Indisputable (6 page)

“School, work, sleep, repeat,” I laugh.  He leans
into me, wrapping his arm around the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.

“You forgot Wyatt,” he says, before taking my mouth
with his own.  We sink down in the bed together and get lost in our mutual
distraction.

My alarm blares early, too early for how late I was
awake last night.  Wyatt must have snuck out after I dozed off. 
Normally, I kick him out, but I was so tired last night.  It’s nice to
know he didn’t try to stick around.  I lie in bed for a few minutes,
allowing myself to wake up fully before padding off to run a hot shower. 

After I’m showered, dressed, and presentable, I leave
my apartment to meet Emerson at the local coffee shop, The Jittery Bean, for
breakfast.  It’s our ritual, has been since one of us could drive. 
Once a week we meet before school to catch up and unwind.  Since I work
most days after school, we don’t have time to hang out.  Sometimes, I
wonder how we’ve managed to stay friends all this time.

I approach the counter, a semi-circle of lacquered
hardwood lined with dozens of treats, pastries, and scones, and order a white
chocolate mocha and a blueberry muffin.  With the crappy fuel injectors
fixed on my car last week and not getting paid until Friday, money is
tight.  And I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from eyeing the egg and
sausage biscuits they have in a display case to my right. 

“Would you like one?” the friendly cashier asks me,
probably noticing the drool practically running down my chin. 

“No thanks, just the coffee and muffin,” I tell her,
slightly embarrassed. 

“4.23 then.”  She’s smiling at me, but I can’t
help feeling judged.  She must think I’m really poor or something, can’t
even afford the breakfast sandwich I was staring at longingly.  I smile
back at her, shoving a crumpled five dollar bill in her outstretched
hand.  She gives me the change, and once my order is ready, I huff off to
the back corner booth where Em is waiting for me.

“Hey girl,” she greets as I take a seat. 

“Mornin’.”

“How was your night?”

“It was pretty typical.  Quiet for the most
part.  What did you wind up doing?” I ask, while blowing on the rim of my
mug.

“Not much.  I actually had homework last
night!  Can you believe that?  English.  Some,
what-are-your-goals essay.  Took me two hours,” she groans
dramatically.  I can’t help but laugh

“I knew you’d hate that English class.  And Mrs.
Bergson is a bitch, so you know.”

“Ugh, I know!” she exclaims.  “She already
snapped at me for texting in class yesterday.  Threatened to take my phone
away.  She’ll have to pry it out of my dead lifeless fingers first.” 
She drops her head, shaking her platinum blonde curls as she sighs. 

I startle as a figure steps up to me in my peripheral
vision.  Looking up, I meet the dark brown eyes of Mr. Ryan.  He’s holding
something out to me, wrapped in light brown paper.

“Um, yes?” I ask, completely bewildered why he’s
standing over me like this.  He gives me a small smile, probably laughing
at how ridiculous I look. 

“I thought you might want this,” he says, gesturing to
his outstretched hand.  I drop my eyes to the object, recognizing it as he
continues, “I overheard you telling the cashier you didn’t want it, but you
looked like you were going to break the display case to get one.”  The
bastard is definitely laughing at me. 

I don’t take the stupid breakfast sandwich from his
hand.  Even though the smell is getting to me from the wrapper, and it
smells freakin’ delicious, like warm heaven and gooey, melty cheese.  I’m
definitely drooling now.  Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, and
raise my eyebrow at him, sneering from the sandwich back up to his face. 

“Trying to buy my kindness, Mr. Ryan?”

He shake his head, clearly not amused by my
behavior.  “No, Miss Krause.  Skipping breakfast is bad for the
body.  The repercussions include: lacking the ability to think quickly,
low energy, and moodiness.  Seeing as I’m forced to spend not only one,
but two class periods with you, I’d prefer if you were not cranky.”  He
slaps the damn sandwich down on the table, and says, “See you later,” before
retreating out the door. 

“Ass,” I mutter under my breath as I watch him walk
away.  I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to stay home the
night my car broke down.  It would have saved me a lot of trouble. 

