Chapter 12
EMILIA
“Stop. Stop panicking.” Franklin is squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.
This is what he always does when faced with my closet.
“Nobody has a fashion emergency before going to work at an elementary school at seven o’clock in the morning.
That’s not a thing. Why must I be awake? !”
“It is all kinds of emergency when the guy I made out with at that club is going on the field trip with me.”
His eyelids fly open and he shakes his head like Atticus after I’ve given him a bath. “Which guy?”
“The one guy I made out with at a club—before I vomited and he disappeared.”
“Three questions. One—did you just find out that this guy is going to be going on the field trip with you this morning? Two—if you did not, then why am I just hearing about it now? Three—please tell me this guy isn’t a seven-year-old or a school bus driver.”
“He is neither a seven-year-old nor a bus driver. He’s a hot divorced dad director with sexy earlobes and a mouth that I want on my mouth, but I can’t kiss him again because his son is in my class.”
Franklin blinks at me once. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? We’ve had nine hundred conversations about Baby Yoda and how annoyed you are that Brent hasn’t texted you again even though you never texted him back, but we could have been talking about sexy club vomit guy?”
“Eww. Don’t call him that.”
“Why, Hermione? Why did you not tell me?”
“Because! If I had told you about Sexy Single Dad, you’d just tell me to date him.
And I can’t. So I’ve been trying not to think about him.
Even though I’m mildly anxious about the fact that he hasn’t tried to ask me out again, even though he’s respecting my wishes.
Because what if he’s dating someone else now?
I mean, why wouldn’t he? But now I have to think about him because I’m going to see him today and I need you to help me choose something to wear.
Something that says, ‘Hi. I’m a responsible teacher who is also an attractive young woman with overpowering physical needs that she can’t satisfy with you right now even though she really, really wants to and hopefully you aren’t satisfying your physical needs with anyone else either. ’”
“I could just have that printed on a T-shirt real quick.”
I punch him in the arm. “Is this really going to be the only time in my life that you aren’t going to tell me what to wear to look less teacher-y?”
He claps his hands together, waking up my dog. “Nope. I’m on it. My brain has caught up. I just need more information. Where are you going, and do you mean you can’t kiss him or you can’t kiss him during sex, like a prostitute?”
“You know what? Never mind. I’ll just wear a beige cardigan and khaki pants.”
He gasps. “You shut your mouth, little girl. You will wear a pretty skirt and you will like it.”
“A pretty skirt? Really? You don’t think that’s too ‘please put your hand between my legs when the kids aren’t looking?’”
He scoffs. “Well, I don’t know, Miss Stiles. Is it?” He reaches inside my closet and pulls out a billowy, ankle-length skirt that I’d forgotten I had.
Yessss. “Franklin Baldwin, you’re a genius.”
“Right? Covers your legs, but it’s playful and you always have the option of pulling it up and spreading your legs when the kids aren’t looking.”
Noooo. “Franklin, you’re a dirty bird.”
“Well, one of us has to be.”
Yes. Franklin, you’re right. It’s my turn. But not yet.
Getting my students to calm down for half an hour prior to getting on a bus to the Griffith Observatory has been about as successful as my attempts at not picturing Alex Vega bending me over my desk and drilling me.
I wonder if my second-grade teacher Mrs. Norbert was having secret dirty thoughts while teaching us about long and short u sounds.
Or maybe I should just marry a nice, quiet, bald guy like Mr. Norbert so I can focus more on my career and don’t accidentally write out very bad examples of words that feature a short u sound.
There’s a knock at my classroom door, and I see the sweet face of Miguel’s mom smiling through the small window.
She’s the other volunteer chaperone for this field trip, and I’m so grateful to have another adult around, one who doesn’t make me want to lick said adult’s face or run away crying because I can’t.
I tell the kids that I’m going to be right outside for a minute, grab my field trip folder, and step out into the hall. “Hello, Mrs. Torres.”
“Hello, Miss Stiles. I hope I am not late. Traffic on Sunset is very bad this morning.”
“You’re not late at all; we’re still on schedule. And please call me Emilia.”
But then I glance down the hall and see a tall, broad-shouldered figure headed toward us, and I’m already salivating.
