Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Welcome back to another school year, Sherman Oaks Private. This is Principal Hutchinson, peace out.” I release the intercom and spin around in a standard swivel chair in my office. I am fucking beaming.
Connie, our administrative assistant, stands next to me with a stack of papers, waiting for me to sign off on a new curriculum with a focus on mindset, well-being, and psychological safety.
My signature dances across the page, proud.
“The removalists will be here shortly,” Connie says, grimacing as she takes in the walls of participation awards. “But I took the liberty of fixing this one.”
She hands me my Best Chemistry Teacher award plaque with Principal Holland’s name hacked off.
“Thank you, Connie,” I say, smiling. She and I are going to get along just fine.
The school bell rings and I stand up. “See you tomorrow.”
I bolt out of the office, across the yard, and take up residence at the entrance gate. I might be the principal now, but I sure as shit am going to ask Aaron how Advanced Chemistry is going.
“Principal!” I turn toward the sound of the unmistakable teasing of my favorite class clown, Jonah. “So that’s why you were called into the office at the end of last year?”
I point at Jonah as he approaches.
“Ms. Hutchinson,” a female voice interrupts us. I swing my gaze to find myself face-to-face with a middle-aged woman who bears some resemblance to Jonah.
“Mom,” Jonah scoffs. “It’s Principal Hutchinson now.”
She nods. “I’m sorry, Principal Hutchinson.”
“Please, call me Ashleigh.”
“Can I call you Ashleigh?” Jonah says, interrupting.
“It’s Principal Ashleigh to you,” I retort, my eyes crinkling.
“I wanted to thank you. You’ll likely agree that Jonah is unique,” she says, and I already appreciate his mom’s choice of word. Not bad. Not difficult. Not disruptive. Unique. “But with your guidance and support, Jonah isn’t just excelling at chemistry. His grades are up across the board.”
“Jonah’s a natural-born leader,” I say, as warm as the afternoon sun.
Jonah’s mom’s eyes shine at this, like it’s the first time someone other than herself has come to bat for her kid. And I couldn’t be prouder that Sherman Oaks Private does that for Jonah. And not just him. Every kid that goes here.
“Keep up your grades, and the world’s your oyster,” I say to Jonah.
“I don’t like oysters, Miss,” Jonah says, before a wayward soccer ball meets his boot.
“It’s an idiom. You’ll learn about it with Ms. Emily in English,” I call out but he’s off. Playing. Being a kid.
I turn to his mother. “Seriously, you’ve got nothing to worry about with Jonah. He’s doing just fine.”
Thirty minutes later and with a final sweep of the now empty school, I cross through the gates and round the corner.
“Principal Hutchinson,” a low, deep voice calls behind me. I know that voice. I love that voice. I spin around and that’s when I see him.
Xander. Twenty feet away. In his corporate suit.
I’d be a dumbass if I didn’t attempt to stop time for a minute just to take him in—his crisp white shirt rolled up his thick forearms. His dress pants pulling on his thighs.
“How’d it go?” he says, referring to the new curriculum. Fifteen feet away.
When I was asked by the school board what I’d do differently, besides teaching them how to make green fire for the Wicked-themed Halloweens or including simple syrup on the exam—you know, two very important life skills—I knew we needed to start helping these kids feel safe.
“We’re taking it to the school district next week,” I say.
“My girl, making a difference,” he says, excited. Hearing him call me his girl gets me every time. Ten feet away.
He unconsciously ruffles his hair to shake off the day. The whole vision reminds me of what he looks like post-sex.
He catches me blatantly perving on him, and a smile creeps across my face. This makes him smile, and we’re smiling at each other like a pair of dickheads who can’t stop smiling. Xander smiling is a brilliant sight. The eighth wonder of the world. Ancient and modern combined. Five feet away.
Xander closes the last of the distance in a few steps and then he’s cupping my face, kissing me deeply. “I fucking love you and your brilliant mind,” Xander says into my mouth.
“And my body,” I say.
“Mostly your body,” Xander says, kissing my neck. I melt.
“Wait, what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping at your place tonight?” I say, breathless as he sucks on the sensitive spot on my collarbone. I berate myself for even asking. Who cares? He’s here. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in, feeling the hard lines of his body.
“Can’t sleep,” he says, winking. “Stay awake with me?”
Flirty Xander does things to my body that give teenagers with raging hormones a run for their money.
“And let Dr. Waitley down?” I say, fake indignant.
He looks down at me from behind his curls. The curls that could end wars. Who am I to deny the curls? Of course I will stay up with him.
I’ll stay up with him for the rest of my life.