  “Well, no,” Chloe admitted, looking guilty. “It’s only a feeling.”

  “You think a full-time teaching position is the answer to all that insecurity?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “So, you want to be friends with the teachers here?”

  “I…” She cut herself off. What did she want? Did she believe working as a full-time teacher would be the solution to all of her problems? Did she care what the stuck-ups in the math and science departments thought about her? “I don’t know, actually,” she said. “Are you sure you’re a French teacher in training?”

  “Believe me, I’m sure. I’ve got the battle wounds to prove it,” Fitz said. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’d make one wicked counselor.”

  “Heh, I suppose. I hear a lot of talk about feeling inadequate and not feeling as though you’re good enough. I’m a great ear.”

  “A great ear?” She laughed softly before her expression shifted. “You have a friend with low self-esteem or hearing problems?”

  His expression softened. “I want her to realize she doesn’t need to be like everyone else to matter. At least, not to me.”

  Chloe blinked, understanding that there must be someone very important in Gary’s life. She wondered who had captured his attention. “She sounds important to you.”

  “She is.”

  As Chloe opened her mouth to ask who he was talking about, Monica filled up the doorway, leaning a curvy hip against the frame.

  “You guys are still here?” she asked with a smile, slinking over and sitting in the desk next to Fitz. “I figured you would be,” she said, grinning broadly at Chloe. “Tell me, what’s a student teacher still doing here?”

  “You’re right,” he said as though he were blinking from a trance. “I didn’t notice how late it was. I need to get back.”

  “You’re still coming tonight, right?” Monica asked as he floundered to the door.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I said I’d be there at eight.”

  “Do you want my number? So you can text me if you have trouble finding the place?” Monica asked.

  “Oh…yeah…uh, sure,” he said, reaching into his pocket and gathering a tattered flip-phone covered in duct and scotch tape.

  Monica hurriedly gave him the number, and before she could say anything else, he was flying out the door.

  “He’s a blustering little Sam Winchester, isn’t he?” Monica asked. “What were you two talking about?”

  “Not too much. Talking about school and—”

  “School? It’s Friday and you two were talking about school?” she asked, shaking her head and laughing. “You two really are cut from the same loaf of bread.”

  “I like him,” Chloe said. “He seems nice.”

  “I intend to find out just how nice he is,” she said, standing up and walking towards the large windows in the classroom. “Speaking of nice…” she muttered.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It looks like your personal hottie’s here to pick you up,” she said, narrowing her eyes towards the main parking lot below.

  “Is he coming up?”

  “I don’t think so. Right now, he’s leaning against the fence and crossing his arms.” She licked her lips as a pair of her rare female students slunk past him, eying him up. “Geezus, some days, I can’t believe guys like that are real, and then I remember—”

  “Don’t start.”
/>   “He’s not alive. I forget you’re the one who dresses him.”

  “Only at first,” Chloe said, flushing slightly. “After a while, he was able to figure out the basics and we went from there.”

  “What a good little doggie,” she muttered. “I can’t complain too much. If you weren’t so into music, I’d wager you to have a successful future in fashion.”

  “Thanks?” Chloe said. She was still unsure of how much of a true compliment had been hidden in those words. “I guess if he’s out there, then I should get going. What time is it?”

  Monica checked her designer watch, a gift from an ex-boyfriend. “Not quite four-thirty. What time do they expect you at the bar?”

  “Seven-ish. I guess I’ll have more time than I thought. Maybe I’ll put on something on a little nicer.”

  “Or sexier. If your Asist gets to look that good, then so should you.”

  “It’s not that easy,” she said softly. “He’s perfect.”

  “He better be!” Monica blurted accusingly. “You paid enough for him.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand. If you owned one, I bet you would have a hard time seeing him like that.”

  “Which is why I don’t own one. They’re liars,” she said. “I like humans.” She rolled her eyes right back at her. “Whatever. That’s your thing. I’ll be there tonight at eight, and I hope you do well if I don’t see you before your performance.”

  “Thanks,” Chloe said, slightly relieved to see her sling her expensive purse over her shoulder and leave the room. “God,” she muttered a few minutes later when Monica was walking into the parking lot and practically undressing Rogan with her eyes. “She has no shame,” she said, unable to resist smiling slightly at her brashness. “Still, I don’t think I’d like her any other way.” She turned the lights off and headed downstairs, noticing several teachers still hard at work on lesson plans and state standards.