Chapter Six

 

Gwendolyn

 

I was still thinking about Garrett when I got to school the next morning.

Garrett. Not Ethan. Somehow that fits so much better.

Every thought about him made me feel a little bit woozy and I couldn't get my mind off the night that we had spent together. It was those thoughts, though, that had caused me to rush out of the party the night before, while he was still up at the podium speaking. I didn't know how I could possibly be so stupid that I didn't know who he was when I saw him. How could I possibly help throw a party to welcome the new fire chief in town, and then not recognize him when I saw him? Even more than that, how could I not know that I had already been his very own welcome committee in a way I'm sure the elderly members of the community were just not up for providing?

As soon as I saw Anthony leading him away from me and up to the podium to make his speech, I had felt my stomach drop. He hadn't had the opportunity to, so it was up to me to make the slow, embarrassing realization of who he was as he stood up there and thanked everyone in attendance, including me, for being so friendly and gracious. It wasn't that we had a one-night stand. It wasn't even that I had left the hotel in the morning before he was able to wake up. What embarrassed me is that he had uncovered who I really was. Now it made so much sense why he was more than happy to give fake names and create ridiculous stories for ourselves when we were still in the bar. He didn't have anything to cover up. Other than his name, he was essentially the same person that I had met in the bar. Gorgeous. Strong. Charismatic.

What was completely different was me. Yes, I had a fake name that was inspired by my favorite cream-filled snack cakes, not a little bit because from the minute I saw him I hoped that I might get a chance to be a little cream filled myself, but that wasn't the only thing that I faked. I was a complete construct when he met me in that bar. I was wearing clothing that I had only worn once before. I had packed on more makeup then I had probably worn cumulatively in the last month. I had a swagger and a confidence about me that had been fueled by my frustration and tension. It wasn't me he had met in that bar, or who he had brought back to the hotel, or who he had ravished and left blissfully satisfied. That was the person I had created. I couldn't imagine that he would feel the same way about me now that he knew what I usually looked like, or if he knew that I was just a quiet divorcee High School teacher who got excitement from binge-watching salacious TV far more frequently than I did from another human being.

It felt easier just to walk away from the party the night before. I was mad at myself for doing it, but at the same time, I didn't know how I would handle having him walk down from that podium and approach me again. My thoughts of him and our night together had only become more common and more intense as the days and weeks passed, and I knew that I still wanted him. But just as much as I worried about how he would react to the real me, I was tangled in my thoughts and emotions about who he really was. The night that we spent together, his intensity and strength had been thrilling and enticing. He was a fantasy, a sexy dream that I had managed to somehow will into reality. I didn't have to think about the type of person he was outside of that room. I didn't have to think about how that smoldering, bad boy vibe played out when we weren't in bed. It was like I could go home and pretend that he wasn't even real. Now I didn't have that option. He was very real and very tangible, and I knew that the more time that I spent with him, the more I would learn about him, and the truth was I was afraid of what I might find.

I was all too familiar with men who carried themselves with that confidence and who had that alluring, almost irresistible bad boy persona. The experiences that I had had with that type of personality had left me with deep scars that no one could see, but that had shaped and influenced me. The thought of men like that made me bristle. I feared men like that. I couldn't trust them. The thought that Garrett could be anything like the other men in my life was enough to make me wish I had never seen him again. At the same time, however, I didn't get the same feeling from him that I had from the other men who had hurt me so much. Especially one. The one who I would never forget. The one who had changed me. Garrett didn't strike me as being like them. He was powerful and intense, but he didn't seem to have the same level of disregard for others. He walked through a room with absolute confidence and I had to admit that there was some arrogance in him, but he was also kind and friendly to those who were speaking to him.

Yes, our night together had been anonymous. He had lied to me about his name and about who he was. But that was my doing. I was just as much of a liar as he was. Our exchange had been light-hearted and consensual, fun and playful. There had been nothing about it that seemed manipulative or truly deceptive. It hadn't upset me then, but I was having trouble understanding how I should feel about him now.

