Page 3 of Fight for You (Flirting with Forever 2)

Date: Monday, January 3, 2:31 PM

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Meeting

* * *

You can park just about anywhere after school is out, so long as the buses are out of the bus lane in front. I’ll wait for you in the main office.

Hadleigh Beckett

* * *

Hmm. I rub the scruff on my cheek, trying to analyze this woman’s responses to my questions. I have so much more I want to ask, but I guess it can wait until I’m there in person. I don’t want to overwhelm her before we’ve even met. I have a tendency to dig in and ask lots of questions when I’m really interested in something, and teaching is something I’m excited to start doing.

I wonder what this woman is like. With a name like Hadleigh, I’d assumed at first that she’d be a younger woman, but her curt responses make me think maybe she’s older. And really busy, hence my hesitation to ask too much too quickly. I’m nervous to find out who I’ll be working closely with for the next eight weeks. If we get along, it’ll be fine. If not, it’s going to be torture.

Whatever happens, it’s a little surreal to think after all these years as a student I’m shifting gears completely and will now be the one at the front of the classroom. I figure I should probably turn in early tonight to prepare myself—it’s not like I’ve been doing much partying lately, anyway.

The reality is, I’m desperate to get started so that I have something to occupy my mind. My hope is that this teaching placement will keep me busy enough to forget all about Tara. It’s been six months, and I still haven’t been able to move on.

Like a good roommate, Willow has been trying to distract me to the best of her ability—everything from coffee hangouts to karaoke—with no luck. I feel terrible because I’m a huge stick-in-the-fucking-mud lately, wanting nothing more than to stay home and read or binge watch things on TV. Just Netflix, no chill—not since Tara.

Anyway, Willow is a good sport about my recent bouts of moping. Some days I’m fine and able to put everything out of my head, but others—man, it hits me hard just what a fool I’d been. Everything about the way things ended makes me not want to try with anyone else ever again.

Willow and I have lived together since things blew up with Tara last summer. The original plan had been for me and Tara to live together this year. We were going to get a head start on our lives together, but that all went to shit real fast. And surprisingly, the moment I’d shown up heartbroken on Willow’s doorstep, we’d proven to be well-matched apartment-mates. Anytime I feel a little depressed, she makes me laugh. I do the shopping and cooking and she does all the tidying up and cleaning. It’s kind of a shame we don’t have any romantic feelings toward each other, because it would be so damn easy with her. We’ve never been together like that; never even entertained the idea. We are proof that men and women can, in fact, be just friends.

I glance up to where she stands in front of the sink, swaying to the beat of the music from her earbuds as she cleans the dinner dishes. When she starts to sing along, I wince, gritting my teeth together at her off-key singing. Dear God, can she not hear how bad that is? Obviously not. Nothing stops her from singing aloud—not my complaints or even the groans from the audience at karaoke night a few weeks ago. Listening to her is a small price to pay for her friendship and kindness though, so I deal with it when I have to and sometimes go find my own music to drown her out.

I speak loudly enough so she can hear me. “Hey, Willow.”

“Hmm?” She yanks one earbud out and continues to wiggle her hips to the music as she turns and winks at me. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a meeting at three-thirty tomorrow and have no idea how long I’ll be. Leftovers for dinner okay with you?”

“I mean, yeah. We have spaghetti from two nights ago and tonight’s leftover tacos. No worries at all. I like leftovers.”

“I’ll figure out what to do after my first day, too. I’m not sure I’ll be up for cooking.” I run my hand through my hair making it stand on end, and then without really realizing I’m doing it, I bite down on the inside of my cheek.

“You’re nervous.” Her eyes go a little wide as she scans my features.

My eyes flick to hers as I let up on the skin between my teeth. “Yeah. A bit.”

“You’re going to do great, Sawyer. I’ve never met anyone with such an extensive knowledge of history—and not just the textbook stuff, either. I love all your quirky little tidbits and fun facts.”

I grin. “Thank goodness, or you’d have kicked me out by now.”

“Nah. I like your cooking way too much to kick you out for being a little nerdy.”

I bark out a laugh. “Nerdy, huh?”

“Yeah … just a little.” She shakes her head at the mock-offense on my face. “Seriously, though, the kids are going to love you. I’d have killed for a teacher like you. Instead, I had Mrs. McGruber for eleventh grade US History. I swear, she was old enough to be in the history book herself.”

“I don’t know what to think about the woman who is going to be my mentor. She was pretty short with her responses, which makes me think she’s … oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to say cold, but she didn’t seem like your typical teacher.”

“Maybe you’re thinking about elementary school teachers who coddle their students. This is high school, Sawyer. Not only are you going to have to figure out how to teach, but you’re also going to have to learn how to deal with teenagers and all the drama that comes with that. Think about it—this Ms. Beckett? She deals with that crap all day long. You think she has time to sit down and compose elaborate e-mails? And you contacted her over break.”

“Good point.” I shake my head. “Can I also be honest and say I’m concerned that I won’t deal well with students of this age?” My younger sisters, Kari and Khloe are fifteen and seventeen, respectively. Come to think of it, they probably do give their teachers a run for their money. I don’t know how I’d deal with either of them in a classroom setting.

“I think you’ll figure the kids out, no problem. And maybe you’re mistaking this woman’s teacher armor for indifference? What do you think their teachers have to do just to survive that mess?”

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