Remembering I’m not alone, I look across the table to
find Em staring with her mouth hanging open in shock. 

“Who was that?  He was hot!” 

Gag me.

“That—is Mr. Ryan, my calculus teacher.”  And the
number one pain in my ass as of yesterday.  My series of bad luck just
keeps growing. 

“Why do you have to spend two classes with him?”

 I haven’t had the chance to fill Emerson in
about my day yesterday.  “Sorry, Em.  I forgot to tell you, but I
won’t be able to spend study hall with you for a while.”

“What, why?”

“Um, I sort of pissed off Mr. Ryan yesterday and
stormed out of class, and he called Mr. Stephenson.  Now I’m stuck being
his second hour TA for the next two weeks.”

Her look reflects the disgust I’m feeling
inside.  I fill her in, every glorified detail, cringing inside at my own
behavior.  Except, of course, the kiss.  I’ll take that knowledge to
my own grave. 

“That’s bullshit!  What a dick,” she says when
I’m finished.  I nod my head enthusiastically as I reach for the breakfast
sandwich.  Slowly, delicately, I peel back the paper to reveal the
contents inside.  Perfect, gooey, not even squished in the
slightest.  “Wait—you’re going to eat that?  It came from the enemy!”

I smirk at my best friend.  “Hey, food is food
and this muffin is not enough to tie me over until lunch.  Besides, I need
to have my wits about me if I’m going to be spending second period with the
jerk.”

Mr. Ryan

I hit the gym to lift and blow off some frustrations
before I have to be to school.  My schedule doesn’t have a first hour
class, so I don’t need to be there until 9:15.  As nice as it is to have a
late start, that also means for the next two weeks I will spend my first class
and last class of the day with The Brat.  This semester is off to a great
start. 

Since Trey isn’t here this morning, my mind begins to
wander throughout my set.  It seems to have only one train of thought:
Tatum.

My latest assessment of her is an
understatement.  Brat doesn’t begin to cover the childish immaturity she
encompasses.  What the hell was I thinking?  Last week, she seemed
like an intelligent, well rounded woman.  Sure, there were a few moments
of self-consciousness and anxiety that threw me for a loop, but beyond that she
seemed…normal.  And here I thought I was a good judge of character. 

She couldn’t even accept a simple, kind gesture from
me, and I haven’t even done anything wrong. 
She
stormed away from
me. 
She
rudely called me out.  The only thing I’m guilty of
is standing by while she left me in a dark, deserted parking lot after the most
magnetic kiss of my life.  Evidently kissing her was a colossal
mistake.    

I’m so damn stupid.  I watched from the doorway
while she struggled with herself to not buy breakfast, and then I go and buy it
for her in some kind of what, truce?  Jesus, I must have looked like a
fucking idiot.  Her friend couldn’t stop starting at me, probably thought
I was trying to woo Tatum with my gift of suitable breakfast material.  I
just couldn’t help but remember her struggle with money at the diner. 
Some deep seated internal instinct simply wanted to help.

These next two weeks are going to be a disaster if I
have to see her twice a day.  Maybe she’ll come down with the flu, or
mono.  Put her out of school for a week or two. 

Though, if I were honest with myself, I’d miss seeing
her delectable little body swaying around my classroom twice a day. 
Although the sarcasm she spews is annoying at best, there’s a small part of me
that enjoys her challenging me. 

I need to get a grip.  I can’t think of her that
way.  I was pissed when she ran away from me, but she wasn’t my student
then.  Now she is.  Thoughts like those are so damn
wrong.  

After a quick shower, I dress in slacks, a navy blue
dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, and a tie.  Because of
yesterday’s events, I make sure to arrive 15 minutes before the start of class,
giving myself ample time to prepare for today’s lesson.  And a small part
of me wants to prove a point.

