Page 49 of One More Chapter
Nah. I love writing too much, and you look too hot in a baseball hat to stop coaching.
Anthony
Oh??? The lady thinks I’m hot, does she???
Penelope
Maybe a little…
PJ
would like to FaceTime…
eighteen
penelope
It’sthat rule of threes all over again. They should really just rename Murphy’s Law to Penelope’s.
I took Claire’s advice—tried to make peace with Anthony. I made dinner—slaved over the kitchen while he was out working on his house all weekend.
But did Itell himI was making us dinner? No. Did Itell himthat I was maybe opening up to the idea of talking to him civilly about what happened in Florida? Nope. Instead, I got the embarrassment of a lifetime when he walked in after eight to my miserable self still waiting for him like a sad sack over cold chicken.
Okay. Fine. It was a recipe for “fuck me chicken.” He doesn’t have to know that though.
Strike one happened on Sunday night, and then with the fire alarm incident putting me in the path of Officer Unfaithfulanddetention duty with Ant, it has been a hell of a week.
I’m on my prep two days later, taking a much needed pee break from the monster Dunkin’ I got this morning. After I wash my hands and play woe-is-me with my past dating decisions, I go to snag a paper towel, and catch the side table that houses the extra soap and tampons out of the corner of my eye. On top restsa kitschy plaque from a craft store. In curly cutesy font, it says,In case no one told you today, you’re a great teacher!
I sigh. Think over my failed lesson from period two, and the one that didn’t even get a chance to fail during period one, after I had to break up a fight between two girls and put the rest of the kids on our online testing program instead.
“Thanks, bathroom sign,” I say lamely, high-fiving the cheap wood on my way out.
I crack my neck from side to side, rolling it out as I try to find my Zen. As I make my way back to my classroom, I mentally tab through my lesson plans to decide how I’m going to Tetris all of my classes back onto the same schedule—withoutthe help of my counterpart, who has been in the office more than he has the classroom lately. Crossing over the threshold of our room, the third side of this week’s torture triangle finally clicks into place.
My feet fly out from under me, and like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, I flip in a wide arc, barely catching myself on my left hand as I land on my ass.
“Shit!”I yelp, a searing pain immediately overcoming me from the impact. I can’t tell which hurts worse. My tailbone, my wrist, or my ego. Especially when, as I curse under my breath and gain my bearings, I find the culprit of my fall.
Teachers always joke that Stanley cups and their waterfall spills will be the death of us. In this case, one really is.
One of my third period students left hers behind to tip over on its side in the rush to lunch, leaving a forty-ounce river in its path. I sigh, hang my head, and try to gingerly get up, when he stops me.
“Oh my God, Pen.”
I’d say something crass, like,The last time he said my name all breathy like that, I’d had my head between his legs, but the way Anthony Ellis drops to his knees as white as a sheet drives all the humor from me.
“Are you… What the hell happened?”
When he crouches down beside me and his knee lands in the puddle, his face turns red. He lifts the cup, hardening his jaw, then looks at me.
“That’s it. My first official motion as a interim-administrator is banning these stupid things.”
I huff a laugh. I can’t do much more because he’s crowding my space and stealing my breaths. His knee is still soaking up the water, but it’s pressed between my spread legs, and the hand that isn’t holding the Stanley is shaking. But those are both second to the way his gaze has me captive. The absolute concern in the deep cerulean has me momentarily forgetting about my pain.
But then, he lifts the wrist I’m cradling, and it all comes flying back, because my hand actually hurts like a motherfucker.
“Fuck, don’t touch it,” I wince, pinching my eyes closed to ward off the stinging bite becauseI don’t cry. But Idolook down and see that my wrist is all sorts of fucked up. It’s already swelling and turning an array of fun colors. What’s worse though is the look on Anthony’s face.