“You’re right. Why don’t you send him to my office tomorrow, and I can talk to him?” He moves to wipe down the water splashes from the sink counter.
“That’s a terrible idea. I’m not going to send him to the principal’s office. He’ll think he’s in trouble.”
Oliver hums. “Probably true. Okay, want to come up with a plan to handle it?” He drags me into the bedroom, pulling my sleep shirt up over my head.
“Yes,” I sigh, as he peels my panties down my legs.
He lays down on the bed and pulls my body up to perch over his head. “Okay. After you sit on my face.”
We don’t get to make a plan.
The school days go on, and Oliver and I settle back into our covert little routine. We spend most nights at his, because Weezy puts her foot down after returning to our apartment one evening and hearing a particularly vivacious round.
So most nights and weekends, basically all the fucking time, I find myself James Bond-ing (the feminist version) myself into Oliver’s apartment. Scanning the lobby, dashing past the elevator, scanning the staircase, scanning the hallway, sprinting to his door and letting myself into his psychopathically neat and clean and organized apartment. Being rewarded with the hottie with the body.
This is worth it, I tell myself, after almost breaking my face while tripping over a step on his concrete staircase.Who needs the elevator for a 6thfloor apartment? I’m getting my steps in.
I feel like I’m crushing it at work, though. My students are doing well, and their data is looking good. Great, even.
All my students are doing well, except for one.
I’ve gone through all the steps of a hastily constructed plan. One to one check-ins. Lunch hangs. Preferred tasks. Lots of choice and independence. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.
Today is one of those “not working” days. Max is feeling particularly lashy-outy today.
Since the day has started, he’s already:
Exploded his cereal all over the floor.
Overflowed his milk, getting it all over his desk.
Poked Kyrie with the broom handle after I asked him to sweep up his mess.
Stolen our class mascot, Sparkles the Unicorn, (originally named Horny but quickly vetoed by me) and stuffed it down his pants.
Asked to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes.
