A couple weeks of sheer bliss after Roxie moves in, Dragov shows up in the middle of language arts and quietly takes a seat in the back of the room. My nuts don’t crawl up into my anal cavity and lodge themselves there. I don’t clench my butt cheeks in mortal fear of the Dragonlady casting her evil eye upon my person. My upper lip doesn’t even break a sweat.

The classroom bustles with activity, but it’s controlled, not too loud despite the laptops scattered over the desks with happy little fingers clicking away at the keyboards. The kids are so busy working, they don’t even notice Dragov. She casually opens her folder and writes something down. I nod to her and continue helping Quentin with a question he asked about the video edit he’s working on.

I don’t fear the Dragonlady anymore. She cannot hurt me. With my goddess Roxie by my side, I am a Teflon god.

The scene is quite a contrast to the last time Dragov came in. Everyone’s on task. No one’s asking about licking pussies, and even Attila is completely focused on his job of typing subtitles and integrating them into his portion of the video. Roxie kneels at eye level beside him, complimenting his word choice.

“I really like what I see, Attila,” she says, standing up to move on to the next student. “As soon as you finish, I want you to help Lizbeth clean up the audio that goes with this part.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Attila says and dutifully returns to his task.

A slight blush warms Roxie’s fawn-brown cheeks when she notices Dragov, and I tumble down the tunnel of love for the thousandth time. Funny how having Roxie here negates any possibility of Dragov royally pissing me off. I can’t even be arsed to care. I have Roxie, and our kids are kicking ass.

Screw you, Dragov, and the butt-dragon you rode in on.

The lesson continues that way for several minutes until Dragov gets up and weaves among the desks, stopping to ask kids questions about what they’re doing. The students answer respectfully, if a little excitedly, and I know we’ve got the Dragonlady by the balls. I silently dare her to even think about giving me a bad evaluation after this.

At the end of class, Dragov quietly leaves without comment. As Roxie and I head out for hall duty, she asks under her breath, “What do you think? Will we escape her scythe or is the fatal blow coming?”

I tell a couple of kids to quit the horseplay and reply softly, “We nailed it.”

A slow, proud smile brews on her face. “That’s what I thought too. Score for Slater and Rambling.”

Later, when the kids are gone to their connections classes, the team gathers in Witcher’s room. She opens one of the millions of bags tucked behind her desk and withdraws a cake, some paper plates, and plastic forks—each within its own bag. She sets the lot down on the cluster of desks we’re sitting around. The cake says “Congradulations.”

“What’s this for?” Vino asks, her eyes less glassy than usual. She’s not slurring her words today, and I noticed the closet connecting our rooms hasn’t carried its usual parfum de Golden Grain in a week or so.

For those of you shaking your heads over my apparent lack of interference, I can neither confirm nor deny that Vino has ever drunk liquor on the job. I’ve never uncovered any alcohol in our shared science closet or seen her drinking at school. The few times I’ve been close enough to smell her, her breath carried a twang of Cheetos, not Everclear. Whatever the case, Vino seems more energetic and focused lately. I’ll take it as a positive sign.

Witcher cuts off a slice of the cake and dumps it onto one of the plates. She passes it to Roxie.

“I went to the grocery for a cake, and this one was on sale for half price. They said it was a mistake.”

Using the cake-covered knife, she points to the “d” in place of the “t” that should have spelled “Congratulations.”

“But I thought it was appropriate for us,” Witcher says.

“Who are we congratulating?” Love asks.

Witcher hands me a piece. “Ourselves. Have y’all seen what these kids did for Roxie’s project? I’ve been teaching for twenty-four years, and never have I had a group of children pull up their bootstraps and belt out something like this. Do you know Attila Reardon told me today that he’s gonna be a movie producer when he grows up? And he only called me a B-I-T-C-H under his breath this time, not to my face. Y’all, we have accomplished something special, and it’s all thanks to Roxie.”

Roxie lowers her head. I want to lick the blush off her cheeks.

“Thank you, Mrs. Witcher,” she says. “I really appreciate that. I know most of y’all didn’t have the … uh … pleasure of teaching me when I was a student here, and you’re probably glad. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”

“About you blowing Michael Moon behind the library?” Love asks with a curious spark in her eye.

So, the little limp-dick bastard has a name. I mentally scribble it into the number four position on my shit list, right behind Darcy Kuntz, Sharon Dragov, and Keith Kuntz respectively.

Roxie twists her neck and lifts a playful hand at Love. “Let’s not get confused. It was in the library stairwell, and to hear Michael tell about it, he was a marathon man with the biggest penis I’d ever seen. Truth was, it didn’t happen. He tried to get me to … you know … but he wasn’t … up for it.”

See! I knew he was a limp dick!

“So, you didn’t blow him?” Love asks, surprised.

My attention piqued, I arch a brow, eager to hear Roxie’s answer.

“Nope,” Roxie says. “Of course, no one believed me, but I never touched him. I was laughing too hard.”

Aww, Roxie. My heroine. Serves the little fucker right.

Witcher’s eyes pop wide open, and for a second, I wonder if she’s having a heart attack. I look around on her desk for the nitro tablets I know she keeps handy, but the space is covered by too many bags to count. She quickly swallows some water from the cup beside her and buries her attention in cake. I guess she’s okay.

