Against the Wall (2 page)

Four months is clearly not long enough to get over someone you’ve been with half your life, I want to tell Mel. But I don’t. My shin still stings from her swift kick and rubbing it like crazy is keeping me from looking in the happy couple’s direction, again. I must look like an idiot massaging up and down my leg, but it beats the alternative. Repeatedly seeing Ms. McGallian and my ex together will make this first day of school the worst in my career. Although, I’m pretty sure this entire year is going to kill me.

I may need to rethink my profession. Or maybe consider a transfer, at the very least. When people break up and go their separate ways, the dumpee is bound to get over the dumper after days and days apart. There’s just one huge problem here: the dumpee and the dumper will be seeing each other five days a week, along with the ho bag who is now shacking up with the dumper. Now, the dumpee is feeling even dumpier.

“
I’m gonna start eating in my classroom.” It seems impossible to handle another day like this one, where I have to concentrate on not letting my eyes wander.

Mel shoots me another irritated look. “Don’t you dare. You are
not
going to let them force you to hide out in your room all year. They should be the ones who hide in shame. But that bitch wants to rub it in your face.” She’s right. She always is. I shouldn’t let her get to me.

“
FYI … if I can hear this conversation on the other side of the room, so can they,” a voice whispers in my ear. I look up and I’m eye to eye with Matty. He gives me a sympathetic look, squeezes my shoulder, and walks away.

“
Dang, that guy wants you so bad,” Mel says quietly, fluttering her brows at me.

“
Mr. Fuller is a good friend. It’s not like that,” I remind her.

“
Well as I’ve heard on many Lifetime Movie Originals, ‘the best way to get over a man is to get under another one’. I doubt Matt Fuller will mind being on top if you know what I mean.”

“
You’re scandalous.”

Get under another one? Is she crazy? I guess if I ever did manage to get
under
another man, Matty would be high on my list of choices, if only we didn’t work together. Whose list wouldn’t he be on? The man is delicious with his bright blue eyes that twinkle every time he smiles, and his well-built physique and bronze skin. Every inch of his six-foot tall body is beautiful, inside and out. If I had to choose between him and Chase based solely on looks, Matty would beat him every day of the week. Chase is great looking and uber sexy. Women check Chase out all the time. But Matty, he’s absolutely gorgeous and there’s not an arrogant cell in his entire body. Now, there’s the major difference between the two men.

And one more thing while I’m thinking about over and under, top and bottom.

If and when I decide to “get over” my sexy, cheating ex, I will most definitely be
on top
.

Weeks later, I’m eating my Trader Joe’s Pasadena Salad in my classroom. Alone. Mel refuses to eat with me. She’s so damn stubborn. I know she wants to, but she keeps telling me, “It’s the principality.”
Principality
—that’s not even a word. Not in the way she’s using it. And she’s an English teacher. Go figure.

The door opens slowly as I stuff my mouth with a fork full of lettuce, almonds, and chicken. I almost choke when I see who it is. In fact, I knew who it was the moment I caught a whiff of the air wafting in with him. Chase has been wearing Eternity for Men since we were in high school. I’m surprised Ms. Blingyshirts hasn’t changed his scent too. At any rate, his timing couldn’t be worse. My mouth is overflowing and I can barely chew. Time plays in slow motion as he makes his way to my desk. How anyone can look so sexy just merely walking is beyond me. There are no words to describe it. I blink hard and fast to snap myself out of his trance. Spitting back a wad of half-chewed salad in its container, I sneer, “What the hell do you want?”

Like my strategy? In an effort to not break down and cry hysterically every time I’m alone with this asshole, I have to be mean. I can’t bring myself to be civil because every time I do, I end up asking him what went wrong and how I can fix it. As if I’m the one who needs fixing. Okay, maybe the fact that my innards are blubbering fools right now is evidence of that, but I can’t let him get to me. So instead, I just act like a bitch. It’s the only way to survive this stupid ass break-up.

I’m snarling at him, yet he smiles.

If I didn’t have my heels dug in the floor, I’d slide off my seat leaving snail trails behind. This man can make me ache down there with just an effing smile. It’s a wonder how he can still do that with our long history together. For most people, doesn’t that sort of thing fizzle out after a few years?

He doesn’t say anything right away, so I utter again, “Well. What is it?”

He ignores my question and says as nonchalant as can be, “Hey, hun, how you been?”

Hun? Really? Un-frickin’-believable.

Raising my right brow, I give him the most disapproving look I can muster. “Just great,
Dear
,” I sneer with a snap of my neck.

“
I haven’t seen you during lunch in a while,” his voice softens.

“
It’s too crowded in the staff lounge.” Translation: I don’t want to see you and your nasty ass girlfriend.

“
Aw, come on. You should come down.” Translation: making you feel like shit is so much more fun in public.

“
I’ve got a lot of grading to do.” Looking down at my desk, I notice just one small stack of papers. Shit. That’s what I get for having nothing better to do than grade papers night after night.

He sits on my nearly empty desk. “Well, I hear everybody misses you.” He plumps out his bottom lip in a pout. I think my heart just stopped. Is he trying to kill me? Could he be prosecuted for murder? Cause of death: broken heart. Murder weapon: words laced with bullshit. It’s me who should be thrown in jail for eating up every one of those words. But, I can’t help myself.

Okay, Shel, relax. Keep it cool. Back to bitch mode.

I summon the courage to shout at him, “Shut the hell up and get the fuck out of my room. And don’t come back unless it’s about work. Even then, don’t bother. Just send me an email.”

“
Shel Belle, don’t be that way. I still wanna be friends.” Oh no he didn’t just pull out the friends card. He needs to shove that crap back from wherever he yanked it from. He’s so full of shit, no wonder his skin is so tan.

