Ford

The garage is filled with random paint cans and yard tools left by the previous owner. They were supposed to clear everything out before they signed the closing papers, but they must have conveniently forgotten a few things.

Sweeping the dusty floor with a push broom while Aerosmith plays from an old tape player—another forgotten possession—I take a break and head inside to grab a Heineken, only I’m stopped by a familiar voice on the way inside.

“Ford,” the man says. I turn to face him. “Thought that was you.”

Superintendent Abbott walks toward me, though he’s nearly unrecognizable in khaki shorts and a golf polo.

“Victor,” I say, extending my hand. “Not used to seeing you out of your three-piece suit.”

This man put me through five rounds of interviews for this position, grilling me with impossible questions and hiding his shock when he realized it was going to take more than that to rattle me.

“So you’re the new neighbor,” he says, staring at my house, his hands on his hips. “The Smiths were good people. Really going to miss them. They don’t make neighbors like that anymore.” He pauses, his smile fading. “So, you getting all settled in?”

I nod, neglecting to tell him I haven’t even been here a full twenty-four hours yet. “I am. Taking it one day at a time.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, Ford.” He pats me on the back. “We’ll have to have you over for dinner one of these nights. My wife, Tabitha, makes a mean duck a l’orange. And I’m sure my daughter would love to meet you. She’s going to be a senior this year at Rosefield. So is my niece. She’s staying with us while she finishes her senior year.”

“Of course. I’d love to meet your family sometime,” I lie.

Shoot me now.

“Anyway, I know the board’s really excited to have you. Your interviews really blew us away, and that recommendation from U.S. Education Secretary Carl Broadbent really sealed the deal.”

Carl is an old family friend who’s never worked a day in his life with me, but he offered. And I couldn’t say no to that.

“I won’t keep you any longer,” he says. “Looks like you’re busy here.” Abbott checks his phone. “Meeting the guys at the club for a round. You golf much, Ford?”

“Sometimes.”

“You should join us next time.”

“Yeah, why not?” I smile, like I’m excited about playing golf with Victor Abbott and his cronies, but like my father always said, if you want to win at life, you have to play the game.

Victor gives a little wave before climbing into the driver’s side of his Infiniti and backing out of the driveway. Glancing toward his backyard, I spot an iron fence surrounding an in-ground pool.

A girl with blonde hair piled on top of her head and oversized sunglasses sits in one of the lounge chairs, paging through a thick book. Must be his daughter or his niece, both of which are seniors at Rosefield, so I don’t give her a second look.

Maybe she’s pretty. And maybe I haven’t been laid in longer than I’d like to admit. But so much as thinking about messing around with a student is a line I refuse to cross. I don’t even entertain those types of fantasies in my “alone time.”

Far too many careers have been ruined all because a teacher or person of authority couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

But that’s not me.

I have complete control.

Heading inside, I grab a beer from the fridge and take a seat at the kitchen table to cool off for a bit. Grabbing my phone, I pull up the Karma app, which promptly reminds me that I haven’t spoken to Absinthe in almost twelve hours and that it will give me two karma points if I send her a message right now.

Kerouac: I never asked why your name is Absinthe.

Absinthe is online …

Absinthe: Good morning to you too.

Kerouac: You were waiting for my message, weren’t you?

Absinthe: It’s called a push notification. I was alerted the second you sent me that.

Kerouac: Most girls would play hard to get. They’d make me wait several hours or maybe even several days before responding.

Absinthe: No point in playing hard to get when you have no intentions of getting me.

Kerouac: Fair point.

Absinthe: My eyes are green. Like the color of absinthe liquor. And I’ve been told that I have addictive qualities.

Kerouac: Addictive qualities?

Absinthe: One taste and men get hooked.

Kerouac: How many men have you been with, Absinthe?

Absinthe: Enough.

Kerouac: A number, please.

Absinthe: A handful. You?

Kerouac: More than a handful.

Absinthe: So basically, what you’re saying is … you’re experienced.

Kerouac: You could infer that, yes.

Absinthe: Some people get turned off by that. It’s the opposite for me. A man with experience is a good thing.

Kerouac: How old were you when you lost your virginity?

Absinthe: Does it matter?

Kerouac: Fine. I’ll go first. I was fifteen. She was the sixteen-year-old girl next door.

Absinthe: Who seduced whom?

Kerouac: She seduced me. And she had big tits. I couldn’t have said no if I wanted to.

Absinthe: Weak.

Kerouac: Your turn, Absinthe. Tell me about your first time.

Absinthe has signed off.