Page 50 of The Thought of You

A few weeks is a long time, and what if weeks become months? Where are we supposed to hold class during all that time? What about my freaking coffee mug shattered into a million pieces on my ceiling-tiled, powder-covered desk?

“Have any other classrooms been affected?” another teacher asks, but I don’t turn to confirm who it is.

Gemma explains, “As it stands, only Addie’s and my classrooms have significant damages, since this tree fell from hers to mine, but a few windows along the hall have been shattered too.”

“Good Lord, the repairs we’ll need.” The other teacher lists the necessary electrical work, the new roof, and the paint. “That’s not to mention the tree removal itself and the inspections.”

Sable clutches a few folders to her chest as she rushes up to us and announces, “I’ve been on the phone all morning with the Rotary Club regarding supplemental funds. The school board president and our superintendent have already been notified as well, and we’re working diligently to get someone from tree removal out here today to start cleaning up this mess. Resources are stretched thin, though, as many other sites around town have also experienced damages.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m speechless as my gaze travels over my classroom. The tree cuts across one corner, with its branches cascading into Gemma’s drama classroom. On its own, it might not have been such a disaster, but since the winds were so strong last night, materials have been strewn about like the storm ransacked the place for money.

My favorite posters of literary characters and classic quotes lie in ruins on the floor. My SMART board rests against my desk, a large crack down the middle like a fault line, and highlighters, markers, and notebooks are scattered around the room in disarray.

It’s an absolute crime against education and English and?—

“We have a plan!” Principal Weathers claps, and I whirl around to face him just as Owen strides up alongside him like a good little righthand guy.

The superintendent brushes past them, speaking sternly into the phone, and we garner an audience too. A few students pass by with their phones raised to capture the scene, hopping onto their tiptoes for a better look.

“Keep walking, please,” Sable tells them. “There are glass shards and other debris you shouldn’t be around.”

They scurry off to the cafeteria, but not without sparing a few more glances.

I raise my hand but don’t wait for Principal Weathers’s acknowledgement before the words pour out of me. “Since it’s my classroom that’s suffered some of the most damage, I’d like to be involved in these plans.”

Weathers clasps Owen on the shoulder. “I think you’ll be pleased with the solution we came up with.”

“You two came up with a solution?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and we haven’t even gotten to the details of this little plan!

But Owen’s smirk is indication enough to know, without a doubt, that I’m not going to like this.

“Ms. Stephens, you’ll set up in the auditorium. It only makes sense for the drama class to use the stage, anyway.” He then turns to two other teachers with a smile, instructing one to use a section of the cafeteria and the other to share the music room.

I guess there has been more damage I wasn’t aware of. Why didn’t anyone call me to come in sooner? Actually, I would’ve arrived sooner on my own had I not spent an extra twenty minutes in bed, thanks to Owen and my annoying thoughts of his smoking-hot kisses.

I’m still lost in la-la-disaster land when Weathers turns to me, nudges Owen with his elbow, and proclaims, “You’ll share the gymnasium with Coach Conrad.”

My heart tumbles into my stomach, and if I thought my jaw was unhinged before, it’s completely disconnected from the rest of my face now.

I raise a finger as my rapid breathing crosses the line into dangerous territory. “If I could say one thing, please.”

“It’s the perfect plan. We need to move on to other matters.”

That’s it? Is this really happening?

Weathers sidesteps me as he puts a phone up to his ear and maneuvers into the classroom, where the superintendent joins him and points to the ceiling. As he finishes up on the phone, Weathers turns to the remaining teachers, hands up with palm to palm. “I’ll keep you updated with further news and instructions as needed. Thank you all for your cooperation.”

Is he speaking English? I’m pretty sure he is, but then why don’t I understand him?

“Hey, roomie!” Owen raises his hand for what appears to be a high five, but I dive underneath it and march straight past the office, tear across the lobby, and race through the cafeteria.

With my tote dragging across the dirty floor, I power walk past the blur of students eating their breakfast.

All the while, I repeat under my breath, “I am a professional.”

I can share a space with Owen Conrad for a few weeks because I’m a damn professional. I care about my kids, and I will not let anything hinder their learning experiences, especially not someone like Owen.

I am a professional who can share a space with him without killing him… or jumping his bones.

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