I didn't have the same block of classes that day that I had the day before, which meant that I wasn't going to have to wonder if Jason Baxter was going to a show up in my classroom. The only time that I was supposed to see him was in the brief homeroom of the day, and I was a little surprised when he walked in just before the late bell rang. He walked in staring directly at me as if he wanted to make sure that I made eye contact with him and acknowledged that he was there. It wasn't the same as my more eager students who didn't get enough from maintaining impeccable grades and also felt the compulsion to add exemplary attendance, conduct, and citizenship to their string of accomplishments. Instead, it felt almost like a dare. It was as though he had shown up just so that he could have that brief moment of silent confrontation with me like he was making his move and wanted to see how I would react. I hated to admit that I was relieved when homeroom was over, and I saw him walk out among the other students. He wasn't my problem for the rest of the day and if he didn't show up to any of his other classes, at least I could say that he was there for mine.

That wasn't the way that I was supposed to feel about my students, and I knew it. It wasn't like this was the first time that a student had acted out in my class. This is only my first year of teaching, but I was dealing with teenagers and that age group was not exactly known as the most pleasant and cooperative of people. There have been others in my class who wanted to test their boundaries, to push me and see just how much the new teacher would tolerate. This is my chance to prove myself, to set the tone of the type of teacher that I was going to be for the rest of my career. I could either stand my ground and insist on respect and adherence to the school rules, or I could bend to the pressures of the students. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I was as stern as the gray-haired math teacher who walked around with a metal ruler in her hand as if presenting a relic from the more daunting and violent days of public education, but I also refused to be pushed around or forced to be soft on students. My stance had brought those students that had bucked against me in the first week of class back under my control and now were actually some of my favorite students. As much as I would like to think that I was going to be that successful with any difficult student I came across, I wasn't as eager to try with Jason. He seemed like he was going to be a handful, and not just because he wanted to see how far he could stretch the boundaries. Instead, I saw something in him, something that made me want to reach out to him and to help him. It was that thing, that quality that I didn't yet understand that was making him the way that he was.

I went home that night with a stack of assignments to grade. My students had acted like I had committed a crime against humanity when I assigned a project to be completed over the course of the winter holidays, but I had been pleasantly surprised to see that everyone in the class had managed to turn theirs in on time. Whether they would all have any level of quality, however, was still yet to be seen. I dropped the stack of folders onto my sofa as I walked through the living room toward the kitchen. It wasn't usually my style to drink coffee in the evening, but I had a feeling that I was going to need it. The Reverend lifted his head to look at me from his bed on the floor and then dropped it down again, deciding that his nap and whatever dreams that were populating his little kitty head at that moment were much more important than listening to me talk about my day. I turned the coffee maker on and was reaching into the cabinet for my favorite double sized coffee mug when I caught sight of the trifle bowl sitting in the sink. I should have washed it the night before, but I hadn't felt like going through the process. Instead, I had filled it with water and a squirt of dish liquid and convinced myself that it was soaking.

Seeing the trifle dish now didn't bring to mind thoughts of my domestic failures. Instead, they made me think of Garrett's smile and the sound of his laugh. It had made me happier than it should have to hear that he enjoyed the dessert that I made, and I couldn't help but wonder if his lush lips would have tasted like the sweet trifle. I tucked my coffee mug into place and pressed the brew button before walking over to the sink and starting to clean out the dish. He said that he had enjoyed the trifle, and he had only gotten to have three little servings. Maybe I could just head over to the firehouse and make sure that he was getting settled in alright.

The Reverend was standing in the doorway of the kitchen when I turned around. I paused and looked at him.

"It's the neighborly thing to do," I said.

Two hours later, I stepped out of my bedroom with my hair freshly styled and my makeup reapplied, the skirt of the dress I was wearing swirling around my thighs. The cut was seasonally inappropriate, but I told myself that the dark blue color made it just fine for a winter night. I put the finishing touches on the fresh trifle that I had made and stretched plastic wrap over the top of it to protect it in the car. I caught a glimpse of The Reverend walking across the top of the sofa as I slipped into my jacket and I looked over at him before picking up the trifle.

