7. Nalini
Chapter seven
Nalini
“Idon’t understand why you won’t give him a chance,” a student’s grandmother whined on the phone while I tried not to mentally check out of the conversation, “All his other schools expelled him because they refused to give him a chance! I thought you’d be different!”
“Ma’am, I’m trying to give him a chance,” I said to unhearing ears. “He needs to turn in assignments, stay awake in class, and come to tutoring if he’s struggling. I can’t give him a passing grade for showing up. And I know things have been rough…”
“Oh, next you’ll tell me he’s threatening you,” the woman interrupted, and my eyebrows shot up in surprise, “That’s what all these schools say. And he would NEVER do such a thing.” I tucked that nugget of information away, reminding myself to ask admin whether I needed to worry about my safety.
“He’s not, and I wasn’t trying to say that,” I snapped, cutting her off, “but if that’s been a problem multiple schools have reported, don’t you think…”
“Don’t you lecture me on how to be a grandparent!” the old woman yelled, “All you teachers don’t know anything about him!”
Luckily, she hung up on me before I had to figure out how to navigate the rest of the conversation.
I let out a loud groan as I laid my head in my arms. If there was one thing I'd learned from this conversation, it was that this child would try to hurt me if I kept pushing him to turn in his classwork.
And I was going to have to do so much paperwork about his 0% in the class.
I opened up the software we used to document everything, typing a summary of my interaction when the phone rang again.
I groaned louder, certain I was about to get part two of a lecture on how this kid was an angel, and I was the evil monster whose sole purpose in life was to make his life miserable.
Letting out a long breath, I adjusted my face into a smile that brought out my fake teacher voice, “Hi, this is Ms. Rana!”
“Hey, it’s Charley down in the office,” the voice of the school’s receptionist said on the other end of the line. “Did you order something?”
“No?” I asked, my voice going back to its regular tone.
“Well…someone did. For you,” she said, “I need you to come get it. This package is taking up a third of my desk.”
“I’m finishing up; I’ll grab it on my way out,” I said, deciding any other work I had was a tomorrow problem.
I still had parents to call and paperwork to do, but the mystery package had my full attention.
And it was better than having to deal with any more ridiculous conversations.
I'd entered a few contests in hopes of getting class sets of some books, but I felt like I would've been alerted if I’d won. Unless I missed the notification.
Wouldn’t be the first time I missed an email.
I walked into the office and immediately saw the giant package. Charley was right — even with her warning, it somehow took up more of her desk than I'd expected. But even more mysteriously, there wasn’t a return address to give any hints as to what might be inside.
“What do you think it is?” the secretary asked as I attempted to pick it up.
It was heavy, much heavier than I’d expected.
It didn’t shift the way a box of books would’ve, making it even more mysterious.
“Come on, you’re not going to open it? I’ve been staring at it for fifteen minutes!
” Charley exclaimed. I chuckled, putting the box down and using her scissors to cut through the tape.
And there, covered in shreds of tiny paper and a ton of bubble wrap, was a carrying case: one I was sure most wouldn’t recognize.
But I did. It was a typewriter case, the kind secretaries traveled with back in the day.
A piece of paper was taped to the top, and I glanced at it before my face darkened.
Kameron really wouldn’t leave me alone.
“What is it?” Charley asked, “Is it something bad?”
“It’s a typewriter, and it’s complicated,” I said, taking it out of the box. “Sorry it wasn’t a fun mystery.”
“Are you kidding?” Charley asked, throwing the box behind her desk for the janitors, “You got a mystery typewriter that immediately pissed you off. I’m going to be living on this story for days.
Is this an ex? Are they trying to woo you?
” I rolled my eyes as Charley kept yelling out more unhinged theories.
I left, going straight to my car, angry my one clear boundary kept being trampled.
I’d already dialed Kameron’s number by the time I slammed my door shut.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded as soon as I heard his voice.
“Um…” Kameron replied, “Waiting in the school pickup line?” He sounded sincere, and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make a joke. I glared at the line of cars, trying to figure out which one belonged to him. I caught his eyes from across the parking lot, and stared daggers into his soul.
“You know very well that’s not what I meant,” I hissed. “Why did you send me a typewriter? And to my job?”
“Did you read the note?” Kameron asked, “I thought I had…”
“Why am I going to read your note?” I interrupted, “Or give you the time of day? Or even acknowledge you? We aren’t friends anymore! We haven’t been friends for years!”
“I’m trying to apologize!” Kameron said, “I know I should've stopped Jack from writing the song, but…”
“Anything you say before the word ‘but’ doesn’t count, and you know it,” I seethed, “So, keep your terrible apology, and I’ll keep the typewriter. Now, leave me alone!”
I hung up on him before he could say anything else, and I stared at his contact information and debated blocking him.
Once again, I had to ask myself why I hadn’t blocked his number before.
I tried to talk myself into doing it, reminding myself I'd blocked him and his brothers on social media years ago. Why was a phone number so much harder?
My phone buzzed, and immediately a text from Kameron showed up.
I wasn’t sure why “leave me alone” wasn’t enough for him — though I guess he was used to being an entitled rockstar who got whatever he wanted.
