Page 10 of Love Me Not
She had the intelligence to look away. “No, of course, not.”
I wasn’t buying it. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Okay, fine. It was a throwaway secondary character, and I made you very witty.”
This described a lot of her characters. “Which book?”
Quickly backing away, she glanced at her wrist. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“You aren’t wearing a watch,” I pointed out.
“I promised Mom I’d stop by for dinner.”
“Your mom plays bingo tonight.”
Georgie picked up her pace. “I better get there before she leaves.” In full retreat mode, she offered a weak wave. “See you tomorrow.”
If I wanted to, I could probably wrestle the answer out of her, but there were too many phones around for that not to end up on social media somewhere. Going viral on the internet would be even worse than forced proximity with Trey Collins.
I had every intention of avoiding both scenarios.
A week later I was tempted to ask for a room change.
Avoiding the new coach was easy enough, but avoiding his adoring fans was impossible since they congregated outside of my room on a daily basis. And they weren’t all football players. Kids from every social group seemed to love him. Even faculty members hovered like groupies desperate for a glimpse of their favorite rock star.
What was the big deal?
Latrelle accused me of being jealous, which was ridiculous. Yes, I was popular with the students, and even had my own respectable group of dedicated followers. Mostly drama club kids, but also the bookworms and aspiring writers who appreciated my suggestions and advice.
That said, the last thing I wanted was fawning faculty members at my doorstep.
“Dr. Fabien is ready for you,” said Nina Mathers.
I had no idea why I’d been summoned to the principal’s office. Considering we were only a week into the school year, I couldn’t possibly have offended a parent already. During the orientation, I’d worked extra hard not to have a repeat of last year, when no less than three parents complained about what one called my haughty attitude.
Every parent thought their child was special, and in some specific way each of them were. At the same time, if every claim made by a parent at the start of the year was true, then I would have a room full of geniuses in every class, and that was never the case.
There were times during orientation, mostly later in the evening, when my ability to entertain these stories wore thin and a hint of skepticism slipped through the cracks. What was I supposed to do? I was only human.
“Have a seat, Lindsey,” Carole said as I entered the office. “How’s your year so far?”
Did I answer honestly, or tell her what she wanted to hear?
“I thought it was going well enough until I got summoned in here. So, Carole, tell me what I’ve done.”
Carole Fabien grew up four houses down from me and was my older sister Janet’s best friend. She was also probably the main reason I wasn’t fired before earning my tenure. With the presence of a politician, the personality of a pit bull, and the ability to mediate the most contentious of situations, Carole was uniquely qualified for her job. I wouldn’t say everyone liked her, but they definitely respected her.
She took a seat with an expression that let me know this was serious. “I’m happy to say you haven’t done anything. Yet. I called you in to talk about the drama club.”
I’d broken the news to Emma the day before that we would not be doing a musical this year. She hadn’t been happy, but even if she attempted to take the issue over my head, surely Carole wouldn’t interfere.
“What about the drama club?”
The heavy sigh put me on edge. “There’ve been some funding cuts.”
Oh, heck no. “You can’t get rid of my club.”
“I might not have a choice. Participation has been dropping over the last couple of years. The money that is available needs to be spent where it can have the most impact, and that means giving it to the programs that reach more students.”