Headfirst

Chapter 1

Ivy

“Do I smell like vomit?” I grab the ends of my hair and bring them to my nose trying to decide for myself.

“Ew… I don’t know, come here,” Sophie responds, leaning over to take a reluctant sniff of me.

“No, you’re good,” she assures me, then leans down and opens the refrigerator to grab her sandwich she brought for lunch, making her blonde ponytail fall over her shoulder.

“God, what the hell happened today?” she asks while I trail behind her as she finds an empty table in the teachers’ lounge.

That is an excellent question.

One I ask myself fairly regularly when I climb into my car after school.

What happened during my day isn’t uncommon for a seventh-grade English teacher.

From snarky preteens roasting me and interrogating me on my love life to reminding students to follow basic rules, like using complete sentences or writing their names on their assignments.

However, today was especially atrocious.

It all started when some shithead in second period chucked his guts up all over my classroom just as the bell rang.

His only response? “My bad, Ms. B.” Then he continued onto his next class without a care in the fucking world.

To further paint the picture of the disaster that was today, the janitor was nowhere to be found—meaning yours truly had the pleasure of scrubbing the stomach acid out of the twenty-year-old, sorry excuse of a carpet.

As much as I love the subject, the reading, the writing—I don’t know how much longer I can put up with teaching it.

My parents loved it so much, I just figured I would too, but I guess it didn’t work out that way.

Maybe one day I’ll stop being a chickenshit and actually do what I want with my life, but that won’t exactly bring home the bacon.

Not that being an educator does that either.

Cue my very intense scream into the ether.

“A student in second period exorcism-style projectile vomited next to my desk. I swear I can still smell it. Like it's ingrained in my nostrils,” I tell her as we set our food down and take the seats across from each other.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. That’s awful,” Sophie mutters. “Did Henry come clean it for you?” she asks, opening her bag of chips.

“Nope, after four attempts to radio him, I accepted defeat and took care of it myself. I had to get to it before it really seeped in, you know?” I frown, making a mental note to find Henry and confirm what channel his walkie-talkie is on.

I had to rummage through the maintenance closet for all the cleaning supplies, and honestly, I have no idea if I used the right stuff.

“I mean, I guess.” She cringes.

I second her sentiments wholeheartedly.

Sophie and I met when I started working at Canyon Creek Middle School around two years ago.

I had just moved to town, and didn’t know a single person outside of my landlord.

I had been hired to cover for a teacher on maternity leave and was walking toward my new classroom with my hands full of supplies and a heart full of hope, when I collided with a student sprinting around the corner.

Papers and binders went flying.

The student kept running, completely unbothered.

Sophie witnessed the whole thing and rushed over to help me gather my things, murmuring a quiet, “What a turd.” under her breath.

I threw my head back and cackled, responding with a genuine, “Totally.” Since then, she’s been the best friend I have in town—well, her and Rose, my landlord slash pseudo-grandmother.

I haven’t had much of a chance to make other friends, seeing as most of the teachers are much older than Sophie and I, and teaching over a hundred students eats up all of my free time.

“Good afternoon ladies,” a sharp but familiar voice clips from behind, startling both of us.

I set my sandwich down, and turn in my seat to face Mrs. Abbott.

The petite older woman has always made me nervous.

We stand around the same height when she’s in her stilettos—with me at five foot five, she can’t be more than five feet tall.

Her salt-and-pepper bun is as high and tight as always, and she looks severe, those high, angled cheekbones only adding to her movie villain look.

I wipe the crumbs from the side of my mouth and force out a garbled, “Hello Janet.” through the thick peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Hello, Ms. Bennett. I was hoping I’d catch you here. I need to see you in my office after school, if you have a few minutes to spare,” she says with a judgmental scowl, clearly disapproving of my attempt to talk with my mouth full.

Well you're interrupting my lunch, what did you expect?

My eyes move side to side, slowly scan the teachers’ lounge, noticing the other staff—and Sophie—watching this uncomfortable interaction unashamedly.

