Page 13 of The Write Place

Now I know what teachers really do in their spare time.

I’m not a teacher 24/7, you know. I’m a human being, too.

Oh, I definitely know. Send me the title. I’ll send notes.

I laugh out loud and study the cover of the book again, considering. There’s no way he’d really read this stuff, is there? Surely, he has better things to do with his time. Then again, he asked. Not being one to back down from a challenge, I snap a picture of the cover and send it.

He doesn’t respond for long enough that I send another message: You better not be regretting this. You’re committed now.

Oh, I’m definitely committed. This seems promising. He’s in a dungeon surrounded by torture devices. Excellent stuff.

You started reading already? I sit up a little straighter, wiggling into the cushions behind me.

Downloaded, started, hooked.

Don’t tease. It’s just fun.

Award-worthy, he sends back, then just as quickly, And I should know.

Well, read the whole thing before sending it to the committee, I warn.

I’m going to curl up with this book immediately. Who needs work, anyway? See you tomorrow!

I can’t keep the smile off my face as I pick up my own copy of the book to read for a while before drifting off to sleep.

Chapter 6

Daniel closes his notebook and looks up at me from his desk at the back of the room. The last student has filed out, and it is blissfully quiet. He has been writing furiously throughout the entire lesson and it takes a surprising amount of willpower not to ask him what he has been writing all hour.

“I hope you got some good material there.” I indicate his notebook as I weave through the desks, checking for anything that may have been left behind. When I approach his area of the room, he winks at me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks drily. Yes, I would really like to know, I think, but I stare at him with what I hope is a neutral expression. We’re at a standstill, and it’s clear we are both stubborn enough to stare at each other in silence forever. I give in first, pursing my lips and starting to pack up my things. He also hasn’t mentioned any of our text conversation all day, and I’m starting to think he had just been killing time.

I shove aside all my conflicted feelings and speak, if only to make this feel less awkward. “Well, one week down. Five to go. How does it feel?”

“Feels pretty good, actually. So, what now?” He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head.

“What do you mean, ‘What now?’”

“I mean it’s Friday. Don’t you all go to some happy hour or something?”

I shake my head. “Most of us are too tired by the end of the week to go to happy hour.” It isn’t entirely a lie. Most teachers, especially those with children of their own, are eager to get home. If Jenny and I don’t have plans on any given Friday, though, we almost always go to Tony’s with some of the other teachers right after school. I take in his suit, tie, and pristine shoes and think that slumming it with a bunch of teachers at Tony’s is probably not exactly what he had in mind, anyway.

He almost looks disappointed and opens his mouth to say something when the door squeaks open. I make a mental note to ask maintenance to oil the hinges as Jenny’s head appears.

“Tony’s in thirty?” she asks. Then, as if just remembering he’s there, she faces Daniel, her gaze hardening. “Evans.”

He nods in greeting. “Green.”

“I guess it would be rude not to invite you, too.” She wrinkles her nose as if it is a painful thing to say aloud.

He looks pointedly at me. “Yes. I guess that would be very rude.”

I grumble something about meeting her there, and her head pops back out into the hallway, the door closing behind her.

I avoid Daniel’s eyes, embarrassed to be caught lying, though I can feel his eyes on me from across the room. I finish packing up my things and finally look at him. He hasn’t moved. He’s just staring at me. I feel my cheeks turn red. I guess he isn’t going to let this go, then.

“You said you wanted to observe me at school. You didn’t say anything about overtaking every other aspect of my life, too.”