As I digest that information, it occurs to me that Alexandra is the one texting me. Not Dad. From my phone’s history, it looks like Dad and I don’t text at all. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that he won’t be at my party either. I wonder how many other life events he’s missed out on. Frankly, it would be a miracle if he came to my wedding. Not that I’m having one.
Before I can formulate a response, another young teacher slips into my office to vent. Apparently, a nasty girl in her English class created a social media post about her that went viral. She had unknowingly spent an entire class teaching with the back of her dress tucked into her period panties. The girl caught it all on her phone.
“She even hashtagged #missperiodpanties. I swear, I’m at the end of my rope with these little twits.”
Her candor catches me off guard. I’ve never witnessed a teacher reveal their honest feelings about students before.
Before I can offer adequate sympathy, she begins explaining (in detail) the proper technique to express her hairless cat’s anal glands with piercing eye contact. What is with teachers at MHS and their strange pets? Then she quickly pivots, asking if I want to go out for lunch since she “owes me” for taking her after-school detention duties all last week. To be fair, she seems cool (despite said cat details), but I politely decline to avoid embarrassing myself or ruining my reputation and rush out to find Renner.
He’s in the gym, running drills with a freshman class. Turns out, Gym Teacher Renner is not some chump in a tracksuit with a whistle trying to relive his glory days. In fact, he appears to be living his best life right now. He looks like an A-list actor playing a teacher in a movie. He fills out his button-down and chinos nicely, iPad in hand, brows knitted in concentration as he encourages his students across the gym.
The sight of him makes something inside me flutter. Gym Teacher Renner is kind of, sort of, attractive.
“You look like you were born to do this,” I admit, sidling up next to him.
He startles at my presence before giving me a flirty smile. “You think?”
There’s a nagging in my gut that makes me wonder if he’s disappointed in how his life turned out. Does he regret giving up his dream of coaching a college team to come home and teach high school kids?
“I really couldn’t picture you in an authoritative position, but it looks like you’ve got this coaching thing down,” I say, cringing at the sight of a guy doubled over, ready to hurl after running drills.
He abruptly blows his whistle before he can respond. “Hey, man.” He points to a kid in red gym shorts. “Your speed is fantastic right out of the gate. But I notice you lose steam a bit at the twenty-yard mark. Let’s focus on your endurance,” he tells him encouragingly.
The student nods and says, “Thanks, Mr. Renner.”
A satisfied smile plays across his lips, like a puppy awaiting approval after learning to sit. “See? They’re listening to me.”
I clap my hand to my chest. “Wow. I’m surprised you didn’t let them run feral and smoke dope behind the bleachers.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Dope? You sound like my police officer dad.”
“I know.” I shrug, owning it. “Hey, wanna have lunch together? Talk strategy for tonight? Apparently, I hoard snacks in my desk . . . along with knitting needles, yarn, and a container of Tums.” Adult me is a rip-roaring good time.
This piques his interest. “What kind of snacks?”
“Lots of candy bars. And jumbo bags of chips.”
“Flavor?”
“Plain.”
He makes a face. “Plain? What kind of sicko are you?”
“Wow. The slander. Plain is delicious, thank you very much.”
His lips curve, teasing. “Well, you get to enjoy them all to yourself. I actually need the hour to prep for my health class after lunch.”
I raise a brow. This is very unlike Renner. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him crack open a book. And somehow, he still manages to pull off decent grades.
“It’s the STI unit,” he clarifies.
“You’re teaching sex ed today?” I can barely contain my giggle. I’d give my left arm to sit in on Renner’s sex ed class.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, very funny. I’m petrified, I’ll have you know.”
I snort. “Do they still have the sex ed treasure chest?”
“Oh yeah. It’s in my office. It was the first thing I saw when I walked in. It’s filled to the brim with condoms. And some dental dams,” he adds matter-of-factly. “I’m in over my head.”
I pat him on the shoulder sympathetically. For a flash, I think about offering to look over his lesson plan, until I remember we do not have that kind of relationship. We don’t help each other. We’re enemies, after all. So I settle for, “You’ll do just fine.”
He cringes. “But what if they have . . . questions?”
“Well, luckily you have a lot of experience,” I point out. As rumor has it, Renner lost his V-card in tenth grade to an eleventh grader named Harley at a tent party. Since then, he’s practically made his way through the female population of our class, as well as the class below. Not that I care.
He gives me a look. “Are you slut shaming me?”
“Not at all. It’s simply a fact.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay, can we not talk about my sex life? I’m freaking out. I’m not qualified to teach shit. This feels illegal.”
“More illegal than giving a student advice on their educational future? Probably not. Let’s just get through the day without drawing suspicion. Do you have a lesson plan?”
“Yeah. It’s in a binder. I’m really into consent and protection, I guess, because I wrote pages’ worth of notes,” he adds.
“Just read straight from your lesson plan. They won’t even notice.”
“If only it were that easy . . .”
“Best of luck, Renner. Remember, the sexual health of the next generation rests on your shoulders!” I call back at him before exiting the gym.
FOURTEEN
Renner is like a golden retriever who magically turned human. On our drive to Ollie’s, he has his arm out the window, belting all the wrong lyrics to a Glass Animals song (on a 2020s station).
We were never supposed to go to Ollie’s. But the gym was occupied all day with students setting up for prom, leaving little privacy for our attempt at time travel. We plan to come back tonight after Ollie’s, when all the staff and students are gone.
I flash him a dirty look when he sings, “Sometimes all I do is love youuu,” instead of the correct lyrics, though it does nothing to dim his mood.
He’s still high from his sex ed class, which was a smashing success. In fact, he proudly declared it a “slam dunk” when he picked me up in the guidance office.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Renner has the uncanny ability to pull everything off regardless of how much effort he puts in. Every time a big test or exam rolls around, I spend every waking hour studying, and he takes pleasure in “winging it.” Just like his student council speech.
“I think I got through to them, you know? They seemed like they really wanted to learn,” he says for the fourth time in the last three blocks. “Maybe teaching really is what I was meant to do.”
“Guess you’ve found your calling,” I say, cringing at the thought of Renner demonstrating how to place a condom on a banana. At the same time, I’m glad he’s in better spirits after his parents’ divorce news. I could tell that was a real blow.
“Hey, it’s a noble one at least,” he points out as we pull onto Ollie’s crowded street. My heart drops at the sight of his packed driveway and the cars lining up on either side of the road. I’d assumed this was an intimate gathering, despite what Nori said, but it appears she wasn’t exaggerating. Ollie invited the entire town.
What used to be a neighborhood full of eighties homes has undergone a makeover. Most of the old houses have been replaced with minimalist, boxy white and gray exteriors. Ollie’s place is no exception.
Renner stares through the windshield in awe. “Holy crap. Ollie’s rich.”
Before I can respond, Renner bolts from the car and starts up the driveway, clearly eager for a reunion with his best friend.