“Sure. Yeah, of course,” I reply hesitantly. I have no idea what this could possibly be about, but I want this conversation to be over as soon as possible.

“Great.” She nods once, turning on her heel and hurrying out of the room, her sky-high heels clicking with every step.

I turn back to Sophie, and her wide blue-green eyes are already zeroing in on me.

“Do you think it's a requirement, as principal, to be an uptight twat?” I ask quietly, rolling my eyes.

Every encounter I’ve ever had with Mrs. Abbott has been gruff and severely lacking any niceties. Even during my interview, she was robotic, cold and detached. Luckily, I don’t have to socialize with her much.

“Probably. But what do you think that was about?” Sophie whispers back, clearly more invested in the after-school meeting I just agreed to than in our usual shit talking of our boss, or more accurately, my shit talking of our boss.

Sophie usually just laughs at my antics and nods along to my rants about the woman.

She never has a bad thing to say about anyone.

She’s just inherently good like that, and I love her for it.

“I don't know,” I answer her, worrying my lower lip. “She’s never asked to speak to me privately, and it's not time for reviews… Maybe it’s about the science fair. I know they’re needing help with that,” I wonder aloud, hoping Sophie's forever optimistic attitude will agree with me and put my sudden discomfort to rest.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sophie trails off, not giving me the reassurance I was hoping for.

“That’s got to be it,” I decide, stealing a chip from her.

“Now tell me about Saturday. Did you have sex with James?” I ask, effectively changing the subject.

“Gah! Keep your voice down, Ivy,” Sophie hisses.

I giggle behind the mouth of my water bottle, then oblige, lowering my voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, holding up a placating hand as I lean over the table to close the distance so we can speak more privately.

“So, was it good? Was he good? Did you come? What’s the verdict?

” I ask in rapid succession. I waggle my eyebrows at her and tuck a strand of long, unruly hair behind my ear.

“No, okay? I didn’t. We didn’t,” Sophie sighs, glancing around to make sure no one is paying any attention to our conversation.

“We had one drink,” she says, holding up one finger with an annoyed expression playing across her face.

“He talked a lot about himself and didn’t ask a single question about me.

Then had the gall to say, and I quote, ‘Wanna show me your place?’”

She mimics his question in a stupid, deep voice, using air quotes, then sticks her tongue out and points her finger down her throat in the “gag” gesture.

I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief at the stupidity and lack of self-awareness some men have. I’ve only been on two dates since coming to town, and they weren’t terrible, but they weren’t good either. Absolutely nothing to write home about.

She continues telling me how she pretended to use the restroom, paid her tab, then ditched him at the bar to go home.

Sophie has had her fair share of failed first dates, not that it’s many, considering Canyon Creek is a fairly small town and Sophie was born and raised here.

She’s known most of the people here her whole life, making it nearly impossible for her to date.

James was one of the last age-appropriate, single men in town. Shame he blew it so spectacularly.

Sophie and I catch up on some work drama and gossip about how we’re 99% sure Mr. Lake, the P.E.

teacher, is having an affair with Mrs. Guerrero, the Spanish teacher.

All too soon, the bell sounds, signaling the end of our daily lunch yap session.

We stand, clean up our trash, and head out into the hall to return to our classrooms.

I reach over and discreetly smack her ass. “Bye, love you,” I say before taking a left down the hall toward my room.

“Love you!” she calls out over the noise of children yelling and chatting. “Call me after the meeting!”

I keep walking, picking up the pace to make sure I beat my students to class. My back still to her, I lift my arm in the air, giving her a thumbs-up. Fingers crossed all I’ll have to tell her is that I’m stuck on set-up duty for the science fair.

————

I wrap my knuckles quietly on Mrs. Abbott's office door and take a step back. It looks like the other office staff have already left for the day, so it's just me, waiting outside the closed door of what I like to imagine as a lair.

The rest of my day was uneventful. The three classes after lunch went as expected—loud and chaotic. As hard as I tried to make it otherwise, the prepubescent animals prevailed. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Though, I will say, nothing was worse than the throw-up today.

Small victories.