Page 36 of Yes! Professor Hendrix
But I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
I just stood there, in the corner of that classroom, letting her ruin me before she even knew my name.
I watched them until the moment they left the building.
She held her daughter’s hand tight, walking with that same confident rhythm like the world needed to step out of her way. I followed, slow and careful. I just needed to see what she drove. What her world looked like. I needed more pieces of her.
I stayed back as she opened the car door and helped her daughter into the backseat. She was soft with her. Gentle. A different energy than the one that fucked with my blood pressure when she walked. Then she slid behind the wheel—sharp, elegant, smooth. Before she turned the key, her eyes found mine.
Brown. Piercing. Too damn intense for a glance that fast.
And I knew. Right then, I fucking knew.
Those eyes were about to fuck up my whole life. I was gonna make a decision that no degree, no salary, no tenure track would ever justify.
I turned around and went straight back inside. The front office staff looked up when I pushed the door open.
“I need to speak to the principal. Emergency.”
“She’s about to start a meeting. Do you have an appoint?—”
I didn’t wait and walked straight past the desk, shoved the office door open like I owned the place, and stepped in.
A woman turned and looked at me like I’d lost my whole damn mind.
“Who are you, and what gives you the right to enter my office like that, sir?” the principal asked, stiff like she was carved from concrete.
“Mr. Nolan Hendrix. Your new fourth grade teacher,” I said, hands in my pockets, eyes locked on hers.
“What?” she snapped. “We already have a fourth grade teacher. And I don’t recall hiring you.”
“Then you should hire me. Right now.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because first of all, you need more staff. And second—” I stepped closer. “You will never get another shot at hiring the Head of the Statistics Department at the University of Chicago to teach at your underfunded-ass school. And third? I don’t need your paycheck. In fact, I’ll pay you to take that spot. So it’s all upside for you: new teacher, new investor. Take the damn win.”
The room went still.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the name Nolan Hendrix a hundred times. I’m in your city’s papers, your academic journals, your math contests. Hire me, and you take this school to the fucking top.”
She stared at me. Blinking. Processing.
“What I don’t understand, is why someone with your resume wants to be an elementary school teacher,” she finally said
“Would it be too insubordinate if I told you I got one of the parents pussy call?”
Her mouth fell open. “Pardon?”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, still calm. “Then let’s just say I’ve got my reasons. You make it happen, and this school gets its glory moment. Deal?”
She didn’t answer.
I stepped forward and dropped a check on her desk—marked with an extravagant amount and signed—then slid it across slowly. “I’m sure this school has some needs that might be fulfilled with that.”
She looked at the number. Her lips parted again. She knew that her bag was secured.
“Ah… well, I’ll need to talk to my team,” she said, voice tight. “I think we can give you the highest class—Grade 6 maybe?”
