I’ve ignored all his texts, like a very mature partner.
My thoughts and feelings have been all over the place. I needed to clear my head, so I’m just “taking some space”. Space is good. Space is healthy. I’ll just talk to him after school today.
Patting myself on the back, I prepare for the next day. I sort student work diligently into piles, plan mini-lessons forthose in the “didn’t get it” piles, plan extension activities for those in the “got it” and “got it plus” piles.
I do a last-minute sweep of student desks for snacks, pleased when I only find one. My threats of death or dismemberment seem to be working.
By the time I leave my classroom, my teammates are already gone. I had wanted to talk to Tamika about how Dorothy was doing, so I shoot her a text.
Talk tomorrow morn?
Yes. Sry, had to run to doctor.
The first floor is extremely crowded, with staff members seeming to leave the building at the exact same time. I watch as teachers walk in and out of Oliver’s office, mostly the ones he supervises or the ones who are on various committees he leads, checking in about one thing or another before they leave for the day.
Deciding it’s too busy for the type of check in we need to have, I walk right past his office and walk out of the building instead. We can talk later.
I’m a block from school when I pull out my phone to text Weezy and ask what she wants for dinner. I’m in the mood to try to cook tonight, lose myself in mindless activity, maybe give myself food poisoning so I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. I’m in the middle of typing when I crash into something, or someone, much larger than I am.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and look up to see Max’s dad’s swollen red face.
“Hello, Ms. Baker,” he sneers.
My heart drops. I look around me, relieved when I see the block bustling with activity, people walking all around us. “You’re not allowed to be here, Mr. Jones. The school has an order of protection against you,” I inform him.
“Within one hundred feet of the school, Ms. Baker, which is where we currently stand,” he says contemptuously.
“Whatever, Mr. Jones. Have a marvelous day,” I tell him, and try to step around him.
He doesn’t let me. “Do you know where I’ve just been, Ms. Baker?”
“Jail?” I mutter.
He laughs without humor. “Well, yes. But the charges didn’t stick, so they let me go. However, that’s not where I was thirty minutes ago.”
“Oh, I see,” I say. “You were at the sex shop. You’re atoning for your racist, homophobic ways by buying yourself a big dildo to fuck yourself with. You realized how much you would like it. Then, you went to the bank to print a check. To donate a large sum of money to the Trevor Project.”
He ignores me, but I note with pleasure that his bloated face is turning a deeper scarlet. “I just came from the precinct?—”
“Shocking. Groundbreaking, really?—”
“—to press charges againstyou, Ms. Baker. I’m pressing charges against your for physical and verbal assault,” he sneers.
I scoff. “That’ll never stick. There were too many witnesses around who will say otherwise.”
He barks a laugh. “It’s not looking good for you, Ms. Baker. I must say, I have your principal to thank for that, though.”
I look at him.
“He sent over copies of all the times you’ve been written up in the last year,” he tells me, with a sick sort of satisfaction. “Three letters, in fact, all of which provide evidence of insubordination and inappropriate behavior and conduct.”
I feel the blood rushing to my head. My face gets hot. My ears ring.
He notes this and laughs again. “I dropped itall off at the precinct. You’re going to lose your license over this, Ms. Baker, and it’s all because you didn’t know your place. Someone like you shouldn’t be teaching our youth.”
I look him dead in the eyes. “Fuck you,” I tell him, then walk around him with my head held high, his chuckles echoing in my ears.
I knew it, I think to myself, feeling a tidal wave of disappointment wash over me.
