“Julian’s right,” Madison chimed in from across the room. “You’ve been like, glowing all day, Mr. J.”
“Idon’tglow,” I protested weakly. “I mean, I did try a new moisturizer this morning . . .”
Moisturizer? Really, Theo? Are you trying to be the gayest teacher in school?
“You totally glow,” Trevor added. “It’s like you’ve got some secret or something. It’s very suspicious.”
“The only secret I have is how I manage to keep you people focused on actual schoolwork and keep from swatting you with a very large, very painful encyclopedia,” I said dryly.
“What’s an encyclopedia?” someone asked.
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Maybe he won the lottery,” suggested Alexis.
“Or he’s got a hot date,” Julian said with obvious glee, apparently deciding to double down on embarrassing me.
“Mr. Jamison definitely got some action last night,” announced a voice from the back of the library. I couldn’t even see who said it, but the statement was met with giggles and afew crude sound effects that made me want to disappear into the stacks.
“That’s enough—” I started, my voice climbing toward panic territory.
“I mean, look at him,” Julian continued, now fully performing for his audience.
The library door burst open with a bang that cut through the students’ laughter like a thunderclap, and my heart sank as I saw who it was.
Mrs. Winifred Hartwell.
Oh God, no. Not her. Not now.
Mrs. Hartwell was the kind of teacher who made even other faculty members break into cold sweats. She taught advanced placement history with the iron fist of a medieval inquisitor and had once written a formal complaint objecting to prom because the only thing more lascivious than teenage sex was dancing—because dancing led to sex.
Her gray hair was pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch her entire face, and she wore the kind of stern expression that could make confession booth priests reconsider their life choices.
Even Principal Morrison avoided her.
“Mr. Jamison,” she began in her crisp, no-nonsense tone, clutching a stack of papers to her chest like armor, “I need to discuss the research parameters for—”
“The man is practically floating. It’s a wonder he’s not walking bowlegged. Someone definitely rocked his world—” Julian declared at exactly that moment, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet library.
“Julian!” I practically shouted.
Mrs. Hartwell’s mouth fell open.
Her face went through several shades of white before settling on a pale green that suggested she might actually faint or combust or cast some sort of spell on us all.
“I—what—WHO—” she sputtered, her papers scattering to the floor as she pressed her hands to her chest in horror.
“Mrs. Hartwell, that’s not—” I began desperately, but she let out a shriek that could have shattered windows and fled the library like she was escaping a burning building. The door slammed behind her with such force that several books fell off a nearby shelf.
The library was dead silent for approximately three seconds.
Then every student in the room absolutely lost it.
Julian was practically crying with laughter, while Trevor was doubled over his desk and Madison was making sounds that suggested she might not be able to breathe. Even the usually quiet kids in the corner were giggling behind upraised books I doubted they’d been reading.
I wanted to crawl under the circulation desk and never come out. Maybe I could set up a little apartment back there, survive on overdue fine money and the occasional granola bar from my desk drawer.
“That,” Jake gasped between fits of laughter, “was the greatest thing I have ever witnessed in my entire academic career.”
