Page 70 of Past Tents

The bell had already rung, and with a glance at the clock on the wall, Carrie pushed her chair back and began organizing the art supplies in the bins on the desk. “I could do this all day. It’s my favorite class,” she said.

“Aw, I love having you in this class. You have a great eye.”

Carrie slung her backpack over one shoulder and smiled. “Thanks.” She hesitated for a second, then reached out and hugged me hard, hands balled into fists. Backing away just as quickly, she looked at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “You’re allowed to express emotions. We’re artists in here. That’s what art is for.”

Raising her gaze, she bit her lip and nodded. “I think so too.” Backing away as though she didn’t trust herself not to hug me again, she smiled once more. “I’ll be back during my free block tomorrow. Is that cool?” she asked.

“Yes. Great. See you then.”

I turned back to the art tables to straighten them up, expecting to hear the snick of the door latching behind her. Instead, I heard the approach of footsteps behind me.

Clay.

I turned expectantly, a smile already sneaking across my face at the thought of seeing him. Instead, I was greeted with Pindich’ssmarmy smirk. Closing my eyes to block out the sight of him, I turned back to the tables.

“Hi there,” I said, hoping he’d stumbled into the wrong classroom.

“Ms. Dalbotten.” More of a statement than a greeting.

I went back to straightening up. I’d asked the students to leave computer printouts of the pages they’d been working on so I could look at them all together for consistency. Computers were awesome, but I still liked to see things on paper. For that reason, I was shuffling through assorted pages when Pindich came up behind me.

“Messy business,” he commented.

“Art gets messy,” I said, trying to hide my physical reaction when he came near me. It was hard not to shudder when he got closer than about five feet away. Almost like a force field radiated from him. A force field of sleaze.

He came closer than he needed to, peering over my shoulder at the pages I was straightening. I moved to the side so he could look without being in my physical space. I was so tired of him lurking closer than he should under the pretext that he just didn’t understand personal boundaries. He understood them, and he violated them on the daily.

“This is the yearbook?”

“Yes.” We were in the yearbook classroom. If it walked and talked like a duck...But I held my tongue and swallowed down all the snarky comments in favor of being cheerful and upbeat. “I love it when students make the yearbook their own instead of following the cut-and-paste template.” I fanned out the pages,hoping he’d say something appreciative about the work they’d done and we could move on.

“Template’s there for a reason,” he grumbled.

“We’re not deviating in any ways that will end up being problematic.”

He harrumphed. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Was this why he’d ambled into my classroom, to warn me about taking liberties with the yearbook design? I was about to ask him when he perched on the edge of a desk facing me and crossed his arms over his chest. His legs stretched out almost far enough so for his feet to touch me, but he left about an inch of space between us. It had the effect of pinning me in place lest I move a fraction of an inch and make contact.

I shifted and put my hands behind me, which allowed me to hop up on another desk and create a little more distance.

“Yes, we shall see. I’m sure you’ll be happy with the result. Are you concerned? Do you want to see more of the pages?” I asked.

I would just shower him with sweetness until he agreed that our yearbook was the best-looking version we’d produced in years.

“No, no. That won’t be necessary. I trust you,” Pindich said.

“Great. Thank you.”

He crossed his feet at the ankles and stared me down. I wondered if his gaze was supposed to be intimidating because the dour expression on his face was anything but frightening.

“So I’m here in an unofficial capacity,” he began, watching me to gauge my reaction.

“Meaning what?” Was this where he’d put the moves on me? Tell me my job hinged on going on a date with him? People knew Clay and I were dating, so it would be silly for him to choose now, of all times, to hint at it.

If I hadn’t been making this list of possibilities in my mind, I may have been better prepared for the words that actually came out of Pindich’s mouth. But as it were, he left me flabbergasted when he said, “I assume your new boyfriend has kept you in the dark about the real reason he’s suddenly taken a girlfriend. And since you’re a smart woman, I assume that long before that, you questioned why Green Valley’s most notorious bachelor would be attracted to someone who, let’s just say, falls outside his normal type.”

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