Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
FALLON
"Hey, you want to grab some lunch?" Trish pops her head into my classroom just after the last kids leave.
"Uh, sure," I say, glancing at the clock. "Where at? I just want to make sure I can be back in time for my next class."
"There's a deli just around the corner a few of us like to go to." She steps fully into the room, already pulling her jacket on.
"Okay, yeah." I grab my purse from the bottom desk drawer and walk towards her, butterflies stirring in my stomach. Lunch with colleagues. Such a normal thing. Something I used to do all the time at my old school before Daniel decided I couldn't be trusted around other people.
"Awesome." Trish grins. "I'll introduce you to a few other teachers."
"Sounds good." I follow her down the hall, the fluorescent lights overhead feel bright and exposing after staying home for so long, staying hidden, staying small.
When we reach the end of the corridor, she pushes through the double doors and we step outside into crisp autumn air. A small group waits near the sidewalk—another woman and two men chatting easily.
"She’s coming!" Trish announces like she's presenting a prize, and immediately launches into introductions. "Fallon, this is Abby—she teaches chem—and this is Justin, he's algebra, and that's Carl, he's history."
"Hi," I say to each one, offering a smile that feels rusty from disuse.
Abby's young, maybe mid-twenties, with bright eyes and purple streaks in her blonde hair.
Justin looks fresh out of college, all nervous energy and enthusiasm.
Carl's older, short and stocky with kind eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles back.
"Okay, we need to go so we have time to eat before we need to get back," Trish says, already leading our little group down the sidewalk.
I fall into step beside them, hyperaware of how strange this feels. Walking somewhere without asking permission first. Being around people who don't know anything about my life, my marriage, my carefully constructed prison.
For a vice principal, Trish seems surprisingly relaxed. I remember at my old school the principal and vice principal would never get lunch with the teachers. They didn't really interact with us at all—maintained professional distance, stayed in their offices behind closed doors.
"So how was your first day?" Carl asks as we walk, positioning himself beside me. His voice is warm, genuinely interested.
"It was good," I tell him, choosing my words carefully. "Just a little different than what I was used to."
He chuckles, a rich sound that makes me relax slightly.
"Yeah, these kids are a little harder, but most of them are good kids.
There's just a few you need to watch out for.
" He pauses, then adds, "If you have any trouble or just questions about any students, just ask.
We're neighbors too, if you didn't know. "
"Oh yeah?" Something loosens in my chest at the casual offer of help.
"Yeah, I'm next door to the right as you're facing," he says. "Room 112."
"Oh good. Well, thank you." The gratitude in my voice surprises me with its sincerity.
"No problem." Carl smiles as we round the corner onto a busier street.
"Here we are," Trish announces, leading us toward a small deli with cheerful red awnings and steamed-up windows. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat drifts out as she pulls the door open.
We file inside, and I'm immediately enveloped by warmth and the buzz of lunch-hour conversation.
"What're you getting?" Trish leans closer so I can hear her over the noise.
I scan the menu board quickly. "Turkey and avocado, I think."
"Good choice. Their bread's amazing."
We order and pay, then claim a table near the window. The others join us moments later, carrying sandwiches and drinks. Abby slides into the seat beside me.
"So," she says, unwrapping her lunch, "how're you finding it so far? Culture shock?"
"A little." I take a careful bite of my sandwich, buying time to think. "The students are... different."
Justin laughs. He's younger than Carl, maybe late twenties, with an easy smile. "That's one way to put it. What'd you teach before?"
"AP Lit at a private academy." The words feel strange now, like I'm talking about someone else's life.
"Oh damn." Abby's eyes widen. "Yeah, this is gonna be pretty different. These kids don't exactly come from money."
"Most of them work after school," Carl adds. "You'll notice attendance can be spotty sometimes. They're not lazy—they're supporting families."
I nod, processing that. At my old school, the biggest concern was which Ivy League their parents' donations would secure. Here, kids are probably worrying about keeping the lights on.
"Don't let the tough act fool you though," Trish says.
