“Kate! Kate Stanley, science teacher, and volleyball coach!” Her smile is big and friendly. “Seriously, we cannot thank you enough for joining us. These students need support and Emma has sung your praises for years. It’s so nice to meet the amazing Ellie in person!” She practically shakes my arm out of the socket while she talks, “Please, sit, tell us about yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Let the woman get acquainted first. Don’t smother her or we’ll run her off.” A surly man sitting at the round table in the center of the room joins the conversation.
He walks over and shakes my hand firmly. He smiles, but it’s not as friendly as the others, and his beard is pristinely trimmed. “Eat a damn bagel already, Pat bought the store out for you. It's rude to let them go to waste.” He holds his bagel choice up and heads for the door. “Malcolm Geer, math and football. Don’t waste our time and we won’t waste yours.”
“Malcolm! Be nice!” Ms. Pat yells after him.
I watch as he saunters out of the breakroom, not looking back. No nonsense Malcolm, I like him.
“Don’t mind him. He is the biggest teddy bear underneath all of that scruff.” Kate walks with me over to the bagels.
I find myself staring at them, feeling a surge of tension run up my arms and into my chest.Don’t waste our time. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I don’t want to be here. I told them in the interview that this would be temporary. So why are they making such a big deal about me being here? How obsessive are these people?
“I need some coffee.” Quickly scanning the room, I find the coffee pot in the back of the room by Emma and the gorgeous man I have felt staring at me this entire time.
“The pot is over by Em and Benny. Creamer is in the fridge, but if you’d like, I have some vegan creamer in my classroom! I make it myself!” Kate offers.
Oh, God. She’s one ofthosepeople.
I hear an audible sigh from Ms. Pat.
“Will it offend you if I use a creamer made from cows, today? I can promise to try the vegan one another time. Too much change in one day is a little overwhelming.” I smile and try my best to avoid sounding absolutely disgusted at the idea of a vegan creamer. Kate seems pleased with my offer and nods.
I head over to meet Emma andBenny. As I’m walking, I swear I see Emma pretend to take a phone call and mosey her way out of the area, leaving just me and thisBennyguy.
Heading straight for the coffee pot, my plan is to act like I haven’t noticed him smiling at me and ignore what it does to the skin on the back of my neck. I don’t have room in my emotionally damaged brain to humor an attractive man or his perfect teeth.
The coffee smells burnt and the pot is about ten pots of coffee past a thorough scrubbing. A violent chill moves down my neck over the thought of a dirty coffee pot. The image of smashing it into a dumpster flashes through my head.
Why don’t people clean up after themselves?
I grab a pastel pink mug with a picture of a pug on it. Instinctively, I grab the one that is the cutest in an attempt to brighten the dread I have building in my stomach over the grimey pot.
“That’s Mr. Geer’s pot. He refuses to clean it,” a whisper, smooth and gentle, swirls around my head and into my chest.
The voice is familiar.
Bennyis watching me hover the pot over the pug mug. He must see the hesitation in my attempt to pour. Or, he can read my mind and is quite aware that I am having an internal crisis about dirty dishes.
Is he able to sense the intrusive thoughts I’m having? Is he completely aware that I’m feeling triggered by grimy coffee smudges and the smell of burnt glass?
Yes Ellie, this mysterious Benny isthatintuitive.
I snort a laugh at myself and the absurdity of my thoughts.
I tend to forget that not everyone is used to sensing an imminent breakdown approaching.
Not everyone is a psychologist, Eleanor.
Gathering myself and putting the death pot back on its scorched burner, I respond with, “Why won’t he clean it? Does everyone drink from this pot? Mr. Geer controls the community caffeine?” I fire off sentences faster than I intended.
I turn to face Benny, the pug mug still in hand. He’s holding a glistening clean coffee pot, swirling with beautiful waves of coffee, smelling like a mix of coconut and mocha—my favorite.
“We keep a clean one in the corner so Malcolm can’t tamper with it. You are free to use it anytime.” I finally register his voice as he pours me a cup, effortlessly.
The Zoom guy. My newboss.