"Don't judge me," I said.

I walked out of my house and got into the car to head to the firehouse.

There weren't any cars in the front parking lot of the firehouse when I pulled in. I sat there in my car wondering if I should drive around to the back lot to see if I could recognize Garrett's car from my jacket-stealing escapade. I realized that was entirely possible that he wasn't even in the firehouse that night. I had just assumed that the welcoming party had been a sort of official installment and that he would be on duty thereafter. It occurred to me, though, that even a fire chief would get time off and that maybe he hadn't even started yet. That would certainly make for an awkward entrance, but I'd already come out this far. I might as well go inside.

I got out of my car and walked around to unhook the trifle from the seat belt that I had lovingly latched around it to keep it from sliding across the seat while I was driving. I walked up to the door of the firehouse and knocked. The truth was that I didn't really know the protocol for visiting a firehouse. I knew that I had gone on a field trip to this particular firehouse when I was in elementary school, but the firefighters had been waiting outside for us when we arrived, and we were ushered through the station and out to the shiny red truck where we climbed and played for the majority of the trip. And to this day I wasn't completely sure of what it was that we were supposed to learn on that trip.

I didn't hear any movement or sound from inside the firehouse, so I reached for the bell. I rang it and took a partial step back from the door. That movement was a remnant of the lessons that my mother taught me when I was younger. She put as much effort as she could into teaching me to be polite. One of the manners that she had emphasized was that when you approached a door, you stepped back so that whoever was inside could have a chance to see you through the peephole before opening it. I always felt like that it was an extremely judgmental approach. It was like I was stepping back and presenting myself for scrutiny so that the person inside could decide whether or not they wanted to be bothered with me that day. Yet, here I was, standing a few feet back from the door and wondering if someone was inside the firehouse peeking through some unseen window or peephole, and sizing me up. I was tempted to turn around, scurry back across the parking lot, get into my car, go back home, and keep the entire trifle for myself, but before I could, I heard the locks releasing on the inside of the door. It opened, and I saw Garrett looking out at me. Any desire to go back home and gorge myself on trifle immediately melted away.

Suddenly the only thing I wanted anywhere near my mouth was him.

Garrett seemed to have the same thing on his mind. His eyes traveled up and down my body, grazed briefly over the trifle I held in front of me, then rose to my face and locked on mine. I saw his tongue slip out and run across his lips. My heart was beating faster, and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as my body woke up.

"Hi there," he said.

His voice was low and velvety, lacking the pop and spark that it had had when he was talking at the party the night before. Then he was addressing everybody, trying to draw them in. Now he was speaking only to me. I was all that mattered, and his voice made it abundantly clear that that was exactly how he wanted it to be.

"Hello," I said. I held the trifle up a little higher. "I wanted to welcome you to Silver Lake now that I actually know who you are."

"Oh, really?" he asked. "That's very friendly of you." He reached forward and tucked his fingers into the belt of my jacket, drawing me forward toward him. "Let me thank you."

I have always been the type of woman who likes to feel in control like I know what's coming. I always read the last page of a book before starting. In that moment, I knew exactly what was coming, but I felt far from in control.

I let Garrett pull me through the door and into the firehouse. The small lobby was empty, the desk that sat against one wall deserted. We continued past the small collection of furniture that I couldn't imagine getting a tremendous amount of use and through a door that led into the section of the firehouse set aside just for the firefighters to use while they waited for the next call. In a community like Silver Lake, there were far more nights than not when that call never came, which accounted for how well-appointed this section of the house seemed to be. I vaguely remembered being brought through this part during the field trip, but it was more elaborate now, filled with enough furniture, game machines, and electronics to make it look more a bachelor's apartment and less a place where heroes waited for the next moment of adrenaline and terror.