She's already halfway through her salad.
"They're good kids. Just need someone who actually gives a damn.
" The conversation shifts to other topics—upcoming faculty meetings, budget cuts, someone's terrible parallel parking job this morning.
I participate enough to seem engaged while my mind spins.
"Oh, would you want to tutor after school?" Trish asks as I take the last bite of my sandwich.
"A bunch of us volunteer once a week to stay after and offer tutoring," Justin adds, wiping crumbs from his mouth. His enthusiasm makes him seem even younger than he probably is.
"It's not mandatory," Trish adds quickly, reading something in my expression I didn't mean to show. "And you pick the set day you want."
I swallow, considering. Daniel expects me home by four-thirty most days. But Fridays he usually works late, often doesn't get home until seven or eight. That political networking he's always doing, the fundraisers and donor meetings that keep him in the office past dark.
"Yeah, I don't mind staying late on Fridays," I say, keeping my voice casual even as my pulse kicks up. Two hours where he won't know exactly where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm talking to.
"Perfect." Trish grins. "I'll add you to the schedule for two hours on Fridays and I'll put out the new duty schedule on Monday with you added. It's just like when we have parking or lunch duty and stuff like that."
"Okay, thanks." I nod, already calculating how to frame this to Daniel. School requirement. Professional obligation. Something I can't refuse without drawing attention. "And will that be in the Teams calendar?" I ask.
"Yep." She pulls out her phone, tapping at the screen. "Everything will be in there. Makes it easier to keep track of who's covering what."
"Great." The word comes out steadier than I feel.
"We should head back," Trish says, closing her phone. "Ten minutes till fifth period."
We gather our trash and file back out onto the sidewalk.
The walk back to school feels shorter than the walk here, the afternoon sun warming my face as we retrace our steps.
My sandwich sits heavy in my stomach—nervous energy mixing with the unfamiliar sensation of actual hunger satisfied instead of just eating because I'm supposed to.
Carl falls into step beside me as we approach the building, his presence comfortable rather than intrusive. "If you ever need anything, I meant what I said. I'm right next door. These kids can be a lot sometimes."
"Thank you." I manage a genuine smile. "I appreciate that."
"No problem." He holds the door open as we enter, and I catch Abby and Justin already heading toward the stairwell, deep in conversation about some student they both apparently teach.
Trish pauses in the main hallway. "See you around." She waves and heads in the opposite direction, her heels clicking efficiently against the linoleum.
"I'm going to head to the teachers' lounge," Carl says, checking his watch. "Need to grab some coffee before the afternoon rush. But I'll see you later."
"Okay, see you later." I manage a smile and watch him disappear down the corridor before turning in the opposite direction, my classroom just around the corner at the end of the hall.
The door swings open under my hand and I step inside the empty room, grateful for the brief solitude.
The afternoon light streams through the windows, dust motes dancing in the golden beams. I only have a few minutes before students start filing in, so I cross to my desk and lock my purse into the bottom drawer, hearing the familiar click of the lock.
I tuck my phone deeper into my dress pocket, making sure it's secure.
"You find the right parking lot today?"
The deep voice makes me jump, my hand flying to my chest as my heart slams against my ribs.
I spin around and see Kade walking toward me from the doorway I somehow didn't hear him enter through, all confident swagger.
His black t-shirt stretches across his shoulders, worn soft against lean muscle, and his jeans hang low on his hips above scuffed boots.
He looks older than eighteen. Dangerous.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he says, stopping a few feet away.
Close enough that I can smell something unexpected—masculine but sweet, like spun sugar and amber, warm skin and something darker underneath.
It's the kind of scent that shouldn't work together but does, making my head spin slightly as I try to place it.
I stand up quickly, probably too quickly.
"It's okay. I just wasn't expecting anyone yet.
" My voice comes out breathier than I intended, higher pitched.
I walk over to the board and grab the eraser, focusing on cleaning up the notes from last class with more vigor than necessary.
Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to stop noticing the way he moves, the way he takes up space like he owns it.