The classroom is on the second floor and the door
opens into the back center of the room.  Six columns of metal desks fill
the open floor and face the white board hanging on the wall in the front. 
My own desk is a basic hunk of light colored wood that I moved off to the left
side of the whiteboard when I first started.  Originally, it was on the
right side of the classroom beside the rows of desks, but I didn’t like not
being able to see my students’ faces.  I have an ancient desktop computer,
a stapler, and a cup of pens covering the surface.  The walls are bare,
and in the front right corner sits an ancient projector machine.  That’s
it.  The room is boring and plain, but it’s math class, what does one
really expect? 

This Algebra II class is mostly sophomores with a few
advanced freshmen.  Today I have a semester pretest so I can gauge the
level of my students.  It’s nice to get a grasp on who’s ahead and who
needs a little more help right from the get-go.   

The warning bell rings, and I pull the crisp papers
fresh off the copier from my brief case, settling them on the corner of my
desk.  I stay seated, watching as students begin filtering in, giving
small hellos and nods of my head as they choose their seats.  Unfortunately,
I don’t miss the flirtatious grins and giggles erupting behind the hands of
several of the female students.  Far from flattering, I find myself
becoming annoyed.  And as I didn’t think my annoyance couldn’t take on
another level, in walks Miss Krause, looking as arrogant as ever.

“Okay class, let’s settle down,” I start, trying to
quiet the chatty students.

“Anything for you, Mr. Ryan,” one young girl sporting
way too much makeup calls out.  I laugh with discomfort, shoving my hands
into my pockets so I don’t start waving them around.  I tend to get a bit
animated when I’m flustered.  Even through my embarrassment, I don’t miss
the unladylike snort from close behind me.    

“Alright, let’s get started.”  I pick up the
papers off my desk, finding Miss Krause standing behind me, quite awkwardly and
seriously distracting.  “Why don’t you sit down?” I offer.

“And where should I do that?” she sneers at me, with
that glorious attitude of hers.  Christ, she’s difficult.  I feel
sorry for her mother. 

“There.  Sit at my desk and show me you can
behave yourself,” I tell her, while I grab a stool for myself to sit on. 
“Okay, class.  As we discussed yesterday, I have the pretest here.” 
I wave the stack of papers in the air to the sound of many groans and protests.

“But it’s the second day of class!” 

“And tomorrow is the third, and Friday is the fourth
and so on...Mr…?”

“Thompson.  Ben Thompson.”

“Right, Mr. Thompson.  This is not a typical
test.  It is a test of your abilities.  As I mentioned yesterday,
this is a tool so I can get an idea how much you already know.  It will
help me determine if someone might need a little extra help, or if someone is
already ahead of the group.  My goal here is to make sure each one of you
is challenged individually.”  Pausing to look around the room, one girl
slowly raises her hand in the air.  “Yes?  Your name, please?” 
The young girl blushes—actually blushes—when I acknowledge her. 

“My name’s Megan,” she says shyly, and when she
doesn’t continue, I prompt her.

“Yes Megan, did you have a question?”

“Um, yes.  Um, who’s that?” she asks, gesturing
to my TA.  I give her a brief smile before turning around to look at Miss
Krause, and find her texting fiercely on her phone.

“Put the phone away!” I snap, exasperated with this
girl.  She looks up at me coldly, before slipping the phone back into her
back pocket.  “Come here, please,” I request through tight lips.  She
complies, sauntering over to where I’m seated. 

“This is Miss Krause.  She is going to be my
teaching assistant for the next couple of weeks.”

“My name is Tatum.  I’m a senior.  This is a
punishment for me, so don’t expect me to be your friend,” she finishes her
introduction for me.  I groan inwardly.  She couldn’t have been more
unfriendly if she had started spouting profanities during her little speech.

“Thank you, Tatum,” I reply, emphasizing her first
name.  “Please hand out the tests for me.  While she does that, are
there any more questions?”  I receive several shakes of heads and I take a
seat behind my desk.  “Then you may begin.  Please bring your papers
to my desk when you are finished.”