He took the trifle from my hands and placed it on the table that sat in the middle of the room. As soon as the glass dish had left my grasp, I was in his arms. His mouth caught mine and I felt something inside me snap. Need and arousal rushed through me and I gave myself over to the kiss, pressing my body close to Garrett's and seeking his tongue with mine. Our tongues tangled, and my hands dug into the hair at the back of his neck. The heels I was wearing that night weren't as high as the ones I had been wearing the last time that we were together, so Garrett had to lean over further to touch his hands to my thighs. This crushed our bodies more tightly together and I could feel the hard, delicious nudging of his growing erection in my belly. His hands ran up the backs of my legs, lifting my skirt out of the way as he went until it pooled at my hips and his fingers caught the bottom swells of my ass.

Garrett's fingertips slithered between my thighs and pressed against the heat of my core. The panties I had put on were already damp and I knew that he could feel that I was already ready and waiting for him. He ran his fingers up the string of my thong and caught the strands at my hips. I lifted my legs in turn as he guided the panties down my thighs and soon they were kicked across the floor and forgotten. I felt Garrett's mouth leave mine and travel across my cheek to my ear. One hand had slid up my thigh and along the juncture between my leg and hip. I gasped at the unexpected sensitivity of that skin and parted my legs slightly to give him more access to my body.

"Do you want to see my truck?" he asked in a husky whisper.

I nodded, moaning as he moved his fingers down briefly to draw them through my petals and give one brief moment of pressure to my clit as if in promise of more to come. He gave me another hard, intense kiss and then stepped away from me, taking my hand and guiding me through the rest of the station toward the bay where they kept the fire truck.

"Where is everybody?" I asked breathlessly as we went.

"Only me tonight," he said. "I think that it's some sort of initiation for the new guy. They all requested tonight off before I got here so that my first night would be completely by myself."

"That seems mean."

"No," he said, drawing me toward the truck and lifting me up so that I stood on the back, my hand wrapped around the ladder. "It's just guys being guys. They think it's funny. If something happened, they'd all be here to help."

Garrett latched onto the handle beside me, planting his foot next to mine, and swung up so that I was pressed to the back of the truck and he enveloped me. His mouth covered mine and I felt the cold of the metal side of the truck against my skin. He released the belt of my jacket and pushed the sides apart to reveal the dress underneath. He gave a groan of appreciation and ran his finger along the scooped neckline then along the center of my chest down to my stomach. I knew that he could feel it trembling. He looked at me with hunger in his eyes and dropped down from the step so that his face was level with my stomach. He pressed it against my body, nuzzling through my dress until I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. He nudged the fabric up with his forehead and nose until I felt my skirt sliding up my thighs and over my hips. The air touched my bare core and I shivered with the blend of chill and delicious excitement that rippled through me in response.

His tongue delved between my thighs and caught my sensitive tissues, exploring my curves and folds as he eagerly lapped up the juices that flowed out of me, encouraging me to open up to him, to ready for him further. There was nothing slow or gradual about this attention. This was an instant burn, a passion that threatened to consume us. He spent a few dizzying seconds licking me before he pulled away and disappeared back into the station. I rested my head back against the truck, trying to catch my breath, but in an instant, he was back and I saw him holding a condom in his mouth as he released the button of his pants and lowered his zipper. Garrett swung back up onto the truck with me and I felt his pants slide down to his ankles. The warmth of his skin radiated towards me and I pushed toward it, craving more of it, needing his touch.

Garrett reached down and took my leg, lifting it up so that my foot was propped on the ladder beside me. He pushed my skirt up and took a moment to look at me, his eyes eagerly taking in my vulnerable, exposed core, my aching need obvious. He took the condom from his mouth and opened it, settling it on the tip of his erection. As he rolled it down the length with one hand, he used the other to dip two fingers into me, ensuring that I was fully ready to accept him. I gasped as he pressed deeply inside me, the intensity of the pressure and sudden filling causing my knee to buckle.

