Chapter 35
EMILIA
Two weeks into the new semester, and I already have twenty-seven items on my list of Valentine’s Day gift options for Alex.
Many of them were transferred from the would-be Christmas gift list. I’ve been thinking that January might be my new favorite month in LA, but I guess the truth is, that’s any month that I get to spend with him.
I had the happiest New Year’s Eve I can remember, with Alex and Ryder.
I was officially at their house as a friend, but I did end up spending the night in the guest room.
For fun, Alex and I made a pretend dating profile for Ryder on WooHooCupid.
We deleted it that night, of course, but I’ve never seen Ryder squirm so much and I’ve never seen Alex laugh so hard.
What I’m all about… we typed. I am all about chocolate snacks and monkeys and Pokémon and girls who like chocolate snacks and monkeys and Pokémon. Also, my dad and teacher think I’m really cute when I’m annoyed, so I love it when people annoy me.
What I’m doing with my life… Eating snacks and farting and looking for a nice girl I can share snacks and fart jokes with.
Current life goal… Break my dad’s laptop.
It has been almost exactly a month since I first went to Alex’s house, and I already feel more comfortable and in love with him than I ever thought possible.
I’m used to the constant butterflies in my stomach.
But I am constantly trying to chase away the fluttery, anxious feeling in my chest. There is the other shoe that is always just hovering right above me as I wait for it to drop.
It seems wrong and unfair to hide this. To feel guilty about dating someone who is so completely worthy of my time and affection.
Especially when Alex wants so badly to let his son and the world know that we’re together.
I want to give him everything. But I can’t give him that. Not yet.
I’m about to go photocopy tomorrow’s assignments so I can get home and shower before going to Alex’s for dinner, when the classroom phone rings. It hardly ever rings, and it startles me every time.
“This is Miss Stiles,” I answer.
“Emilia, it’s Judy.”
“Hi, Mrs. Hernandez.”
“Can you come see Mrs. Woodard before you leave today?”
“Like now, you mean?”
“If you can.”
“Sure. Yes. I’ll be there in a minute. Should I bring anything?”
“I don’t think so, dear.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Go away, chest flutters.
As I walk down the hall to the principal’s office, I pass the teachers’ lounge. Miss Farrell walks out of it.
She smirks at me. “Have a great evening,” she says.
That smirk. That tone of voice. It gives me a chill, and I get that sinking feeling in my stomach.
I don’t respond to her. I wouldn’t, even if I didn’t have a lump in my throat all of a sudden. She can kiss my ass with her stupid thin lips.
Mrs. Hernandez smiles at me when I walk into the front office. “Go on in, honey. She’s expecting you.”
All I can hear as I shuffle toward Mrs. Woodard’s open door is the insane pounding of my heart and the Star Wars “Imperial March” theme in my head.
Which is dumb. Because maybe she just wants to congratulate me again on the work that Alex and I did on the holiday show. Maybe tell me that it was nominated for a local theatre award or something.
She’s at her desk, holding a bottle of drinkable yogurt with one hand and typing on her keyboard with the other.
I knock so quietly on the door because I am hoping she won’t actually hear me.
She glances up, completely stone-faced. “Emilia. Come in. Close the door behind you, would you? Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” I do all of those things, hesitantly.
She puts her yogurt drink down, places one hand over the other, flat on her desk, in front of herself. She gives me a tight smile. “How are you?”
“Fine. How are you?”
“I have a bunion on my foot and a canker sore in my mouth. Other than that, I’m tired and stressed. But enough about me. I want to bring something up with you… This is not an official reprimand.”
Oh shit.
“Because, as I’ve mentioned, we do not have an official policy regarding such matters.”
Oh fuck.
“It has come to my attention that you have been spending non-school-related time with the single father of one of your students. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“Romantically? Don’t answer that—I can’t ask.” She watches my face for a response, even though she clearly already knows the answer.
I don’t even blink because I’m afraid a cascade of tears will fall if I do. I clear my throat. “Can I ask how you know about this?”
She sighs. “Miss Farrell overheard Ryder Vega and the blonde girl—Cheyenne—talking about it. He was asking her what his dad should get you for Valentine’s Day. She heard him say you’ve been at their house a lot and that you had a sleepover.”
Fuck you, Paige.
“Um. To be clear, I did stay in his guest room when I slept over that night. As a friend. Ryder is…well, I thought he was unaware of the kind of relationship I’ve been having with his father.”
“Oh, honey. Kids know. They always know. And I know it’s not like he’s married or anything, but there are optics to consider.
I’ve had nothing but positive feedback about you from the parents so far.
But you’re new. You’re young. You’re pretty.
I’m sure I don’t need to explain it to you. Perceptions. Gossip. Jealous students.”
“I do understand.”
“I am asking you to consider putting a pin in this. Nip it in the bud before more people find out. Wait until Ryder is no longer your student.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know that’s easier said than done. I mean, let’s face it—he’s one of Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelors. Why would he wait for anyone for five months?”
So Mrs. Woodard has Googled Alex Vega.
She realizes her mistake in saying that. “Yes. I’ve broken my own unofficial no-Googling rule. But to be fair—I have met him. And he’s very cute.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “He is.”
I keep staring at my hands. I can’t look at her. And I don’t know how I’d survive if I don’t get to look at Alex Vega’s cute face every day for five months.
She clears her throat. I have no idea how long I blanked out for.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Mrs. Woodard. It wasn’t my intention to cause any trouble. We certainly tried to be discreet.”
“I’m not reprimanding you here, Emilia. I’m just hoping to offset any possible situation where I might have to in the future.”
For a brief, crazy moment, I have a vision of myself telling the principal that I quit, storming out of here and head-butting Miss Farrell, and then driving straight to Alex’s house to curl up in his arms for the rest of my life.
But unfortunately, I’m not crazy.
And I wouldn’t be happy ever after if I couldn’t teach.
And so, I nod, look her straight in the eye, and say, “I appreciate it. I will deal with this. This won’t be a problem.”
It will be shitty and sad and unbearable, but it won’t be a problem.
“I always want to do what’s best for my students,” I continue with a shaky voice. “I hope you know that.”
“I do. It sucks that what’s best for the students isn’t also best for our vaginas. But that’s life.” She waves me away. “Go on. Deal with it, and then take a nice hot bath or something.”
“Yeah.”
I trudge out of her office, hearing nothing but the pounding of my breaking heart and the Cinema Paradiso theme in my head for some reason.
I’ll go home, call Alex, take a nice hot bath, watch the end of Cinema Paradiso, and then drink a bottle of J?germeister and sleep until June.