I slip my cell away as the bell rings, get down to business with a class that doesn’t have the wonderfulness of Adrian and Simon and Lara, but is still filled with amazing students who both challenge me and brighten my day.
Then the final bell has gone and I’m packing up, intent on getting back to Colt.
Only before I get to make a break for it, there’s a knock at my classroom door.
For a second, I hope it’s Colt (though I’ll be pissed if it is him since he’s in absolutely no shape to be driving). But it’s only for a second because then I see Holly’s eyes through the window.
Muttering a curse, I snag my backpack and toss it over my shoulder as I move to the door. I flick off the lights, pull it open, and step through to meet Holly in the hall.
“Hey,” I say.
“Have a minute?” she asks.
“Want to walk with me to my car?” I close the door. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. If it’ll take longer than that, I’m happy to schedule something.”
Happy may be a stretch.
But I’m also not going to stay late just to kiss her ass.
She pauses as I wait then sighs softly. “Let’s walk out to your car.”
I nod and start moving, not missing that it takes a second for her to start following me. “We need to talk.”
“About Adrian?” I ask. “He’s such a pleasure to have back in class. Mrs. Smythe and Mr. Rodriguez both mentioned the same thing to me in the staff room at lunch today.”
“Yes, yes, that’s great,” she says. “Though, his parents aren’t happy with the district.”
No fucking shit, I want to say.
Instead, I just wait.
“They’re talking about pulling their donation.”
Tell me that my boss wasn’t so damned stupid as to mess with the sick kid of someone who donates enough money to the district that they’ll care if they pull their donation.
Still, I don’t talk. I just wait.
And walk.
“I might have mentioned to the superintendent that you could bring them back around.”
Dread—and disgust—wash over me in a cold wave of sensation.
But I don’t speak.
Not yet.
Though, right now it’s because I might say something unforgivable, something that’ll cause me to lose my job.
We push through the front doors of school as she asks, “So, can you?”
“Can I what?”
Another sigh, this one so aggrieved it piques my temper. “So can you talk to Adrian’s parents? Make it clear how much we’re relying on their very generous donation to keep essential programs running.”
I need wine.
And reality TV.