Garrett released his cock and grasped my face with his free hand, holding it pressed back against the truck so that he could kiss me again. His tongue coaxed my lips apart and plunged into my mouth, tangling with my tongue and exploring me deeply. I felt his cock nudging at my entrance, his fingers sliding out, and then he pushed inside me, his hand sliding down to the front of my throat to hold me against the truck. His other hand grasped my breast, kneading into it firmly as he immediately started to thrust inside me. There was no hesitation in his movements and he stroked into me with an intensity that bordered on desperation. I met the urgency with the rocking of my hips and hungry kisses along Garrett's neck. The fact that we were still nearly dressed seemed to only make the situation more erotic and I could already feel myself rushing toward climax. I knew that at any moment one of the firefighters could show up at the firehouse to check on the new chief, or an alarm could sound, calling the team to an emergency. That only fueled me further and I let out a loud moan, realizing that I almost wanted someone outside to hear me.

The sound seemed to push Garrett over the edge of what little control he had, and he let out a growl, reaching down to grab my hips with a grip so hard I could feel his fingertips digging into my skin. He slammed into me with dizzying strength and I closed my eyes, giving myself over completely to the sensations that he was creating within me. I let out a scream as a sudden orgasm crashed over me. My body arched away from the truck and I released the ladder and handle so that I could cling to Garrett. He pushed forward with his body so that I was flattened against the truck again and grabbed the top of the truck overhead, using it for leverage so that he could pound into me with even greater fervor, finally forcing all the way into me and letting out a roar as I felt him throb. My spasms drew his cock deeper into my body, meeting each of his pulses so that I squeezed him, embracing him with my entire body. Finally, all the tension was gone from my body and I sagged against Garrett, feeling out of breath and giddy.

 

"What's that smile all about?"

I looked up and saw one of my co-workers reaching for a paper cup beside the coffee maker in the teachers’ lounge. I shook my head, trying to get the grin off my face, but knowing that it was futile.

"I was just thinking about a show that I watched last night," I said. "It was really funny."

She looked at me as though she didn't believe a single word that I said.

"That's not the smile of someone who spent the evening watching comedy," she said.

I looked at her with as much wide-eyed innocence as I could muster.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "It was that show. You know the one. The one that everybody loves so much. The one with the family name and the husband and the wife and the kids and they're always getting into stuff and they don't really get along, but they do, and they have that neighbor."

She stared at me.

"Mmmmm-hmmmmm," she said. "I appreciate that vague and completely non-specific description of approximately eighty percent of the TV shows that have ever come on. I'm sure that episode with the people doing the stuff and with the things that were funny was hilarious."

I knew that I had been caught, but I wasn't about to give up my charade. I didn't really know her well enough to get into the details of my own personal grown-up field trip to the firehouse. Instead, I finished swirling my hazelnut creamer and sugar into my cup of coffee, smiled at her, and headed out of the lounge toward my classroom. Homeroom didn't start for another forty-five minutes, but I appreciated the quiet and calm of the new day. It gave me the opportunity to think about my plans for the day's classes and to figure out a way that I could explain that I hadn't even started grading the projects.

I had finished my coffee and was contemplating heading back to the lounge for another when the first few students came into the room. They grinned at me and I wondered if they could see the same giddiness on my face that the other teacher had. They all took their seats and I knew that my chances of grabbing another coffee or having a few more minutes to myself were over. One thing that I had learned during my time teaching was that you never left a classroom with teenagers in it without supervision. I watched the students come in and fill the desks. It didn't come as a surprise when one desk was left empty.

"Has anyone seen Jason this morning?" I asked.

The students looked around at each other, some of them looking as though they weren't even sure who I was talking about. I couldn't really blame them. He had only shown up for one homeroom class and he hadn't spoken to anybody during it. Teenagers weren't exactly known for being particularly detail-oriented and if I were one of them I probably wouldn't even realize that he was there, either. I sighed and sat down behind my desk, jotting a note next to Jason's name on my roster. I could let it go that he had missed the first homeroom, but now I needed to start keeping track of each period that he missed or was late to, so I could report them to the front office when he reached the threshold allowed by the school. I hoped that it didn't come to that. I didn't want to be that person in his life. He was obviously struggling to cope with moving to a new town and starting at a new school in the middle of the year, and I didn't want to make it harder on him. Hopefully, he would straighten up soon and we could put the rocky beginning behind us. At the same time, if he didn't, I would have no choice but to do my job.

