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I blink rapidly as I read the text for a second time. My eyes are burning, and I feel really silly for getting emotional over a text from a stranger.
The message is from the same number that randomly texted me last weekend. It’s been five days, so I assumed the person figured out they had the wrong number when they got no response. I kind of forgot all about it until now.
But this text? This text seems to indicate that the intended recipient is no longer in the sender’s life. Like the sender never expected a response, at all. Like maybe the recipient is…dead.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I swipe it away, thankful I’m alone, and my students are in the cafeteria having lunch.
And now, I feel like an asshole for not responding to let the person know I have this number now. It’s almost like I’m reading a stranger’s diary, or something. I should text them back and let them know before they send something even more personal. My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I try to decide what to say, but before I can type a single letter, a knocking sound has my head jerking up.
I press the button to lock my phone’s screen when I see Royal leaning against the door jamb, that smarmy smirk I hate so much twisting his lips. I take a deep breath and blow it out roughly to make sure he knows how annoyed I am.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Manning?” I ask, then shuffle the papers on my desk to let him know how disinterested I am in whatever it is he has to say.
I can’t help it. The man is a menace, and he grates on my last damn nerve.
“Oh, come on, Callie. Can we please dispense with the formalities? We’ve been working together for years . It’s ridiculous,” he says as he pushes off the door jamb and steps into the room.
He’s right, of course. I call every other staff member at this school by their first name. But I don’t feel the need to keep such a gaping professional distance from any of the other teachers or administrators. Okay, who am I kidding? There’s nothing professional about it. I do it out of spite, plain and simple.
Is that immature? Maybe. Do I care? No. Time to double down.
Standing, I move around my desk and lean a hip against it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head to study him.
“You want me to call you by your first name?” I ask, quirking a brow.
“Yes,” he says.
“Royal.”
“That is my name,” he says, his voice filled with impatience.
“Is there a reason you came in here, Royal ?”
I huff out a quiet laugh followed by a smirk, and he narrows his eyes at me. A tiny voice in my head tells me I should feel bad, making fun of his name like that. I don’t even mean it. The unusual name actually suits him with his thick, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He looks like a prince torn straight from the pages of a God damn fairy tale.
But I’ll never admit that to him.
“Naomi just informed me we got approval for the field trip,” he says, and all the anger and tension rushes right out of me.
“The zoo?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch as I stare at him with wide eyes.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I straighten and close the distance between us until I’m standing directly in front of him. He smiles, his perfect, straight teeth gleaming. His eyes crinkle with delight as he nods.
“We got the zoo.”
I have a sudden urge to hug him, but I manage to stifle the sensation by stiffening my arms and keeping them locked at my sides. But I can’t control the wide smile that stretches across my face. Royal’s gaze drops to my mouth, and his chest expands as he takes a quick, deep breath. Then he shakes his head and blinks before clearing his throat and taking a small step backward.
“Yeah, so, we should carve out some time to start planning the trip. Maybe one day after school next week?”
“Sure,” I say, shuffling backward a few steps. “Sounds good. I’m free all next week, so just let me know what day works for you.”
He cocks his head, one corner of his mouth lifting as he asks, “So, no big dates next week, then? Are you on any of the apps?”
And just like that, I’m back on solid ground.
“Goodbye, Royal.”
He laughs as he walks backward through the door, replying, “Have a nice afternoon, Callie.”
Shaking my head, I stomp back over to my desk and plop down in my chair. The man is incorrigible. And annoying. And ridiculous.
Why am I still thinking about him? Stop it, Callie.
Picking up my phone from where I dropped it when Royal walked in, I unlock the screen and stare at the text message again. I really should text this person back to let them know they’ve got the wrong number.
The sound of dozens of shoes squeaking on the tiled hallway floors rings through the room, and I sigh before locking the phone and tucking it into my desk drawer. My reply will have to wait until later.
The kids start to file in, and I greet them before instructing them to take their seats and pull out their books for some quiet reading. I smile as they follow directions, pulling out worn library books and new store-bought copies of their favorite stories.
I move to the white board to write some math problems, and I barely have the first one done when the shouting starts. Squeals of laughter follow, echoing through the wall to fill my once-quiet classroom. Looking over my shoulder, I see several sets of eyes staring in the direction of the sound while the other students sport wrinkled brows as they attempt to ignore the noise and focus on their reading.
“Damn it, Royal,” I hiss under my breath, then face my class to say in a louder voice, “Keep reading. I’ll be right back.”
Then I swing open the door and march out, making a beeline for Royal Manning’s classroom.