Chapter 6 #2
I open my desk drawer and take out my phone, which I stashed in there during lunchtime in an effort to avoid checking it compulsively. I have a few texts in response to my inquiry about Jonathan.
Nora:
I left before the other three, so I don’t know how his night ended
Phoebe:
His location was somewhere that I didn’t recognize
Nora:
I dread the day he realizes his location is on. I’m not sure how much help Meg will be
By the time I left she was horizontal in the booth
Alex:
He walked out at the same time as us
I figured he was just going home
Meg:
Phoebe, do you still have that vet friend?
And do you think she’d feel comfortable making a house call to put me down
Phoebe:
How about you try drinking a gatorade first
And then if that doesn’t work I can text the vet about euthanasia
So, Jonathan’s night remains a mystery.
I resist the urge to text him and hound him about his whereabouts by busying myself with pulling supplies out of my bag, along with the still unlaminated list. I have tasks to add now that Finn is in the mix, including but not limited to: Flirt with Finn and Get Finn to buy me a drink.
I start crafting my new and improved list on a fresh piece of paper, transferring all the old tasks over and adding some new ones. I’m just about done, but my hand freezes when it comes time to transfer Go on a date with Matthew.
Does it even make sense to keep this one?
Between the anxious knot that formed in my stomach this morning when I remembered the text I sent, and the fact that it still remains unanswered, I’m not sure.
After careful deliberation, I decide to add it to the new list under Advertise myself on Craigslist, truly as a last resort, and really only because it evens out the number of tasks and fills out the page nicely.
Holding the list close to my chest, I do everything in my power to avoid Teacher Rob as I make my way over to the teachers’ lounge.
Shannon doesn’t look up from her desk when I open the front door of the Stone Building, and I don’t go out of my way to bother with a hello.
I walk past her in silence and slip into the teachers’ lounge, making myself a quick cup of tea while I wait for the laminator to warm up.
The couch that likely doubles as Teacher Rob’s bed is less than comfortable, but I situate myself on it anyway while sipping my drink and reading an email from my mom that should have been a text.
Mom:
Can you send the band Jamie’s updated playlist?
And send the makeup artist an updated head count?
Sent from my iPhone
I roll my eyes, considering that both these requests technically fall under the umbrella of her responsibility.
When Jamie asked me to be her maid of honor, I practically went blind with excitement at the thought of all the organizing and planning that would go into the preparations.
I was twenty-four pages into a single-spaced proposed wedding agenda, in the middle of brainstorming vegetarian meal options, when my mom called.
“This is a lot of work, Phoebe,” she had said. “Let me handle a few things.”
My mother chronically underestimates me. Convinced that my anxiety renders me completely incapable of performing simple tasks, she insisted on taking on some of the wedding planning duties.
As it always is with my mother, I found it easier to acquiesce than to argue.
I surrendered some of the more logistical planning to her, like hiring the band, makeup artist, and other necessary staff, while I kept the more organizational and aesthetic tasks for myself, like seating charts and flower arrangements.
“We’ll make a good team,” she had said. “And this way, you have more time to focus on your work. And therapy. And maybe even finding a date.”
Jamie doesn’t seem to care who does what, as long as she marries Ethan at the end of the day.
The laminator is warm enough by now, and I feed it my list at exactly the same moment the door behind me opens. I was so focused on avoiding Teacher Rob that I hadn’t even considered who else could be wandering the halls of the Stone Building.
I can feel my palms dampening on impact as my fists instinctively clench at my sides.
“Phoebe!” Finn says, and though I’m entirely paranoid that he’ll catch me in the act of list making, I can’t help but let myself revel in the way my name sounds when it’s coming out of his mouth. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
His button-down shirt is gone, leaving him in the white tee, which exposes his tan arms and broad shoulders. His hair is mussed and his shirt is only half tucked in, and he looks disheveled in a way that might have me slightly concerned if it wasn’t so hot.
“Thanks again for the pencils; I was just headed your way to bring them back.”
His steps are sluggish as he makes his way across the room to me, and I impulsively race to meet him in the middle.
From behind me, I can hear my updated list popping out of the machine, on full display.
I take the pencils from his grasp, and when our fingers touch, a shiver shoots through me. I pull my hand away reflexively.
“Anytime. And we have loads of other art supplies if you ever need any. Our classroom is your classroom.”
I begin walking backward, creeping slowly toward my list.
“Aw man, thanks, Phoebe. You’re the best.”
Phoebe. The way he says my name scratches an itch I didn’t know I had, but I don’t have much time to fixate on that considering he’s currently stepping around me to get to the laminator. I beat him to it and snatch up my latest project before he gets his eyes on it.
“Sorry, I just wanted to get my stuff out of your way,” I tell him while positioning the list behind my back as casually as possible.
His body is inches from mine as he hovers over me, looking down at me curiously as I stand between him and the machine.
If I wasn’t so focused on getting the list as far away from him as possible, I think my knees would have given out by now.
“All yours now.”
I smile sweetly as I slip out from under him.
He smiles back. “Thanks.”
The second he looks away to feed a sheet of multiplication practice into the machine, I begin my internal debate: Stay and talk to Finn, or make a run for it?
I make a snap decision and shove the list down the back of my skort.