“
Friends, my ass. We’ve been friends since the second grade, since I kissed you on the cheek on Space Mountain when you were so scared you wanted to cry. I should have just let you piss your pants and never talked to you again and I wouldn’t be in this mess.” I glare at him with as much pissiness as I can exude. “Fuck friends. I have enough friends. I don’t need any more. And I sure as hell don’t need you. So get to steppin’, Chase.” Tears threaten to bubble over the edge of my eyelids but I will them back. I swear to God, if I cry in his presence, I’ll kick my own ass.

Chase’s chocolate brown eyes glare at me, his nose flares, and I can see the muscles in his jaw twitch, but I don’t say another word and my tears don’t fall. But his do. He gets up and walks out my door. Before it slams, my heart fails me and tears start streaming down my heated face like a flash flood.

He has no right getting teary-eyed on me. He did this. I didn’t break up with him. He can’t toss me aside, put me in the junk drawer and come find me when he needs me.

I can't still be his friend. It doesn't work like that. How can we possibly be buddies? Am I supposed to chat with him about the good old days, or go out to dinner with him and what’s her face? I don’t know how we can go from long-term relationship to friends and everything be just peachy. That’s bullshit.

The bell rings. Son of a mother lover. I grab for the box of tissues near my computer and blot my already puffy eyes. There’s no way I can camouflage this. I just hope my class doesn’t say anything. I’ll probably cry more.

“
Ms. Gelson, are you okay?” Meg, my student aide, asks.

Trying to muffle my sniffling noises, I force myself to respond. “Oh, I’m fine honey. Nothing some chocolate and a little makeup can’t fix.” I open the bottom drawer to my desk to reveal a rather large bag of dark Dove chocolates. Too bad I can’t rig a keg of beer in my desk. Or maybe squeeze a twelve pack in my mini-fridge. I wish. For some reason, I don’t think chocolate is going to cure this one.

“
I saw Mr. Marino leaving and he looked like crap. Don’t worry. It’s not gonna last, ya know. My best friend, Keesha, is his aide this year and she says she's rallying for you. She wants him to dump that big assed beeyotch soon. She's so fake with her caked on makeup and hooker heels. She reminds me of my ex-best friend. You have class, something Ms. McG doesn't. Marino will figure it out.” I look at her all wide-eyed, and she says, “Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I forget you’re my teacher.”

I can remember comforting her when she was a freshman and found out her best friend was doing the deed with her boyfriend. Can you imagine having to deal with that level of drama when you're fourteen? I wish I could tell her it gets better. But what I want to do is hug her, and say thank you. I knew there was a reason I liked her. I should buy her lunch.

My students fill their desks and immediately get started on the bell-ringer—the assignment I posted on the board. I sense the whispers, but I don’t look up. I take attendance, all the while thinking about Chase. I wonder if Ms. McGallian knows about his little lunch time visit. I doubt
she’s
included in the masses of people who miss me at lunch. If she doesn’t know he stopped by, she will by the end of the period. If there’s anything I know about my school and my students, it’s information spreads like The Plague. Right now, Meg is on her cell texting, and I’d bet a hundred bucks she’s telling her friends. I wish I could see Ms. Fiancé-Stealer’s face when she finds out her man left my room all weepy.

Let the games begin, bitches!

Mel and I are part of a handful of people who arrive to our staff meetings early. Like bad students, we sit in the back of the room where we have a clear view of everyone as they walk in. This comes to our advantage when the bobbles—our bosses who mumble and nod away like bobble heads—start doing their thing, chattering away even though less than half the staff is actually listening. Mel’s a natural born shit talker and this is an optimal environment for endless sources of material.

We’re definitely not the only ones being rude though. Teachers truly make the worst students. Talking, texting, cracking jokes. All behaviors I’d never accept from my own students, yet I break the same rules during these meetings. It’s not like there are any consequences though. As if the dean is going to come by and confiscate my phone. I might just die laughing if she ever did.

“
Ooo. Look at him,” Mel says, sitting at the edge of her seat. “I think he’s the new history teacher. His ass looks nice in those fitted slacks. Umm. I just wanna bite it,” she clacks her teeth together and growls.

“
No way. I’m not gonna hook up with anyone from work. I already told you. It’s bad enough having one ex here. I don’t need a collection of them.” I take a swig of my 7-Eleven coffee. “He’s probably gay though. His pants are way too tight. Or maybe metrosexual. Do people still say that?” He is hot though. Very clean-cut and well dressed. He probably has a standing appointment with his barber to get his hair trimmed every week to keep crisp lines like those. I wouldn’t doubt he uses expensive gel too, and has more beauty products than me. Yes, I assume all this from the high quality of pressed creases in his dress pants, and the flawless hair line around a perfectly messy faux hawk.

“
I haven’t heard that term in a while. Metrosexual is just closet gay anyway.” Mel bites into her bagel, and says through a mouthful of dough, “What about him? He is one fine specimen.”

I look to where she gestured in the front row. Uh-huh. He is fine. How did we get so lucky to be surrounded by good looking men? If things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong with Chase, I’m thinking this would be a promising profession to be in to land a hot guy.

But this one is taken. “He’s married,” I remind her.

“
So. As if it matters to anyone else at work.” True. With all the hook-ups, set-ups, and infidelity on campus, the stories these walls could tell would make for fascinating reality TV. The Real Teachers of Carver High. Can you imagine? That would be stinking awesome. I’d actually watch reality TV for once. A bunch of teachers sitting around throwing back glasses of beer and wine, talking crap about their students who pissed them off today, or about what Johnny’s mom was wearing to the parent conference. Haha. It would be a blast.