"So..." he prompts, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"I'm sorry, what was the question?" Heat creeps up my neck because his presence has me flustered in ways it absolutely shouldn't. I'm twenty-eight years old, a married woman, his teacher for God's sake. I should not be reacting like a nervous teenager to a student's attention.
"I said, did you find the teachers' parking lot today?" He repeats it with a smile that makes something flutter low in my stomach. A sexy smile.
Oh god. No. Not sexy. He's my student. He's definitely not sexy.
Except he is, and pretending otherwise feels like lying to myself in a way I'm already too practiced at.
He walks closer and leans against the board, invading my space in a way that should feel threatening but doesn't. Should make me step back, establish boundaries, do something professional. Instead I stay frozen, eraser clutched in my hand like it might protect me from whatever this is.
"Oh yeah, I did." The admission makes my cheeks burn hotter. "That's a little embarrassing."
A small smile slips free despite myself, genuine and unguarded in a way I haven't smiled in months. The expression makes his smile grow wider, more genuine, transforming his face from handsome to absolutely devastating.
"Nah, it's understandable. It's a big school." He shifts his weight, arms crossing over his chest. The movement pulls his shirt tighter, and I can see the defined muscles underneath it. "But I did think you were a student."
My hand stills on the board.
"I was going to hit on you the next time I saw you."
Oh god. Why is he telling me this? The words hang in the air like something tangible, something I could reach out and touch if I were brave enough. Stupid enough. He knows I'm his teacher now, and he's speaking to me like I'm not. Like there's no line between us that shouldn't be crossed.
"Well, I thought you were a teacher. A young one, but you don't look young enough to be a student.
" The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I mentally scream at myself.
Why am I keeping this going? Why am I not shutting this down with the firm professionalism any competent teacher would employ?
I need to end this conversation. Now. But my mouth keeps moving, betraying me.
"Yeah, well, I'm wise beyond my years." Another smile, this one carrying something darker, more knowing. Like he can see right through my careful professional mask to the woman underneath who hasn't been looked at like this—like she's desirable, worthy of pursuit—in longer than she can remember.
A couple of students walk in and take their seats in the back, their chatter breaking whatever strange spell has settled between us. The sound of backpacks hitting the floor, chairs scraping, normal teenage conversation about weekend plans feels like a bucket of cold water.
"Well, I should get to my seat." Kade pushes off from the board with fluid grace.
I turn back to face the board, eraser in hand like a shield, my heart still hammering. "Yes, you should."
More students filter in now—the warning bell must have rung without me noticing. I hear them settling into their seats, pulling out notebooks, the ordinary sounds of a class period beginning.
"Oh." Kade says.
I look back at him over my shoulder. He's turned around, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that steals my breath, makes my knees weak.
The classroom has filled around us—maybe fifteen students now—but his focus is entirely, devastatingly on me.
Like we're the only two people in the room.
Like nothing else exists except this moment, this connection I shouldn't want and definitely shouldn't acknowledge.
"You look sexy today."
The words hit me like a physical touch, making heat pool low in my belly despite every rational thought screaming that this is wrong, inappropriate, crossing every line that exists between teacher and student.
Then he turns and walks back to his desk in the first row, settling into his chair with that same easy confidence, leaving me standing there stunned at the front of the classroom, the eraser falling from my numb fingers to clatter against the floor.
The sound echoes too loud in the sudden silence—or maybe it's just that my ears are ringing, my face burning so hot I'm surprised the students in the front row don't comment on it.
I bend to retrieve the eraser, using the moment to hide my flushed cheeks, to try to gather the professional composure that seems to have abandoned me completely.
When I straighten, Kade is watching me with those intense eyes, his expression unreadable now except for the slight curve of his lips. Like he knows exactly what his words did to me. Like he can see the way my hands are shaking as I set the eraser back on the metal tray beneath the board.
I clear my throat, gripping my class roster like a lifeline, willing my voice to come out steady and teacher-like instead of breathy and affected.
"Alright, everyone settle down. Let's get started."