“In other words, Roxie-with-an-ie Rambling wasn’t half the hell-raiser she wanted everyone to believe back in the day.” I flip my thumb up at her. “That’s a huge weight off my shoulders. I can finally sleep.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Roxie mumbles.

Vino and Love chuckle. Witcher pretends she’s unamused, but I see the smile she smuggles in between bites of cake.

“But seriously,” Roxie says once everyone gets the giggles out of their systems, “when I look at the kids in our class, I see the younger me, and it hurts sometimes. Nobody ever said I was worth a damn in middle school. Nobody ever said they believed in me. And their lack of belief was something I just accepted. If I hadn’t had an adult who loved me enough to intervene on my behalf, I’m not sure where I’d be now. But it definitely wouldn’t be here.

“On behalf of all the students who come from less-than-desirable circumstances, from broken homes, from parents who shouldn’t be allowed to bear the title, and from unfortunate situations beyond anyone’s control, thank you for taking a chance on us.”

“I have to admit, I wasn’t sure about the project at first,” Vino says, “but I love the direction we’ve taken our team. I’ll be sad to see you go, Roxie.”

Then it hits me.

Roxie’s practicum will end soon. She’ll graduate and look for a job, and I won’t see her at work every day. Even though we’ll still be together, we won’t be together here. Bracken Middle is our home, our birthplace. The beginning of The Rambling and Slater Story. The thought of someone writing her out of it crushes me. Her absence will be deeply felt by our kids too.

How the hell will I teach without her? How will our students learn without her?

Roxie must’ve noticed the panic flit across my face. She stares at me and offers a gentle, beautiful smile that says Don’t worry. I got you.

Goddamn it. Always strong, even at her lowest, she has a way of flipping me on my ass without ever lifting a finger.

I push my worry aside for now, but it’s not going away. It’s just on hold for a little while.

“When do we get to unveil the video?” Witcher asks, interrupting my tempestuous thoughts.

“We’re tentatively set to go live on Monday,” Roxie says. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Lance about broadcasting it on the morning announcements, and she says once we get approval from Dr. Dragov, we’re all set.”

“When are you gonna show the Dragonlady the finished product?” Love asks.

Roxie sucks in a deep breath. “The students have until sixth period to make their final changes. I plan to email it to Dr. Dragov right after school.”

“Do you need a support group to help you click the send button?” Love asks. “A bon voyage party for the video? I can whip something up right quick.” It sounds like a jest, but I’m pretty sure she means it.

Roxie grins. “I’m not worried. I know how hard our students have worked, and I couldn’t ask for more. This is their baby, not mine. I’m just a proud auntie.”

Her courage is something to behold. Though I’ve been involved with the project on a daily basis, I haven’t seen anything close to the finished product. I don’t know how good it’ll be because I’ve left the room to give Roxie as much time to work with our students on her own as I could. Because it’s not just the kids who need to learn. She does too. And the only way to figure out what works is to try it, see what happens, take the feedback—good and bad—and make adjustments as necessary.

Everything on paper is as it should be. What’s on the video is to be determined.

“I’ll pray for you,” Love jokingly tells Roxie as she finishes off her last bite of cake.

“We’ll all pray for you,” Witcher adds with a smile.

We go through our usual team meeting stuff and break up to return to our rooms shortly after. Once I get Roxie alone, I shut the door, take her hand, and kiss it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better teacher for you in eighth grade,” I tell her. I’ve already apologized, but it can’t hurt to reiterate. “I had a lot to learn about how to treat students. Most of it, you taught me, eight years too late. I may not have believed in you then, but I swear to God, I do now. And not just you. I believe in Quentin and Catrese and even Attila. Those kids have worked their asses off. They’ve defied expectations, and they put me in my place.

“I’ll never disregard a kid in my class again. If Roxie Rambling and Attila Reardon can turn their royal failures around, anyone can.” Then I quickly qualify that last bit. “Not that you’re a failure. The failure was mine—my perception, my expectations, my belief in you was what was wrong. Not you.”

She slides her hands up my chest and rests them on my shoulders. “You can stop talking now and start kissing me.”

“Right here? At school? What if someone sees us?” I tease.

She glances up front to the table with the slightly bent legs. “That table’s seen far worse, and it hasn’t told anyone about us. Let the rest of them get a glimpse of what it did and be jealous,” she breathes into my lips just before she tags them.

My hands fly to her waist and hold there a few seconds. Then they ease down to squeeze her ass for the duration of the kiss.

My ass. My tits. My Roxie.

When she pulls away, I say, “I have this secret fantasy about bending you over my desk and spanking your bare butt with a paddle. You’d wear a schoolgirl plaid skirt with no underwear and one of my white button-down shirts with a tie. Extra long.”

I scoot closer and cup her face with both hands. Imagining her in that getup sends a fresh rush of blood south. “I’d explore never-before-discovered uses for that tie. Enough to write a book. What do you think of the title One Hundred and One Uses for a Hipster’s Tie on a Naughty Intern’s Body in a Classroom Setting? We could be millionaires.”

She presses her hips into me, squashing my erect dick and rubbing it just enough to get my attention. “You wear the skirt, give me the paddle and control of the tie, and you’ve got a deal,” she purrs with a sultry smile.

I’m man enough to admit I consider it.

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