Page 31 of Working for the Teacher

“This doesn't mean I'm wrong about him,” he says.

“No. It means you got caught being wrong about him, which is a very different thing.”

He doesn’t answer, just picks up his pen and returns his attention to whatever’s on his desk. I can’t help the satisfied smile that pulls at my mouth as I let myself out.

10

RYDER

Charlotte opens the door before I even knock. The second I'm inside she's got both hands fisted in my shirt.

“I heard what you did,” I say against her mouth, right before I kiss her.

She kisses me back, and it takes a minute before either of us pulls away enough to actually talk.

“You didn't have to do that,” I say.

“Yes, I did.”

“Reyes could've made things a lot harder for you. Going after a vice principal like that. That's not exactly a low-risk move for a new teacher.”

“Maybe not. But some things are worth the risk.” She tugs me another step into the house, kicking the door shut behind us with her heel. “Besides. I've dealt with worse than Reyes.”

“Is that what New York taught you? How to intimidate powerful men into backing down?”

“I may be from Forge Creek, but you can’t take New York out of the girl. We don't back down from anybody. It's practically a state requirement.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely. They hand you a subway card and a chip on your shoulder.”

I laugh, and she grins up at me like she's pleased with herself, which she should be.

“Come here,” I say, and she does, closing the last of the distance between us until I've got her pressed against the door with my mouth on hers.

She kisses me back with everything she's got, hands sliding up into my hair, and I get one hand under the hem of her shirt when a sharp knock rattles the door directly behind her head.

She jumps, breaking away with a startled gasp.

“Charlotte? Honey, it's me,” a voice comes from outside the door.

Her whole face goes pale.

“That's my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes. Oh my God.” She shoves at my chest, smoothing down her shirt with both hands.

Just stand there. Look normal.”

“I am normal.”

“You look like you just got interrupted mid-something.”

“Because I did.”

She shoots me a look and opens the door, and I do my best to arrange my face into something that doesn't scream guilty, though judging by the way her mom’s eyebrows go up the second she steps inside, I don't think I'm succeeding.