5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
A s soon as I walk into my classroom, I notice the brand new Smart Board taking up half the wall behind my desk. When did the school approve this purchase? A glossy red bow is taped to the corner of the screen with a note attached. The handwriting looks suspiciously like the only billionaire’s I know.
Chris . . . what did you do?
A throat clears and I pivot, surprised I’m not alone. I was so absorbed with the electronic that I didn’t notice Robbie Maiser, one of my returning sophomores, sitting in the first desk. His cheeks are more hollowed than the last time I saw him, and a pungent smell of body odor reeks from his direction, so strong that my eyes start to water.
“Hey, Mr. B.”
My heart breaks at the defeated way he says my name. Robbie won’t even look at me. Asking for handouts always takes a hit on your pride. I should know. But he doesn’t know that I’ve been in his shoes before.
I shut the door to my classroom, giving him the privacy he needs, and slip into the desk beside him. “Hey, Robbie. How was your summer?”
He swallows. “Hard. I juggled two jobs and babysat my brothers in my free time. School is chill in comparison.”
“Is your mom still driving the city bus in Golden?”
“Nah. She’s selling some protein shakes online. They’re vomit inducing, but it’s better than nothing, you know?” He forces a laugh and averts his eyes.
His mom’s viper-like temper has lost her too many jobs to count. Even when I called in a favor with the school and landed her a custodial job, she couldn’t handle her supervisor’s constructive criticism without throwing a tantrum. But while she struggles for employment, poor Robbie bears the weight of everything at home.
This is the hardest part of my job. Knowing the difficulties these students face on a daily basis but not being able to do more for them.
“You know I’m always here for you—even in the summertime. Next time call me. The church always has donation boxes if you’re in a pinch.”
Robbie nods, his attention more on the invisible pattern he’s scratching into the desk. “We have the basics. It’s just that my two younger brothers eat about as much as me now. I give most of what we have to them.”
“I understand.” I ball my hands into fists under the desk and release them slowly. It’s the best I can do to hide my frustration as I calmly say, “So, you are looking for some items?”
He nods again, still not meeting my eyes.
I pull down the bin on top of my textbook cabinet, the one I keep stocked year-round, and let him peruse it. He grabs basic hygiene supplies and a handful of granola bars.
“Um...” I put a hand on his arm to stop him before he puts the deodorant in his bag. What’s the nicest way I can word this? “Go ahead and put a little of that on before you put it away.”
“Oh, good call, Mr. B.”
“You won’t be attracting Kiera smelling like you do.” I wink, remembering his red-headed crush from last year.
“Pfft. Kiera be print and I’m going digital. Belle be dazzlin’ now.”
What-the-what? Digital? Dazzlin’? I shake my head. Trying to keep up with their lingo is a full-time job.
“I think I translated what you said, but you know the rules. You gotta speak ‘old school’ in my classroom.”
“Real deal.”
I raise a brow.
“Yes, sir,” he amends.
“Much better. Now take what you need and leave the rest for the others.”
“Real—yes, sir.”
He digs back into the bin, grabbing more snacks. I return to my desk, giving the boy some privacy. My fists uncurl as suppressed memories of my past, of being in Robbie’s shoes, spring from the mental vault I’d locked them in. Being a mountain town, the population ranged from billionaires to welfare. It’s hard to have such a mix. The struggling kids never want to speak up, hoping to fit in.
I remember what that was like. I remember being the weird, skinny geek with the intoxicated mother everyone joked about. It was my motivation to make something of myself, but somehow, I still ended up back here in Rocosa.
“Thanks for all the help, Mr. B,” Robbie says, hiking up his backpack strap on one shoulder. “You da prez, real deal.” He’s joking, but his eyes are unexpectedly misty.
Or maybe God placed me right where I’m needed most?
“Thanks.” I smile as he heads back into the hall, munching on his granola bar.
With a sigh, I turn back to the ginormous Smart Board behind me. Things like numbers and facts come easily to me, but sometimes learning new electronics... does not. I brace myself for the painful learning curve I’m facing with only minutes before school starts.
I’ve managed to get my syllabus up on the screen, though it’s zoomed in too closely, when the first bell chimes and students funnel into my classroom.
“Mr. B,” a few of them shout.
After a few seconds, the sound spikes to a painful decibel that rattles my skull.
“Class,” I say with my stern teacher’s voice and point down. “Noise level needs to go dooown. The louder you are, the more I feel like giving you homework next period. Remember that...”
A few of them grumble, mostly the new kids. My usual students know I mean business, leaning in to whisper with their friends before the second bell rings and homeroom starts. Since it’s a small school, their homeroom and first period are the same class. So I always let them catch up with their friends—quietly—or work on homework before first period starts. But since it’s the first day, I have to give them all the mandatory spiel even if they’ve heard it before.
“All right, let’s see if I can work this thing.” I pick up a stylus and write my name on the screen just as the second bell rings. Instant relief hits me when my chicken-scratch print appears over the syllabus. “Quiet, everyone. Let me start with introductions for the new students. I’m Mr. Brooks, your homeroom and Geometry teacher.”
“Or as we like to call him, Mr. B,” Drake shouts from the back row.
I chuckle. “Yes, I’ll answer to Mr. Brooks and Mr. B, but no ‘Prez,’ ‘Bruh,’ ‘Bro,’ ‘My boy,’ ‘Teach,’ etc. I have a firm rule that while you’re in my class, we only speak ‘old school.’ Aka, standard English.”
