35. Teacher Vibes
thirty-five
Teacher Vibes
Onyx: 2024
S imple things are the most confusing. You walk into a room, hit a switch, and the light comes on. Simplicity at its finest. Right?
You stare at a scowling jackass, wondering about some random question thrown into the universe by your sperm donor. And suddenly, nothing makes sense. Sweat gathers in places it shouldn’t, and your chest feels funny.
Where’s the switch to turn that shit off?
His name lights up the screen on my dash a second before the ringing fills the Jeep, giving me an eye twitch.
“What?” I answer tiredly.
“What part of stay put sounds like bolt?” he growls angrily into the phone.
Rolling my twitchy eye hard enough, it feels like I burst a vessel. “I’m sure I heard play —”
“Don’t fuck with me, Onyx,” he warns. “I told you I had to meet Zeke and to stay put. Where are you going?” he grits.
“How can I fuck with you if you keep leaving?” I question sweetly.
There’s a long pause, and the silence echoes in the Jeep, forcing me to check the display to see if I’ve lost the call.
Finally, he clears his throat, and I realize my question has thrown him sideways.
“Onyx…”
“Ugh, fine. I’ve got a stupid assignment I have to work on. I’m going to the library,” I huff, letting him off the hook I’ve stabbed him with.
“Really?” he questions disbelievingly.
“Because I couldn’t come up with something better,” I retort.
“Whatever. You’ve got until eight p.m. I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Awww, our first date,” I mock, hiding the butterflies bashing at my insides.
“I’ll pick you up. Don’t make me chase you,” he warns before ending the call.
As if I don’t already have enough shit distracting me. Please add another layer to the garbage cake I’ve been picking through all day.
The gate moves slower than a snail, leaving me what seems like hours to stare off into space, gaining nothing but more confusion and annoyance.
Today sucks assholes!
Cars litter the parking lot, reminding me there are athletes who want to hang around after school hours.
I’m surprised to find Mr. Brickman leaning against the row of senior lockers, scrolling on his phone. It’s amazing how easily he could be mistaken for a student.
His head pops up at the sound of my footsteps. “Hey, you made it,” he greets me, smiling as he shoves his phone in his pocket. “I grabbed us a table in the back,” he tells me, leading me into the library.
We take our seats, and my eyes instantly begin to scan the rows of books around us. I notice he’s chosen a spot in the horror section.
Slowly, I shake off my nerves, busying myself with pulling my stuff out of my bag. “Gotta say, it’s odd interviewing a teacher,” I confess jokingly, hoping to break the weird atmosphere clustered around us.
He tilts his head, lacing his hands calmly on the table. “Why? Teachers are people, too.”
“Not usually people I want to get to know.”
A smile slips over his plump lips. “But I’m different?”
Embarrassment heats my skin when I realize what I’ve said. “Mmhmm.” Fidgeting with my pen, avoiding him.
“Different, good or bad?” he asks, brows raised.
Releasing a breath. “I’m gonna act right and not answer that,” I tell him, opening my notebook. “Anyways, where’s this hill you’re from in West Virginia?” I ask, hiding the nerves from my voice.
“Devil Ridge,” he answers quickly.
For a teacher, he smells amazing.
Noticing he’s not going to elaborate. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” he answers easily, resting his head on his fist.
Wow, I’d have guessed twenty-five. He looks…
Quickly, I stop my racing thoughts. “Is there a Mrs. Brickman?” my voice cracks, setting my cheeks on fire.
“No,” he answers, straightening in his seat.
“Wait, is that a tattoo?” I ask, genuinely interested in seeing his choice of ink.
He tugs his sleeve, pulling it down to his wrist to cover his forearm. “Next,” he says, lacing his hands.
Now, I really want to know what he literally has hidden up his sleeve. I start to doodle on my paper, thinking about what to ask next to get us back on track.
“My turn,” he says. “What’s with you and Carver? I thought he and Graves were a done deal?” he asks.
My eyes snap up to meet his. “Vex and I have known each other our whole lives.” I shrug.
Mr. B nods slowly. “Right. He’s kind of an —”
“Asshol…” my voice dies off, and I bite my lip.
“Exactly,” he agrees, chuckling at my shocked face. “That’s off the record.” He winks.
Am I losing my mind, or is he for real?
“For a newbie, it sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I tell him, allowing myself to loosen up a little.
He shakes his head. “I’d say it’s more that we don’t jive well.” He must notice my confusion. “Carver hates me,” he clarifies jokingly.
“Why?”
Another smile fills his lips. “My guess, is because I’m not impressed by him, or his precious money,” he whispers.
Why does it feel like we’re sharing intimate secrets?
“But…” he starts again, getting my full attention. “It doesn’t seem like you are either.”
I can’t help but giggle at his raised brows. “Nope, Vex doesn’t scare me,” I confirm.
Until recently.
Shut up, I’m not scared. Just worried about his choice-making skills.
“And elevators?” he teases.
“Moving metal boxes are different,” I joke.
“Just moving ones?”
“Fine. Moving or still, small spaces are weird,” I admit.
“Agreed.” He smiles, watching me across the table.
His phone starts to vibrate, and he silences it after glancing at the screen. Our eyes meet momentarily, then his brows dip, and he swallows hard, debating something.
Before either of us can speak, it starts vibrating again. “I’m sorry. If I don’t answer, he’s just going to blow me up.”
Leaning back in my chair. “It’s fine,” I assure him, totally relating.
Quickly swiping his screen before raising the phone. “Hey, Ollie,” he answers. “I’m with a student,” I hear him say before he peeks over at me.
I rush to turn my head, pretending I’m not listening to everything he says. Suddenly, the titles of the horror books surrounding us become very interesting.
“It’s all good. Calm down. Hold on.” He stands. “I’ll be right back,” he informs me, waiting until I nod.
He’s gone long enough for me to doodle a little and check the time on my phone.
“Sorry about the interruption. Could we maybe finish this tomorrow?” he asks after sitting down.
“Um… tomorrow’s Saturday.”
He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Oh, right.” Looking embarrassed.
“No, I just mean —”
“Over coffee?” he blurts, cutting me off.
Gathering my stuff, trying to avoid seeing him. “I’ll have to check —”
“We could exchange numbers. If you’re free, you could text me. I just feel horrible that I’m the reason you can’t work on your paper.” Rubbing his forehead again. “Maybe I should allow you to pick someone else. This way —”
“It’s fine. Really, you aren’t holding me up. I don’t need to switch. I’m down to give you my number,” I mumble.
He swipes his phone and enters my number. “That’s me.” He nods when my phone vibrates.
“Got it,” I answer distractedly, shoving my notebook into my bag.
“I’ll walk you out.” He stands, waiting for me to follow him.