Not Yet (19 page)

Homecoming was approaching and emotions—and
hormones—at the school were at a fever pitch. Guys asked girls to
the dance, attire was discussed, and after-parties were planned.
Cammie Gorsuch wrapped her arms around Landon and giggled with
excitement as I headed to my classroom before school. I guessed
they were going to the dance together. I wished it didn’t make my
stomach hurt.

In third period econ, Dean seemed to be in an extra
nasty mood. He continually called out as I discussed supply and
demand graphs and tried to turn each example I gave into something
dirty or sexual. I did my best to ignore him, but after forty
minutes, it was getting hard to deal with. No pun intended.

“Cut it out, Dean. You’re being an asshole,” Landon
whispered, but I refused to look at him.

After explaining the homework assignment to the
class, I began passing out worksheets. As I reached Dean’s row, I
placed the pile on his desk and asked him to pass them down the
aisle. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair and knocked the
papers to the ground in front of him, effectively forcing me to
bend over and pick them up right in front of him.

As I did, feeling my face burn with shame and my
hands shake with anger, Landon was suddenly beside me. He’d gotten
out of his seat and gathered a stack of papers into a pile. The
classroom suddenly filled with laughter, and I had a pretty strong
suspicion Dean was making some motions behind me about my ass.

I turned to face Dean to yell at him when Landon
reached behind to tip Dean’s chair back. Then, in one of those
strange slow motion moments in life, Dean fell backwards, a look of
fear and embarrassment on his smug face.

Dean lay there, sprawled on his butt on the floor,
before jumping up quickly, incensed. “What the hell, Landon?”

Landon laughed. “Dude. You’re such a fucking
idiot.”

Now I was furious with both of them. “Landon! Dean!
Stay after class. You are both way out of line.” The class whistled
and jeered at the boys as Landon glared at me in frustration.

As the rest of the class left the room, I leaned on
the edge of my desk and waited for the both boys to approach me.
Each looked angry with the other and not the least bit worried
about my reaction.

“Landon, watch your language in my classroom. And you
could have hurt Dean. Cut it out. Dean, I have had it with your
comments and jokes. You both need to pass my class to graduate. I
expect you to take it seriously, or you will each get a grade that
will keep you in these halls for another year. And, Dean, if you
can’t be respectful to me, I will not only report you to
administration, but I’ll make sure that you’re the best water boy
in Boone County.” I handed both of them detention slips. “Detention
here, tomorrow, after school.”

Landon continued to stare me down as Dean laughed,
ripped his paper in half, turned, and walked out of the room
without another word. He almost ran into Amy, who mumbled an
apology and jumped out of the way.

Landon turned to me like he wanted to say something,
but he shook his head and walked out as well. He almost went past
Amy, ignoring her in the same rude manner as Dean. But he stopped,
met her eyes, and asked quietly, “Hi Amy, how are you today?”

Amy took a step back, appearing unsure if he was
serious or setting her up for something. “What the…I, uh… good.
Thanks, Landon.”

Landon nodded and headed out as Amy looked at me with
a huge smile. “Landon Washington is yummo! He never talked to me,
Miss Harris. Never. Not one time!” She was so excited and happy I
felt a smidge less anger at Landon.

“Well, it’s about time he realized his mistake, huh,
Amy?” I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she giggled as we
walked to the cafeteria. I got it that Landon was trying to defend
me and was furious that I scolded him for it, but he was acting
like a kid. I knew he had it in him to act maturely, and he was
showing me none of that right now. But could I really expect more
from him? He was just a high school senior. I’d be foolish to
expect more.

As much as I loved teaching, I hated the duties
teachers were assigned in their “free” time. I was given one night
football game this week to chaperone and then the Homecoming dance.
Sam told me all the young teachers were assigned to chaperone
school dances, because the music didn’t hurt our ears as badly as
the old-timers. In addition, I monitored the main hallway during
the third lunch shift, where kids hung out after finishing eating,
to make sure no students fought, smoked, or tried to cut school. It
was like hazing for new educators and it sucked.

As if my interaction with Dean and Landon earlier
that day hadn’t been enough, they were standing in a group
socializing in the main hallway I patrolled. Dean was bitching
about me giving him detention to the group, and the guys and girls
were mocking me. Landon’s eyes followed my movements, and I noticed
that while he wasn’t participating in the banter, he wasn’t walking
away from it either.

I continued my monotonous chore when a shrill voice
called out loudly, “Excuse me! Where is your hall pass? You can’t
be here without a hall pass, young lady!”

My head turned as I looked around for a student on
the loose that I had missed.

“You! I am talking to you!” The loud voice became
more agitated. Ms. Gomez, the thin and matronly school librarian,
was pointing to me.