Later that afternoon I was preparing for my History class when I heard a ruckus out in the hallway. The desks in the classroom were still empty, except for one girl sitting in the back corner. She was always the first to arrive since her last class was in the room right next door and as she always, she was deeply engrossed in the thick book opened on her desk in front of her. I figured that since it was just her and I was just going to be right outside of the room it was safe to leave her, and I rushed in the direction of the growing noise. The hallway was congested with students and many of them went scurrying when they saw me approaching. The rest tightened their formation in the center of the hallway, closing around the point of their focus. It was something I had seen before and I knew exactly what was happening. I stalked up to the knot of students, demanding they move out of my way. Enough of them did to grant me access to the two girls locked in apparent mortal combat on the floor.

I ignored all of the strictly-given instructions about never making physical contact with any of the students and reached down to grab the girl on top by the back of her jacket. I hauled her up from the floor shouting at both of them to stop. They continued to flail at each other for several seconds until I was able to totally disentangle them and push the girl in my hand behind me.

These kids never fucking cease to amaze me. When did girls turn into such monsters? They were always bitches when I was younger, but I never felt like they were going to throw down like the testosterone-fueled guys.

"What's wrong with the two of you?" I shouted.

Some of the students that had gathered around to watch the fight snickered and I turned my glare toward them.

"And what do you think you're doing?" I snapped at them. "Did you buy a pay-per-view ticket? I don't think so. Get to class."

The group scattered and the girl that had been lying on the ground tried to join them, but I stopped her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To class, like you said."

"No. Not the two of you. You'll be going to the office to explain to Mrs. Applegate how you could confuse the Humanities hallway with an octagon."

As I swiftly led the girls through the hallway and to the office, I called over my shoulder to a teacher's aide to watch my class for me. Then I turned back to the girls.

"What was this all about anyway?"

"She was looking at my boyfriend," one seethed.

I paused, waiting for the rest of the story that I was positive had to be coming. It didn't come. I blinked a few times.

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious?" I looked between the two of them incredulously. "You've got to be fricking kidding me. Are you married? Did she fling herself on him naked?"

"No."

"No. How long have you and your boyfriend been together?"

"Six months."

"Which is clearly enough of a commitment to threaten your physical safety and get yourself kicked out of school for."

Both girls fell silent and sulked the rest of the way to the office and until I plopped them into the chairs in the vice principal's office. I gave Mrs. Applegate a brief rundown of what I had witnessed in the hallway and then raced back down the hall toward my classroom, feeling like I had just established the type of teacher I was going to be. The satisfaction that I felt disappeared quickly when I turned down the hall and heard voices coming from the direction of my classroom. I was heading toward it when I saw the teacher's aide step out of another classroom.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She pulled her water bottle away from her mouth and looked at me with widened eyes.

"Drinking water," she said.

"You are supposed to be keeping an eye on my class," I said.

"I thought that you just meant you wanted me to look in on them," she said.

"No," I said. "I meant that I wanted you to keep an eye on them. I had to bring the two girls who were fighting to the office."

The college student looked like she was trying to come up with something to say, but I didn't give her a chance to finish. I walked into the classroom and found it in utter chaos. Students were sitting on the desks, one couple was in the corner groping each other, and a paper airplane zipped by my face nearly clipping my nose. All it needed was a choreographed dance sequence and it would be a bad 80's teen movie. I stomped to the front of the classroom and shouted over their voices to get their attention.

"Really?" I asked.

Most of the students in the classroom had the decency to at least look embarrassed at their behavior, but my eyes fell on a particular face that looked far more smug than it did remorseful.

