Page 46 of Home to the Hollow

Jolene seems to pick up a crowd, both companions and followers, which is also puzzling. Many of us have multiple companions and some have many mates, but she’s walking through the town like a magnet for trouble. When combined with all the question marks surrounding her, it doesn’t bode well.

I will have to ask when I get home. Perhaps my source can enlighten me further…

* * *

My classroom is nearly ready.I have a few things to hunt for online, but barring those, I think I’m ready for the brats and bullies to come back. I hate to sound rude, but as much as I love teaching, the students at WHFS try my extensive patience.

Many of them have little to no interest in world history or even US history—they know their family name and money guarantee them a spot at State U even if their grades are subpar. Some of them know their legacy before they are supposed to, and those elite few are determined to stomp the life out of the ones who are less fortunate. I don’t allow poor behavior in my classroom, but my calling hampers my ability to prevent bad things from happening. I can only stand by, observing, and let the chips fall where they may.

It’s the most infuriating part of my heritage and it makes teaching teens a nightmare.

Sighing, I sling my backpack on, flicking off the lights as I head into the dusky hallway. A few lights are on because the cleaning crew knows that a handful of teachers are in the building. As I start towards the back stairs to make my trek up to the main exit, I hear music and the absolute worst karaoke someone has ever forced me to listen to in my life.

It’s like someone is strangling a cat.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I walk down to the end of the corridor, taking the right turn towards the art wing. When I get closer, a grin teases my lips because I know who it is. Miss Jolene Athena Whitley—the misfit puzzle piece—is singing along with a playlist and she’s a fucking awful singer. Like truly horrific, in fact, and so off-key that I wouldn’t recognize the song if she weren't screeching the lyrics like a drunken sorority chick.

I round the corner and peek into the outer classroom, noting that she set every station up with a note folded in a tent in their work area. The sound is coming from the back of the room, where the door to the equipment area is hanging open. Creeping quietly, I move towards the racket. I don’t know if I ever met a woman unconcerned with people seeing her look ridiculous.

That has to be it, right? There’s no way that she thinks she’s a good singer. Anyone with ears would tell her she’s not.

The sight that greets me as I stand in the doorway is hysterical. Our new art teacher is caterwauling to the tune of some long forgotten nineties girl group, covered in paint from head to toe, and dancing with her cats. She also covered the cats in paint, and it looks like the giant bird is watching them like a sentry. It lets out a screech when its eyes fall on me, and the cats turn, their bodies going rigid as they let out a non-threatening snarl.

“Oh!”

Chuckling, I hold my hands up. “I come in peace. I was leaving, and I heard... unusual sounds coming from here, so I came to check it out.”

“You’re... Hugo, right?” she asks, pushing strands of paint-covered hair out of her face.

I can’t help but smile like an idiot as she pulls a scrunchie off her wrist and piles the mess of hair on top of her head as she looks at me. This girl is a walking, talking bundle of chaos, and it’s so damned cute that I don’t even know how to respond. “Yes. I teach history.”

What the fuck was that? ‘I teach history’? That’s as bad as ‘I carried a watermelon.’ for dumbass responses. I’m glad I didn’t say it out loud, because my love of late 20th century rom-coms is a little embarrassing when not in the right crowd. I have no idea if Jolene IS the right crowd, so I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Yes, that’s one of the few things I learned at the meeting this morning,” she says as she grabs a pack of baby wipes off of the counter. Her small grin makes my chest lift, and I watch her wipe down the two servals gently. “We came back to set up, but I let them try paw-painting and, well... we got carried away.”

Nodding as if I understand how what she described turned into an orgy of paint, dancing birds, and cats, I reply, “I can see that. Do you need help? If your eagle got any on—her, his, its—feathers, you’ll have to call Presley.”

Her laugh is like a fucking fairy, I swear to hell. “I haven’t asked Euryale about gender. It’s rude. Little Wolfie told me that Hyde is a girl. I suppose I should have McSteamy or McDreamy check, though. I wouldn’t want to be offensive about their pronouns.”

This girl. I mean… where the hell did she drop out of the sky from?

Historical and literary pet names aside, she cares about misgendering animals when half the population can’t wrap their heads around it with humans. I don’t even know how to describe how goddamned perfect she is. “That wouldn’t do at all. I take it you’re friendly with our town medical team, then?”

The look on her face flashes from fondness to heat to confusion to possessiveness within seconds, and I know Boone isn’t the only one to get his claws into our mysterious new colleague. “I am. We’re…” She struggles for a word, scrunching her paint covered up, and shrugs. “... well, we’re definitely fucking. I don’t know what else, to be honest. I’m hopeless with this shit.”

I blink, and she covers her mouth, looking aghast. Her natural candidness is going to shock the shit out of many people, but I don’t want her to think I’m judging her. In fact, it makes me even more intrigued. “Don’t worry...you won’t offend me. I’m a fantastic secret keeper.”

A pout forms on her lips and her brows furrow. “It’s not a secret. I’m not ashamed of being who I am or who I’m with. If the fuddy duddies in this town don’t like it, they can suck a giraffe dick. They’remine.”

Her eyes flash with alternating colors for the briefest second and the surrounding air thickens, then goes back to normal within a nano-second. Athena, mother of wisdom, this girl has noidea. She’s not human, but she hasn’t emerged, and she must not know about… any of us. Not the town, not the people—nothing. This is so very dangerous, but I can’t seem to make my mouth say ‘goodbye’ or my feet walk away.

Instead, I offer a half-hearted platitude, knowing that I’m going to get home and do some serious consulting to try to uncloud my connection. “I’m sure they appreciate that. And you're right—no one should dictate who you love or how you love them.”

Her skin goes deathly pale, and she turns on her heel to walk over to the counter, scrubbing it with a brush. “I said nothing about love. It was nice talking to you, but I have a big mess to clean up. I’m sure I’ll see you again before school starts next Monday.”

Well, fuck. Open mouth, insert foot, Hugo. Smooth.

“Um, yeah. Well, come find me if you’re here during the day and you need help. I’ll, uh, be around.” I try to smile, but her back is still to me, so I beat a hasty retreat through the classroom. I’ve upset her, and I’m not sure how.

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