Page 99 of One More Chapter
“I understand your frustration,Mr. Davis. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything further I can do about Caden’s grade.”
I put on my best telemarketer robot voice and reiterate the spiel I’ve already given him four times.
“As I’ve previously stated, Caden’s grades have been poor since the beginning of the year. After he dismissed my offer of tutoring during study hall three times, I did contact you. I left several voicemails and emails. Caden did not utilize my opportunities for homework, quiz, or test corrections that would have afforded him credit back. I also contacted you each of those times. At the end of the semester, there is simply nothing more I can do to change his grade. It will stand as a D on his report card.”
Mr. Davis shouts in my ear, but I tune it out.
Add another tally in thepro-leaving-teachingcolumn. He barks something aboutcontacting the principal, and I have to laugh inside my head.
Go ahead. Nathan Harding is pro-teacher, and I have a spreadsheet of all the times I emailed you without a response.
A glance up at the clock tells me I’ve only wasted a third of my lunch hour. I need to get out of this room. I snag a stack of papers that need to be copied for later in the week and figure getting ahead in the game onanyday will only benefit my after-school activities.
Those of which are slowly being taken over by Anthony Ellis.
But I can’t think about that—not in my place of work, where he could be feet away at any given moment. I shake the fantasy of him from my thoughts and send a group text to Lucy and Juliet, telling them to meet me in the break room for lunch instead of Juliet’s classroom.
“What’s with the change of scenery?” Lucy asks, sliding into a seat at the table closest to the copier.
“I needed to get out of my classroom,” I groan, punching in the number of copies I need and praying to the Xerox gods that it follows all of my double-sided, hole-punched directions the first time.
“Amen,” Juliet says, lifting her yogurt to the ceiling in solidarity. “I always forget that the weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break are more brutal than the beginning of the year.”
“They’re wild animals,” Lucy agrees, folding her arms on the tabletop and resting her head there as she mumbles into her elbow, “If we have to break up one more fight, I’m going to lose it.”
“I thought Ant had a lot of that calmed down,” I muse.
“Oh, he does. Trust me. I cannotwaitto break down this data at our next admin meeting and get a few more kiddos on the program list. They could all benefit from a little mentorship and counseling.”
“Are you taking onallof the counseling?” I ask, doing my best not to beam at the praise she just sent my man’s way.
“My man?” Pull yourself together, Penelope.
“Yes and no. Phyllis and I are splitting a lot of it, but we both have caseload minutes that have to be met. It will suck to lose her next year.”
“Which is why we need to convince Claire to write a grant for a permanent social work position in the building, and apply when they inevitably agree,” Juliet cuts in. “I’ve found four different ones. The district can’t say no.”
“I miss her,” I pout. “We need another girls’ night soon.”
“Yes! Book club meeting?” Juliet perks up. “The boys at home arealsodriving me nuts. Mainly because Masonisdriving, and all he and Sam do is argue about what does and does not constitute a ‘complete stop’ at a four way stop-sign.”
“Back to books—can we dish on the new PJ Layne, or is it under wraps?”
Lucy asks this with both a waggle of her brows and a glance around the work room. It’s vacant aside from us—most people usually eat in their classrooms—but since we’re connected to the main office, she keeps her voice down. Still, at the mention of my pen name, my body warms.
“It’s uh… almost finished. I think I have two more chapters and then the epilogue.”
“Girl, good for you,” Lucy says. “I don’t know how you manage two full time jobs. Do we get any sneak peeks?”
“Umm…”
I hesitate, not because I don’t trust my friends, and not because I don’t want to tell them about my stories. It’s because the closer I get to the ending, the more and more this book is starting to look like a picture of Ant and me with different names. They’ll know the second they crack open the book to its prologue of Finn and Delilah on the beach. They know my story backwards and forwards. It’s just a matter of it being printed on the pages. If I don’t do something soon, my stomach is going to knot itself into an unsalvageable pretzel. Because as good as thisbook is—and it may just be my very best writing to date—I don’t know if I can publish it.
“Just let me know when I can get my hands on the newest,” Juliet demands. “If there’s anything to be said about Finn from the other two books, that man has a dirty mouth in bed.”
“Maybe if I get Aaron to read your books, he’d learn a thing or two,” Lucy snickers.
Our book chat is interrupted when Amanda White, Meadow Ridge’s seventh grade science teacher, walks in with her lunch bag.