"Do you have a hall pass?" Jason asked.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Well," he said. "It seems to me that you're tardy to class. Do you have a hall pass to excuse you?"

He was slumped down in his desk chair, his arms rested on the pressed wood surface in front of him. I glared at him but didn't say anything. The last thing I was going to do was feed into his attitude. I walked over to my desk and picked up the notebook that held my lesson plans.

"Get out your textbooks and open them to chapter five. I want all the review questions for chapters five through seven completed and turned in by the end of class. No talking. No sharing notes. No sharing textbooks. This will count as a quiz score toward your final grade."

The room fell silent and I dropped down into my chair by my desk. I opened the drawer and looked in at my cell phone. I knew that I wasn't supposed to be using it during school hours, but the drama of how the afternoon was unfolding had ruined my good mood and I wanted to get it back. I reached in and scrolled through my contacts until I found Garrett's number. He had programmed it in the night before and I clicked on it now, pulling up a blank text message. I stared at the screen, trying to come up with what I should say. Memories from the night before rushed back into my mind and I squirmed slightly in my seat, crossing my legs against the throbbing between my thighs that began as I imagined Garrett’s mouth on my skin and my body stretching to accommodate him. Finally, I typed 'hi' and sent it. My cheeks burned, and I closed the drawer quickly.

The bell indicating the end of class finally rang and my students streamed past my desk to drop their papers. Jason was the last to approach and I looked up at him as he lowered his partially filled paper to the stack.

"Why didn't you finish"? I asked.

"Because I didn't," he said.

I let out a sigh.

"Look, Jason," I said. "I don't know what problem you have with me, but it ends now. You need to report back here at the end of the day."

"Why?" he asked.

"For detention," I said.

"Detention?" he asked. "For what?"

"For your attitude, rudeness, and disrespect. And because you didn't finish your assignment. You'll come here after school and finish your work, and we'll talk about your future conduct in my class."

"I can't."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't come here after school today."

"It wasn't a request, Jason. You have detention today."

"I can't come here after school today," he repeated. "There's a workout with the baseball team. Tryouts are next week."

"I don't think that's my problem."

"I have to be there to work out with the team."

"Is it a mandatory workout?"

"No, but I'm new and the coach doesn't know me. I need to show him that I'm serious and get in front of him as much as I can before tryouts."

"Well, I'm sorry, Jason. Maybe you should have thought about the importance of the baseball team before you acted out the way that you did."

The truth was that I actually did feel sorry. I could see how important the team was to him, but that didn't change the way that he had acted or the fact that he hadn't finished his work. As he had said, the workout wasn't mandatory. I couldn't imagine that missing one workout was going to hurt his chances. Besides, he was in school for an education, not to play baseball. It was much more important for him to get good grades and he wasn't going to do that if he kept going down the path that he was on now. I was determined that I wasn't going to be the one who let him fall through the cracks. I wasn't going to be the teacher that just gave up on him or turned my back on him, expecting that he was already a lost cause and there was no point in putting forth the energy or the effort to help him. I was going to stop his downward spiral now.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry about the crack about the hall pass."

"I appreciate that. But that's not enough to just make the situation go away. You had ample time to finish this assignment during class. In fact, you are the only one in class who appears to not have finished, and that's not acceptable. Come here at the end of the day, get it done, and we'll start with a fresh slate tomorrow."

I looked down at my desk and started grading the first of the papers, putting an end to the conversation. Jason let out an exasperated sound and stomped out of the classroom. In the brief moment of silence between those students leaving and the next coming in, I heard the buzz from inside my drawer that indicated I had gotten a text message. I opened the drawer and peeked in.

"Hi," the message said. "The boys say thank you for the trifle. They wish that they were here last night."

Well, I'm certainly glad they weren't.

Two hours later I sat at the desk, waiting for Jason to show up after his last class of the day.

Half an hour after that I was fairly certain that he wasn't going to show up.

Ten minutes after that, I was pissed.