Page 6 of Interpreter

Gretchen gags a little before shrugging off his touch. “Icky,” she answers flatly before tugging my hand and ushering us to the door and down the hall before Coach Murano can assault us with anymore of his douchebag stench.

It’s not that he’sthatbad of a guy—at least I don’t think he is. Sure, he’s gotten two teachers fired by lying that they initiated sex in the janitor’s closet. And, sure, he’s an asshole to just about every male teacher, but hecouldbe a good guy deep down, right? Even if he’s hit on nearly every female teacher twice and has two restraining orders issued by his ex-wives. But I’m sure Bleckley’s PE teacher is a nice guy somewhere in all that disaster of a man.

“So, lunch later?” Gretchen asks, not bothering to look at me but rather at the man across from my room. Cal Sutter. History teacher. A really good guy and the last boyfriend that Felipe ran off. Okay, so it wasn’tallFelipe’s fault. I knew Cal and I were over by the time I introduced him to Felipe. He was sweet, but there just wasn’t a connection. None. And no matter how hard I tried to generate one, it just never came. So when he gave Felipethe look—you know, the one that drips blatant disdain—I broke up with him immediately. If you want into my life, you have to accept all my craziness, which includes my best friend, whom I would sell my soul for. Cal wasn’t that guy, even if he says he’s fine with mine and Felipe’s lifestyle. He wasn’t, and I could tell he was uncomfortable around Pe, and there was no need in us trying to make that work.Cal and I were not meant to be. Gretchen certainly agrees by the way she is eye-fucking him from the hallway.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” I urge her, giving her a teensy push toward his door where he’s stretched out, hanging something high on his wall.

She flips around and winks. “Who says I haven’t?”

Uh, me. Because clearly, if she had, she would be helping him hang that poster by holding his midsection for, you know, safety.

I shrug like I don’t give a shit because, I don’t. Cal Sutter is not my human. “I’ll see you at twelve,” I tell her, opening my door and turning on the lights, the smell of bleach stinging my nose. Don’t judge me. Little kids are nasty critters. Even fifth graders.

With one final glance in Cal’s direction—he successfully hung whatever it was—Gretch scampers off, leaving me staring into his room and coincidentally right into his eyes.

“Cal.” I nod.

“Milah,” he returns with a dashing smile. “You look beautiful today.”

Don’t be fooled, charm can break even the strongest of women. My smile is tight. “Thanks,” I mumble, heat flooding my cheeks. “You’re looking rested.”

Rested? Rested, Milah? Really?

“I mean, handsome,” I amend.

He laughs. “No, I thinkrestedis what you meant.”

He’s still a bit salty from the breakup, and most of the time, that would bother me. I don’t like for people not to like me, but there was no way I was staying in that tense situation. Cal can have his beliefs. I don’t fault anyone for what they choose to believe in. But I know what it’s like to be an outcast. And no one that I bring to our house will make Pe feel any less valued than a rare diamond. So Cal can be salty and we can still be friends, but that’s all we’ll ever be.

I give him a smile that probably looks like I’m constipated. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough morning.”

Total lie, but what was I supposed to say?

“I get it.” He frowns, the conversation turning serious. “After that staff meeting, I would be worried too.”

Worried?

“I, uh….” Just as I’m about to askwhat in the hell did I miss, the bell rings and kids start pouring through the halls, yelling and shoving at everything in their way.

“Brace for impact,” he says all playfully, slipping inside his door, not waiting for me to finish my question.

It doesn’t matter though. An hour later, I learn firsthand just what the caterpillars were fighting over.

“I need a penis.”

Felipe’s gargle of a laugh has me trying to crack open an eye. In my drunken state, it’s harder than it should be.

“What you need is a glass of water and a pedicure,” he adds, sobering enough to eye my size six foot in shame while he touches up the purple polish I chipped an hour ago when I tripped over the stool in his bar. I swear it wasn’t there when I started sobbing on the bar top and begging for top shelf tequila.

I grunt out a nonanswer because, let’s be honest here, bad days are not topped off with water. My teeth are numb, and my toes are a trillion miles away. Yeah, no water for me. I’m due for a sloppy drunk day.

My best friend shakes his head and grins. Glitter from his hair falls onto the tabletop where I’m perched and lands on my bare thigh. “When was the last time you had these bear claws soaked?”

“Shut up. They aren’t that bad.” They really aren’t. Felipe is just trying to be a good friend by pointing out things I should be more focused on rather than my shitty day.

At my blatant lie, those pristine eyebrows of his climb higher up his perfectly contoured forehead.

“Okay, so it’s been a minute since I’ve had a pedicure. My feet are the least of my worries, Felipe! I need a penis, and I need one fast.”

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