“Yeah, maybe,” Sophie trails off, not giving me the reassurance I was hoping for.
“That’s got to be it,” I decide, stealing a chip from her.
“Now tell me about Saturday. Did you have sex with James?” I ask, effectively changing the subject.
“Gah! Keep your voice down, Ivy,” Sophie hisses.
I giggle behind the mouth of my water bottle, then oblige, lowering my voice. “Sorry, sorry,” I say, holding up a placating hand as I lean over the table to close the distance so we can speak more privately. “So, was it good? Washegood? Did you come? What’s the verdict?” I ask in rapid succession. I waggle my eyebrows at her and tuck a strand of long, unruly hair behind my ear.
“No, okay? I didn’t.Wedidn’t,” Sophie sighs, glancing around to make sure no one is paying any attention to our conversation. “We had one drink,” she says, holding up one finger with an annoyed expression playing across her face. “He talked a lot about himselfand didn’t ask a single question about me. Then had the gall to say, and I quote, ‘Wanna show me your place?’”
She mimics his question in a stupid, deep voice, using air quotes, then sticks her tongue out and points her finger down her throat in the “gag” gesture.
I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief at the stupidity and lack of self-awareness some men have. I’ve only been on two dates since coming to town, and they weren’t terrible, but they weren’t good either. Absolutely nothing to write home about.
She continues telling me how she pretended to use the restroom, paid her tab, then ditched him at the bar to go home. Sophie has had her fair share of failed first dates, not that it’s many, considering Canyon Creek is a fairly small town and Sophie was born and raised here. She’s known most of the people here her whole life, making it nearly impossible for her to date. James was one of the last age-appropriate, single men in town. Shame he blew it so spectacularly.
Sophie and I catch up on some work drama and gossip about how we’re 99% sure Mr. Lake, the P.E. teacher, is having an affair with Mrs. Guerrero, the Spanish teacher. All too soon, the bell sounds, signaling the end of our daily lunch yap session. We stand, clean up our trash, and head out into the hall to return to our classrooms.
I reach over and discreetly smack her ass. “Bye, love you,” I say before taking a left down the hall toward my room.
“Love you!” she calls out over the noise of children yelling and chatting. “Call me after the meeting!”
I keep walking, picking up the pace to make sure I beat my students to class. My back still to her, I lift my arm in the air, giving her a thumbs-up. Fingers crossed all I’ll have to tell her is that I’m stuck on set-up duty for the science fair.
————
I wrap my knuckles quietly on Mrs. Abbott's office door and take a step back. It looks like the other office staff have already left for the day, so it's just me, waiting outside the closed door of what I like to imagine as a lair.
The rest of my day was uneventful. The three classes after lunch went as expected—loud and chaotic. As hard as I tried to make it otherwise, the prepubescent animals prevailed. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Though, I will say, nothing was worse than the throw-up today.
Small victories.
The nervous sweat is starting to seep through my shirt as I wait, so I try to distract myself. I pick at my nails as I look around at the front office and think about how desperately it needs a remodel. Though big and spacious, the age of the building makes itself known, the once white walls now yellowing, and the chipped baseboards and worn furniture practically screaming at me.
I start to wonder if, by some miracle, Mrs. Abbott could have forgotten about our meeting. Then the door swings open, and I’m greeted by the lovely glower that seems permanently fixed on my boss’s face.
“Ms. Bennett. You're late,” she clips as she whirls back around to sit behind her desk.
My smile falls, and my brows furrow. “You said after school. The bell just rang fifteen minutes ago.” I chuckle uncomfortably, not wanting to argue while simultaneously not wanting to be reprimanded for something I didn't do.
I close the door behind me and follow her to take a seat at one of the armchairs in front of her desk. She gracefully slides into her chair and gently places her interlaced hands on the desk. I give her one of those awkward, flat smiles you do when you pass someone on the street, and wait for her to fill me in on the point of this already super fun sit-down. She eyes me for a moment, scanning me like the robot I know her to be.
When she breaks the silence, her no-nonsense tone slicing through the space startles me. “Well then, I’ll just cut to the chase.” She lets out a long exhale, like my very presence exasperates her. “Due to budget cuts, we have to let one teacher go.”
Uh, what?
“As you know, that means last one in, first one out. And unfortunately that’s you, Ms. Bennett.”
I shake my head slightly, blinking rapidly, trying to process the words that just came out her mouth.
“What? No I that can’t–” I sputter.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Oh fuck.
“Your last day will be this Friday. I will need you to fill out som-”