I open my mouth to continue when a new student blurts out a question.
“What about ‘Wheels’? I’ve seen your sweet ride. It’s siiick. If that’s what teachers can afford, sign me up.”
The new kid holds out a fist for Robbie to bump in agreement, but he ignores it. Robbie knows it’s not worth it to rile me up.
My brain sorts through the attendance list, searching for this kid’s name, and stops at Evan Mortan. His father recently inherited a few million and is investing in the new luxury resort and time-shares in the mountains just north of us.
Sometimes these big-city kids struggle to transition to small-town life.
“Okay, let’s return to basic math.” I hold up two fingers. “There are only two options I allow. One, Mr. Brooks—my personal favorite. Two, Mr. B. Anything besides that will earn you extra assignments for disrespect.” I hold the boy’s stare for a moment so he knows I mean business before adding, “But thank you for the compliment, Evan. It is a sweet ride.”
A chuckle ripples across the classroom, as most of them have seen me driving around Rocosa at some point or another. A soft sigh catches me off guard, and I notice Rianna staring at me from the front row, blinking up at me in adoration. I cough uncomfortably and move back to the Smart Board. It seems that the summer break didn’t cure her of her crush.
“Ahem. Back to the syllabus: attendance. First and foremost, I expect everyone to be seated before the second bell rings.”
A double tap sounds on the doorframe, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at another interruption. At this rate, we’ll never get through this syllabus. I pivot toward the door and lock eyes with the curvy woman from yesterday. My brain fizzles, melting my words into goop. My brain then goes rogue, flashing every sensory detail from our motorcycle ride together.
“Hi,” Maya says, her tiny book earrings swaying distractingly.
“Hi,” I mumble as my brain continues to malfunction.
“Hi,” the class repeats in a singsong voice behind me—almost as if they had practiced it.
A soft rose blush spreads over her cheekbones at the attention. She lifts a few fingers in a breezy wave and steps inside. “Sorry to bother you during class. I was just going to give you this and rush out.”
It’s only then that I notice the square container in her hands. I blink at it, even more confused. She brought me food?
She clears her throat and takes another nervous step closer. “I hope you don’t have any dietary restrictions or allergies. I’m not a fan of nuts in my desserts, so I didn’t add any.”
“No nuts,” I repeat like an idiot. Her blush only increases, highlighting her cheekbones and smooth skin. I bet it’s as soft as it looks.
“Yes, it’s a thank-you gift for, um, saving me last night.” She fidgets and shoves the red-topped bin at me until I take it. “I couldn’t decide what to make, cookies or pie, but then I thought, why not both?”
“Both?” The word crackles from my lips like dry air pushed through a broken vent. I pull at the collar of my polo as the temperature in the room steadily rises.
Her smile stretches across her face, so beautiful and genuine. I’m not sure how long I stand there admiring it before she speaks again.
“See for yourself. Open it.”
“Oh, right,” I whisper, struggling to open the latches on the container one-handed.
Finally, I crack the lid open, and the sweet, sugary aroma drifts up and instantly makes my mouth water. A dozen sugar cookies rest in the container, all of them iced with mathematical pi symbols in blue frosting. The corner of my mouth curls up at her sense of humor. It’s perfect.
I must have said that last part out loud, because she sighs with relief.
“Good, good. And thank you for letting me stop in for a few minutes,” she says.
When I look up, I realize her last comment is directed to the class. And not only that, we have their undivided attention. It’s so quiet that I could hear a pencil drop in the east wing. “So, you guys can be quiet. Who knew?”
A hand shoots up, shaking wildly for my attention. I can count on one hand in the three years I’ve taught here the times that I’ve seen Robbie willingly raise his hand.
Two more hands shoot into the air after him.
I point at him with my chin.
“What’s in the container? Are you going to share with everyone? You always say you can’t bring a snack unless you share it with the class.” He grins, knowing I’m a stickler for rules.
A murmur of approval ripples down the aisles. Ava in the front row is practically leaning out of her desk for a closer look inside the bin.
Their curious stares have my arms curling protectively around my gift. I snap the lid back on with a sense of finality and place it on the tall stack of math textbooks on my desk.
“Certain rules don’t apply to teachers.” I point to a brown-haired girl with glasses still holding up her hand for attention. Jeez, more questions? “Yes, Bree?”
“Is that woman new to school? I’ve never seen her before.”
“A new teacher?” Ava suggests from next to her.
“Nah. Didn’t you see? She had a visitor badge.”
Another loud wave of chatter erupts as they all argue their guesses.
“Quiet down. We are not discussing this,” I announce, holding up my hands in hopes of reining everyone away from this topic.
Another hand is still waving patiently in the air. “Kiera?”
“Your ‘friend’ left.”
What? My head whips to the door. And just like yesterday, Maya is gone.
“Ava, you’re in charge. Keep reading the syllabus until I get back.” Then I bolt from the room before I change my mind. Spotting the red fabric of her dress swishing down the hall toward the east wing, I rush past the open classrooms in pursuit.
An irrational panic brews in my chest and fuels me into a sprint. If I’m not fast enough, she might disappear again, and this time, I might lose her for good.
Thankfully, Maya turns at the clomping of my dress shoes, her brown eyes wide at my approach. I skid to a stop in front of her... and realize I have no idea what to say again.