“You gotta tell me if the rumors are true,” my friend Sophie Snow says as I take the seat beside her at the faculty meeting in the media center.

I came in late. I was showing a couple kids who chose to stay after how to edit audio files in the computer lab.

Student teachers always sit together in the back at faculty meetings, out of the way, which fits right in with my plan to avoid Slater. Despite being in the room with him all day, we haven’t said more than a few words to each other—all professional, nothing personal. He hasn’t commented about my lesson this morning, which tells me he wasn’t impressed.

Asshole.

Wait a second. “What rumors?” I ask Sophie, my confused brain catching up with my ears.

She shoots her gaze toward the tables up front where the sixth-grade teachers are and nods subtly to Slater, who’s sitting next to Ms. Vino.

“I heard you and your supervising teacher were … you know.” She smiles big enough to show almost all of her teeth. Damn, she has a huge mouth.

“No,” I reply, thumbing through my notebook for an empty page to doodle on. My ears are on fire. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, everyone on eighth-grade hall is talking about it. Vlad Reardon—I think he’s the brother of one of your students—said you got caught blowing Mr. Slater in the stairwell at the library.”

The heat from my ears flares in a wave over my face. Sweat breaks out everywhere. I lower my pen and turn to her. “No, that happened when I was in eighth grade here.”

Sophie’s eyes widen. “You blew Mr. Slater when you were in eighth grade?”

“I—No! Of course not!” I whisper-snap. “I hated him in eighth grade and he hated me, okay?”

“So, it’s not true?” Sophie’s face falls. “There’s no fairy-tale romance?”

“It’s … complicated,” I hedge, trying to bury my attention in Dr. Dragov’s fascinating discussion about the school budget.

“He’s dreamy,” Sophie says, planting her chin in an upturned palm, elbow braced on the table.

I snort. “He’s okay, I guess,” I mumble.

“I heard he and Mr. Savage are roommates.” Sophie whips her head to look at me.

“Yeah.”

There’s her grin again. “You’re totally getting busy with Slater, aren’t you?”

I don’t answer.

These reminders of Slater and me doing shit we shouldn’t have weigh heavily on me.

Leave the past where it belongs and face the future head-on, Roxie. Slater’s not part of yours beyond student teaching. Roll over this speed bump and then it’s full steam ahead.

I try hard to believe those words. I’m excited about how today’s lesson went, but Slater’s silence on that front—and the us front—is a real gut punch. A betrayal of the trust I thought we’d built.

But I can’t control him. I can only control me. With my supervisor coming to observe me tomorrow, I got no room for his bullshit.

Steady on, Miss Rambling.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I sit straighter and pretend to be interested in the principal’s talk about the importance of changing paradigms. Sadly, I only succeed in staring at the back of Slater’s sexy bedhead for the rest of the meeting.

God, I want to hate him. And yet, I can’t. Every time he throws a glance to me, butterflies do a drive-by in my stomach.

About twenty minutes in, my phone vibrates beside my notebook. I look down at the same moment Sophie does. I snatch the phone under the table and pull back to read what Sophie’s already seen. Text from Mr. Slater: I need to see you tonight.

Sophie nudges me with a huge smile and even bigger eyes. I knew it, she mouths.

I shake my head as I type back, No.

You know nothing, Sophie Snow.

---

As Dragov wraps up the most boring faculty meeting ever, I look down at the single, very negative word Roxie typed in reply to my text, and sigh.

Roxie wants to play hard to get? That’s fine. I’m gonna win her back. It’s decided. And I know exactly how I’m going to do it. I’m gonna make up for every horrible thing I’ve ever done to her and prove that I’m not the dickhead she thinks I am.

Okay, so first, I actually have to stop being a dickhead. I’ll remedy that shortly.

My teammates and I stand up when the meeting adjourns. I catch Darcy’s eye. The bitch snickers, wiping her gaze over Witcher, Love, and Vino like toilet paper over a butthole, as if to say, Nice bunch of losers you’re stuck with.

My hackles stand on end. That condescending horseshit is totally uncalled for. My teammates have proven to be hard-working teachers who stay late and come in early. They genuinely care about our kids, often contacting parents on the weekends and after hours to remind them about IEP meetings, homework, or tests. They’re a hell of a lot more on the ball than I am. If anyone’s the weak link in the team’s chain, it’s me.

Must. Do. Better.

I toss one more look at Darcy and pull my lips back, baring my teeth like a grinning wolf with the passcode to the chicken coop’s digital lock. You’ll get yours soon enough.

I fraternize with friends for a few minutes before saying my goodbyes. Roxie’s already gone by the time I reach the door. No matter.

I trot out to my car, get in, and scroll through my contacts, pulling up the first of many numbers I need to dial.

“Hey, Taylor, it’s Slater. How’s it going, man?” I say.

“Well, tweak my titties,” Taylor says. “It’s only been, what, two years? How the hell are ya?”

“Good, good,” I lie. “I’m still teaching at Bracken, which is part of the reason I’m calling.” It’s not part of the reason. It’s the only reason.

Yes, you’re right. I’m gonna have to work a little harder at that whole non-dickhead thing, but Taylor’s a dude. He’ll understand.

“You still working at CNN?” I say.

“Yeah, why’d you ask?”

“It’s a long story—”

“It’s about pussy, isn’t it?” Taylor knows me so well.

“When is it not?” I admit. “But this time, it’s different.”

“Color me intrigued,” Taylor muses. “What can I do for you?”

---