“Me?” I asked. Dean and Landon’s group of friends
looked over just as I was being mistaken for a student.
Fan-fucking-tastic. Jon and Ricky bent over in laughter, while Dean
collapsed on the floor, overcome with the hilarity of the
situation. I couldn’t look at Landon.

My face reddening, I approached Ms. Gomez and showed
her my faculty pass. “I work here, Ms. Gomez. Room one-o-three.
History and Economics? Emma Harris?” This was so completely
mortifying.

“I am so sorry, Miss Harris. You look just like the
students. Such a pretty girl!” She patted my shoulder. I turned
around, humiliated, and tripped over the feet of someone standing
much too close.

“Whoa, there, little lady. Where are you headed?” I
looked into the startlingly blue eyes of Ford, the school chemistry
teacher and girls’ softball coach. He was a legend at the school.
Tall, sandy-haired, handsome, and an incredible—or
incorrigible—flirt. He flirted with teachers, administrators,
parents, and most of the female students at Zionsville Academy.
Everyone loved him, and he was always called Ford. Not Mr. Ford,
not Ryan Ford, but Ford—by everyone—even himself. And, evidently,
not even Ford knew who the hell I was.

“I am a teacher here.” I said, gritting my teeth and
pushing away from him.

“I know that, Emma. You think someone as gorgeous as
you could get by me? I wanted to explain that old Gomez is as blind
as a bat.”

I managed a laugh. I was over-reacting to the comedy
skit my first job had become.

He held out his hand so we could shake. “I haven’t
been able to introduce myself yet. I’m Ford.” He placed his arm
loosely around my shoulder and started walking the hall with
me.

We paused in front of Dean’s group, and Ford met
Dean’s eye with a challenging expression. “Problem, Goldsmith?”

Dean looked uncomfortable, and I was so elated I
wanted to jump in the air. Landon stood, glaring at Ford, arms
crossed tightly across his barrel chest.

“No, Ford, we’re good here. Hi, Ms. Harris.” Dean
sounded almost sheepish. I didn’t know what just happened, but it
was the best thing ever. We walked away from the group and Ford
withdrew his arm. I turned to face him, completely incredulous and
ridiculously exhilarated.

“Ford! How did you do that? Dean seemed almost afraid
of you. He has been torturing me ever since school began.”

Ford smiled warmly at me and leaned close to my ear.
“Scare them, Emma. With boys like that, you gotta hit them where it
hurts. They mess with me; I will get all the girls to gang up on
them. The girls listen to me, and the boys want to be able to party
with the girls. If I say that a couple of the guys are bad
news—they won’t get any action for months. It’s too much for them
to take. The boys respect me because they fear me. I’m like the
worst case of blue-balls these hormonal bastards could ever
get.”

Nodding, I chewed on my lip as Ford strutted down the
hall, pleased with his display of male authority.

Taking my clue from Trevor, I needed to be
brave
.
It was time to step things up around here.

***

THE PAVED PATH to the football practice field
was long and winding. I held my skirt down as the breeze blew it,
and my hair, around. The weather was just turning chilly and yet I
knew the boys would be hot as hell, practicing in all their
football gear. The Zionsville Lions took their practice time as
seriously as gladiators preparing to fight to the death.

The leaves on the trees were changing colors and I
was suddenly nostalgic, remembering how beautiful the
Charlottesville campus was in the fall. Just a year ago, I was a
student walking to class among some of the nation’s finest minds,
surrounded by colonial architecture and picturesque valleys. I
cared only about studying for classes, writing high quality term
papers, and attending the occasional weekend party. Not that my
college experience was easy, but it was nothing compared to
this.

Now, I was an underpaid teacher—begging for help with
her classes—in a dimly lit, cinder block box of a building in the
middle of Nowhere, USA. Teaching a bunch of bullying jerk-offs, one
of whom spent most of the summer with his hand up my skirt.
Fuck
.

Daily football practice was held on the lower field,
a poorer quality stretch of campus. Administration and coaching
staff felt comfortable with the boys tearing up this land, as they
drilled and worked their players for hours each day. It was agreed
on by all the powers that be that the area where games occurred
should be treated as sacred, protected ground. The vast majority of
the school’s fundraising and family donations went toward the
preservation and upkeep of the main field, where only football
games and graduation were held. Nothing else.

I passed by the main field and took in the
over-the-top surroundings. There were pristine metal bleachers
surrounding the playing area, professional lights ready for night
games, and an impressive announcer’s booth, high above. A local
radio station broadcasted home and away Lions games. This was small
town Indiana, but football was big-time.

I was chaperoning my first game that Friday night and
was warned it would be packed. Everyone in Zionsville would be
there, along with many fans and family from the opposing Fishers
team. As I approached the varsity squad, the cheerleaders were off
to the side, practicing their halftime routine. Cammie and
Stephanie, both in my third period class, snickered as I approached
the team. Several of the players must have seen me too, as the
whistles and catcalls increased the closer I got.