And while I couldn’t get myself to block him, I did change his contact name to “The Terminator” since he always kept coming back.
Plus, Kameron would hate it; he’d hated all the Terminator movies when I’d dared him to watch them one summer. It was a tiny little piece of revenge Kameron would never see. But I did, and it made me feel better.
I left the text unread as I drove to yoga.
The extra class wasn’t in my very limited budget, but Misty was the friend I needed for emotional validation.
I loved Peri to death, but she’d be practical about this.
And now was not a time for logic. Plus, yoga had to be something that would make me feel better…
or at least that’s what I told myself as I spread out my mat and ignored the strange looks from my best friend.
I let myself fall into the rhythm of the class, stretching out my stress and breathing out my anger.
I was calmer by the time we finished; my anxiety seemed to melt away over the course of the hour.
It was replaced by my muscles screaming and a desperate need for water, the direct result of not looking at today’s difficulty level before joining.
The rest of the class trickled out as I tried not to think about how sore I was going to be tomorrow when Misty plopped herself at the end of my mat.
“You’re a one-class-a-week girlie, what’s going on that couldn’t wait until I was off work?” Misty asked, her gaze practically infiltrating my soul.
“Kameron sent me a typewriter,” I sighed, glad a lot of what I was feeling didn’t come rushing back now that I was being forced to talk about it.
“What does that even mean?” Misty asked, blinking a few times, “Is this some innuendo you book people use?”
“I mean, he sent a literal typewriter,” I explained, “It’s in my car right now if you don’t believe me.”
“Why?” she asked, her eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.
“He does know most people don’t use typewriters, right?
I don’t think I’ve ever even seen one outside of an old movie.
” I hadn’t realized Misty didn’t know about my old obsession with typewriters, but as I thought back, it suddenly made sense.
She’d moved here the last semester of our senior year, while I was still recovering from everything that happened.
It hadn’t made sense to share a lot about my friendship with Kameron, especially when she’d immediately had my back when it came to some of the RaineFall backlash I was still getting.
“You know I gave up trying to be an author forever ago,” I said, and she nodded in confirmation.
“Kameron doesn’t know that. He apparently thinks I have books in the library and am writing under some secret pen name.
When we were younger, I was obsessed with typewriters.
To the point I insisted when I was an author, I’d always type my first draft out on one. Which I’m assuming is why he got it.”
“So… it’s not a random typewriter,” Misty asked, clearly not really understanding where the conversation was going, “Is this some kind of weird BookTok hookup thing?”
“Ew!” I grimaced, the whole idea of hooking up with Kameron giving me the ick. Though if I were completely honest, the idea of hooking up with anyone gave me the ick. “And no! Even if it was, which again, it is not; I don’t think he'd kn..”
“Kameron broke your heart when you were seventeen,” Misty interrupted with a kind but sad smile.
My eyes widened; I was certain I'd never told her that. Not when it was a secret I swore I’d take to my grave.
Not when everyone cast me as the villain who ruined Jack.
“You’re afraid of him doing it again. Whether it’s romantic or platonic, you’re afraid to put your heart on the line. ”
“How do you know? I never told you about my old crush on Kameron!” I hissed, looking around the room to make sure nobody heard me.
“It was just a theory until right this second. But you were so obvious,” Misty chuckled.
“If this had been anyone else, they would've held the grudge against Jack. But the one you hate the most? Kameron. And not even in a “he let his brother name a breakup song after you” way. Like in a way that was clearly more personal.”
“I do have a grudge against Jack,” I defended, not wanting her to be right. “And if I wanted to be read for filth, I’d be talking to Peri right now.”
“You’re just mad because I’m right,” Misty smugly said, punctuating with her sticking her tongue out at me in the most immature way. “And I’m willing to bet a month’s worth of yoga classes you’re still kind of crushing on him, and that’s why you’re mad he’s back.”
“I am not!” I yelled in a way I knew Misty would take as undeniable proof, “We’re both completely different people from who we were in high school. And he’s married. Or was married. He has a kid. Everything about him screams “off limits.””
“But he’s single,” Misty said with a smirk, “And single dads are hot.”
“I am not going to date Kameron Raine,” I insisted, “Why would I?”
“He got you a typewriter,” my best friend smirked at me, “And for you, that’s super romantic.”
“Ugh. No.” I said, getting up. Or attempting to get up. My legs almost gave out the moment I was standing, and I was starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning. “It’s not happening.”
“Never say never!” I heard Misty call after me, and while I’d hoped talking to her would help, I was starting to think I should’ve gone to Peri. In fact, my emotions were all twisted into a question of whether or not Misty was actually right.
So much for her being my emotional validation friend.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced she didn’t know what she was talking about. I did not want to date Kameron Raine. I did not want to get involved in his drama. And I especially did not trust he’d ever have my best interests at heart.
The typewriter case stared at me from my front seat, and the moment I got home, I shoved it in my closet where I wouldn’t see it. I didn’t want to manage Kameron’s guilt or his apology. I wanted him to leave me alone. And it'd be nice if the universe finally got on board with the memo.