The room quickly quiets of chatter and I try forcing
myself to relax.  Just being in the same room as Tatum has me wound up
tight.  Turning on my computer, I check the sport scores from last night’s
baseball game, glancing up periodically to check for any cheaters.  Not
that it particularly matters since the test isn’t graded, but it’s the
principle of it.  After reading a recap, since I was too busy with Melissa
to watch the game, I log into my personal email out of habit.  It’s not
like I have anyone to email me anyway, but there’s a new message in my
inbox. 

Speak of the devil.  I click the link, surprised
to see a message from Melissa.  She sent it earlier this morning. 
Way earlier this morning, as the message timestamp reads 4:35 a.m. 
Christ, this will be good.

Jacoby,

I wanted to send you a little note to
thank you for the wonderful time I had last night.  I know you don’t want
to be more than what we are, but so you know, if you ever need someone to talk
to, I am here and would be a great listener.  I’m sorry you had such an
awful day yesterday, and I hope today is much better for you.  If not,
I’ve attached a little ‘something’ that’s bound to cheer you up!  Call me
later.

XoXo

Mel <3

Fuck.  I panic as a very scantily clad Melissa
loads onto my screen in a small preview of the download.  I glance around
quickly to make sure nobody is near enough to see, and frantically click the
logout button at the top of my screen.  Damn, she’s going to get me fired
pulling a stunt like that one.  I can’t sit here any longer, the
adrenaline is still coursing through my system.  As I turn to stand, I
catch Tatum sitting on the stool with that damn phone under her nose once
again. 

“Give me your phone,” I demand, students glancing up
to watch the drama unfolding before them.  Instead of distracting the
entire class, I decide to take it outside.  “In the hall, now.”  Her
eyes widen fractionally before she meanders slowly into the hallway.  The
way she walks pisses me off even more because I have to actually force myself
to not stare as her hips sway alluringly.  Her body gives off
provocativeness like a bonfire gives off heat. 

Generously.

“We are down to the last fifteen minutes.  Please
continue working until the end of class.  I will be right back,” I tell
the class, my voice sounding throaty and a bit rough, before leaving the room
and closing the door behind me.

Tatum is standing across the hall, leaning against the
brick wall looking at me, almost as if she’s studying me.  I cross the
small walkway to stand in front of her.

“Is this a game to you?” Credit to her for not
flinching away from me.  She holds my gaze steadily with her own darkly
lined hazel eyes.

“No, it’s not a game.”

“Then why were you on your phone after I asked you to
put it away?”

“I don’t know, why were you on your email looking at
porn?” she throws back at me. 

Frustration flares inside of me, but I keep my hands
loosely at my sides, trying to not give away any sign she’s getting to
me.  And for fuck’s sake, she’s getting to me.  I don’t know whether
to shake some sense into her, or grab her and kiss her senseless. 

Uh, what? Let’s leave that thought right
there.   

“I wasn’t.  And it’s none of your business what’s
on my email.”

“What would Mr. Stephenson think?” she threatens me,
the glare in her eyes betraying her contempt.

“Don’t threaten me Miss Krause.  Do not forget
that I am your teacher this afternoon.  You may be in my class now as my
aide but later you will be my student, and you will not disrespect me in class
again.” 

“I’ll be finding a new class,” she says, and I can’t
help but feel a pang of guilt.  I’m the only teacher of the college level
calculus class.  There isn’t another comparable class for her to
take.  I don’t know her well enough to be certain, but any senior taking a
college level class usually has an agenda.  It would be foolish for her to
change her plans on my account.  

“Don’t sacrifice your education because you don’t like
me.  You’re enrolled in my class for a reason and it’s probably a good
one.  If you can be on your best behavior, we’ll get along just
fine.  You can be dismissed for the rest of this morning’s class.  I
expect to see you later.”

“Whatever,” she says, already turning towards the
staircase. 

“Miss Krause?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave the phone in your bag.  If I see it again,
it will spend the next two weeks in my desk drawer.”  I’m pretty sure
she’s giving me the bird as she walks away.  I let out the sigh I’ve been
holding in for the past twenty minutes and take a moment to calm myself, in
more ways than one, before finishing up my first class of the day.