“I did say he was ‘nasty hot.’”
I think about it. “Well, when you put it that way,” I concede.
“You need a game plan.”
“Please help.”
“If you’re so concerned about it, I think you need to do one of two things.” She starts ticking them off her fingers. “You either need to lie low and not make any waves so that he leaves you alone. Or you need to go hard and convince him that you’re an amazing teacher. So that he also leaves you alone.”
I frown. “Those are two totally opposite things.”
Eloise nods. “But ultimately, they lead to the same goals. You don’t want him on your case. And you don’t want him to add another letter to your file.”
“I’m not sure I’m a ‘lie low’ kinda gal.”
“Definitely not. So convince him that you’re the best.”
“But he’s already so antagonistic,” I mumble. “I’m not sure I can convince him of anything.”
She takes another gigantic spoonful of ice cream. “It’s either that, or get fucked.”
SEVEN
Oliver
I’m running latethis Monday morning, arriving fifteen minutes later than my usual seven a.m. I spent too long at the gym, thoughts tumbling over and over as I ran for far too long on the treadmill.
I thought about the informal offer that Superintendent Daniels proposed last week. I’ve spent my entire tenure as principal less than impressed with the various superintendents I’ve worked with. Most of them were clearly failed teachers, people who could not walk the walk but excelled at talking the talk. I’d be surprised if any of them spent over two years in a classroom. They viewed education as a ladder to climb, rather than a social service for their communities. I loved working in schools. I loved working with teachers, with parents, with my community members, having boots on the ground. I loveworking, instead of sitting far removed in the ivory tower of an office.
If I made it into the District office, if I ever became a superintendent, I could make a real, tangible impact on my community, instead of driving around in a tacky yellowPorsche, chatting and having coffee with the Mayor. I wanted this more than anything.
But first, would I even be able to succeed? Georgia Baker was a wildcard. I thought she was on drugs the first time I met her, for fuck’s sake. She clearly did not match my idea of what made a teacher a good one. All I know is that she won’t be escaping my wrath.
Thoughts still cycling, I walk through the lobby, sweating, cursing the Department of Buildings for their delays.
“Good morning, Ethel,” I say to our shriveled, beloved School Safety Officer, who just turned seventy-nine last year. The only real thing Ethel keeps safe in this school is the emotional well-being of every person in the building, students, staff, and myself included, which frankly, is enough for me to keep her around.
“Good morning, Principal Flores,” she answers. “What a beautiful day it is today,”
“A gift,” I reply, the same back and forth we’ve had every day in the five years I’ve been here. I go to place her daily coffee on her desk, starting when I see a coffee already there.
“Too good for my coffee today, Ethel?” I tease.
“Never, Principal Flores,” she answers, patting the empty spot next to the existing coffee. “A gal can never have too much coffee.” I place it down. “A nice young man gave this one to me this morning, said he was new,” she tells me.
I frown. “Young man?”
“Goes by the name of George,” she supplies, sipping the coffee that wasn’t mine with a pleased smile on her face. “Got me one of those syrupy sweet latte things that tastes like cookies. Way better than yours.”
Sighing, I give Ethel a salute. “Well, now I know what to get you. Thank you for keeping us safe, Agent Anderson. Have a great day.”
She salutes back, the end of our morning routine. Icontinue down the lobby, making a right at the end, passing by the main office, lights still off.
Standing there, in front of my office, holding a coffee like a peace offering, stands Georgia Baker, wavy hair framing her face, blue eyes bright, perfect pouty mouth tipped up at the corners in a small smile. She is wearing a flowing linen dress today, doing nothing for the curves I know hide underneath. I am irritated by her presence already, remembering her terrible lesson, regretting hiring her, annoyed by her efforts to suck up to me already.
“Good morning, Mr. Flores,” she says politely.
My eyes flick down to the coffee she is holding in her hands. “I don’t want that,” I tell her, turning to unlock the door to my office.