I bite my tongue to keep from screeching as one of the sharp corners of the lamination slices my flesh. My vision begins to swim.
Focus.
I slouch slightly and cross my arms, my best impression of a girl who doesn’t have a “how to lose your virginity” checklist jammed down the back of her underwear.
“Did you have a good first day?” Based on his appearance, I already know what type of answer to expect.
He puts his hand on the back of his neck and looks around the room sheepishly.
“Uhh…” He sighs. “Not really. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“None of us know what we’re doing,” I respond, trying not to appear overexcited that he’s choosing me to confide in.
“You do,” he says without hesitating, and his voice is tinged with a mixture of firmness and kindness.
Before I can interject, he continues. “Me, on the other hand…I was hit with close to twenty paper airplanes today. Hence me laminating all our handouts from now on. And one of the kids won’t stop calling me Teacher Fart. ”
I let out a laugh.
He’s funny. And surprisingly easy to talk to.
He laughs back, and his eyes crinkle a little at the sides as he does.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “On my first day of teaching, I got diarrheaed on twice. By two separate kids. I had an extra set of clothes to change into after the first incident, but the second incident left me with no option besides Shannon’s winter coat. It was ninety degrees outside.”
I immediately regret my use of the word diarrheaed in our first one-on-one conversation, but he tips his head back and laughs, which encourages me to keep going.
“It gets easier,” I say. “I promise. Just remember that you’re their teacher, not their friend. I know how tempting it is to be the cool young teacher, but that’s how the paper airplane fights get started.”
He takes a deep breath. “I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear, Phoebe.
Thank you, you’re amazing. And if there’s anything I can help you with, like…
” He looks me up and down and I go completely still, hoping he doesn’t notice that all the hairs on my arms are raised.
“Reaching something”—he smirks—“I’m your guy. ”
“I might actually take you up on that.” He has no idea how many times Cheryl and I have needed to stack tables and chairs on top of each other to get to things.
I’m already thinking of all the things I can pretend I need him to reach for tomorrow.
“You know where to find me.”
For the first time in maybe ever, I’m anxious to keep the conversation going.
“Did you get the memo from Principal Dan? About Book Buddies?” I ask.
“Yes!” He seems genuinely thrilled. “He did that on purpose, you know.”
“Did what?”
“Put me with you. He said that since I’m new, he’d pair me with his strongest teacher. That’s you.”
Oh.
“I’m sure he was talking about Cheryl.” I balk. “Cheryl’s an amazing teacher. And she’s been here much longer than I have.”
“I think he was talking about you, Phoebe.”
He hasn’t stopped smiling since I brought up the diarrhea incident, and neither have I. My cheeks hurt.
A sharp pain coming from the inside of my skort reminds me that I have half the list pressing against my bare ass and the other half sticking out of the top of my underwear, where Finn could easily see it if he finds himself on the wrong side of me.
I start to back away slowly, not wanting to push my luck.
“Well, I’ve gotta run. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.”
He nods as I walk backward to the door.
I allow myself one last look at Finn before I make my exit, and I notice his eyes are fixed on my legs. His face is red.
“Um—um,” he stutters, flustered.
Is he…checking me out? Could it be possible that my new ThighMaster is already producing results? The Instagram ad did promise that my satisfaction would be guaranteed, or my money back.
And Nora’s always said that I should show off my legs more.
His eyes linger on my legs for another second before he chokes out, “Bye, Phoebe. See you tomorrow.”
He is checking me out.
My self-confidence surges, and I subtly position one leg out in front of me and, ever so slightly, flex.
“Bye, Finn,” I whisper, casting my eyes slightly downward as seductively as possible.
I let out a sigh of relief when I make it to the other side of the door, and once I finally get to a secure area, I remove the list from my skort.
“Teacher Phoebe!” I turn around to see two of my former students, twins Violet and Rose, barreling toward me.
“Girls!” I open my arms wide and they knock me back with the force of their hugs. “Don’t tell me.” I give them a quick once-over. “Sixth grade?”
“Seventh!” they chime at the same time.
I clutch my heart. “That can’t be possible.” Violet and Rose were part of my first class.
“That would make me…” I feign an expression of horror. “Almost thirty,” I whisper.
We laugh, and I ask them about their first day, which they describe to me with detailed enthusiasm.
“Well, I’ve gotta run, but come visit me and Teacher Cheryl soon.”
We hug goodbye, and I turn toward the door.
“Uh, Teacher Phoebe,” says one of the girls. I look back.
“You have period on your leg,” Rose whispers.
I look at the back of my leg and, sure enough, a trail of dried blood runs from the hem of my skort to the middle of my thigh. My hand shoots reflexively to the cut on my butt.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
I pause, staring at the girls in silence, unsure of what to say.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I finally tell them while doing my best not to look mortified. I wouldn’t want them thinking periods are anything to be ashamed of.
Shannon and the outside garden are nothing but a blur as I whiz past them and race to my car.
It’s only once I’ve reached the safety of the front seat that I give myself a second to process everything that just happened.
I’m feeling so many things at once: embarrassment, pride, infatuation, more embarrassment, the impulse to return my ThighMaster…
but the feeling that trumps them all is genuine excitement.
Because I think I can cross flirting with Finn off my list.