Fuuuuck.
I should have worn at least three pairs of panties today, but I thought for sure I’d be able to control my body’s reactions with fifteen amped-up kids around.
Or at least my mind’s. Even from forty feet away, the sight of him in a white button-down shirt and fancy jeans makes my knees give out just a little.
I lean back against the closed door for support and rifle through the many papers in my folder, trying to find a printout, so I don’t have to look at him.
Hang in there, cotton boyshorts. We’ve got a long half-day ahead of us.
“I am very excited to go to the observatory. We have never been there.”
“I haven’t been there yet either. Everyone’s excited this morning.”
Especially my cervix, apparently.
“I’m here,” Alex Vega says as he stops to stand next to Mrs. Torres.
As if my entire being wasn’t completely aware of this.
He holds out his hand to Mrs. Torres. “Hi, I’m Alex Vega. Ryder’s dad.”
“Oh hello, I am Juanita Torres. Miguel is my son. He tells me about Ryder almost every day. Miguel likes him very much.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Torres. Ryder really likes Miguel too.” He nods at me, just once. “Hello.”
I clear my throat. “Hello. I was about to give Mrs. Torres—”
“Juanita.”
“I was about to give Juanita this list…” I hand one photocopied sheet to her and one to Alex.
“The other second-grade classes will be attending the observatory on a different day, so it’s just us.
All fifteen of my students will be going on this field trip today, and you’ll find each of their names listed here, as well as their emergency contacts and any allergies we know of.
We’ll be returning to school for lunch, but they’re bringing snacks from home with them, and they are not to purchase any food from the observatory.
My cell phone number is listed at the top of the page.
Please enter it into your phones in case we get separated at the location.
Hopefully we won’t. Please keep your phones on vibrate, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t take any calls that aren’t related to this field trip for the next few hours.
I’ve divided the students up into groups of five and buddied them up.
Each of us will buddy-up with one student.
I’ve paired both of you up with your sons, but please ensure that you pay attention to all five children in your group so we return here with as many kids as we leave with… ”
I finally take a deep breath—not just because I’ve been yammering while staring down at my copy of the list but because Ryder’s dad smells so fucking good, I want to stick my face in the crook of his neck for like half a year or so.
But I won’t.
I quickly glance up and find him smirking at me and my stupid trembling hands.
Don’t you smirk at me, Ryder’s dad. If you think this is going to be an opportunity for you to flirt with me, then you’ve got another think coming.
“Sounds good,” he says, holding up crossed fingers.
I remove two Hello My Name Is stickers that I’ve filled out and hand one each to my volunteers. “Please wear this so the kids can see it.”
Alex Vega removes the backing paper and very slowly and carefully and annoyingly smooths the Hello My Name Is Mr. Vega sticker out over his left pec while watching me watch him.
I take the backing paper from Mrs. Torres. “I can throw that out for you.”
I hold my hand out to Alex. His fingertips brushing against the open palm of my hand sends a direct message to my lady parts, and the message is this: You think I’m not going to flirt with you today, Miss Stiles? You’ve got another think coming.
I clear my throat and smile at the good chaperone. “Juanita—would you come inside to help me round up the kids? Mr. Vega, would you mind waiting for us at the school bus? Make sure the driver is there? We’ll join you in a minute.”
“I’ll see you in a minute.” He starts walking backwards down the hall, giving me a very obvious and appreciative once-over when Miguel’s mom is heading into the classroom.
Down to my exposed bare ankles, back up the flowing blush-colored maxi skirt, to the somewhat tight white T-shirt that I’m wearing under a cute jean jacket.
A slightly more work-appropriate version of the boho nerdy chic style I was rocking the night we didn’t meet.
Definitely not slutty. But also not anything that Mrs. Norbert would have worn.
I roll my eyes and give him a warning look before he turns to walk away, giving me a painfully awesome view of his cute butt.
There’s a great example of a long and short u sound right there.
Cute. Butt.
But damn. I like the way he looked at me.
Franklin Baldwin, you’re a genius.
Oh God.
Oh shit.
Franklin Baldwin, you’re an idiot.
The wind.
The Santa Ana winds.
Fuck you, wind.