Over the next couple of hours, parents and students filtered in and out of the room, following their class schedule to meet every teacher and learn their class route. Since my students would be mostly freshmen, I had a great turnout. Most parents wanted their sons and daughters to have the lay of the land before their first day of high school, and judging by the sign-in sheet I’d asked parents to fill out, I’d met almost two-thirds of my kids and their families. The ones I hadn’t met, I would try to call or e-mail this week to introduce myself and “open the lines of communication.”
I moved around the room, introducing myself and chatting with families here and there but mostly just watching. I’d adorned the walls with some maps and posters, while a few artifacts and tools used by historians and archeologists sat on tables and shelves. They moved from one area to another, taking in the clues I’d left as to what we’d study this year.
Even though I had about a hundred eighty days with the students, this was the night that was the most important. Seeing how your future student interacted with their parents offered a good indication of what to expect during the school year.
Which parent did they seem to fear more? (That’s the one you would call when there was trouble.) How did they speak to their parents? (Then you’d know how they’d speak to you.) A couple parents and kids still flitted around the room, but as it was almost end time, everyone was starting to leave.
“Hi.” I walked up to a young man who’d been slouched in one of the desks for a while, sitting alone. “What’s your name?”
The kid wore earbuds and played on his phone, but he shot his eyes up at me, looking annoyed.
I wanted to sit down and spark up a conversation, but I could already feel the apprehension. This one was defiant.
Catching sight of the name tag the PTA had stuck to the left of his chest when he’d showed up tonight, I held out my hand.
“Christian?” I smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m E—” But I stopped and corrected myself. “Ms. Bradbury,” I amended. “Which class will you be joining us for?”
But then his phone beeped, and he sighed, pulling out his earbuds. “Do you have a charger?” he asked, looking impatient.
I dropped my hand and tilted my chin down, eyeing him. Thank goodness I didn’t believe in first impressions; otherwise I might have been irritated at his lack of manners.
He waited for me to answer, staring at me with blue-gray eyes beneath black hair, stylishly mussed, and I waited as well, crossing my arms over my chest.
He rolled his eyes and gave in, finally looking at the piece of paper lying on the desk. “I’ll be joining you for US History,” he answered, his flippant tone putting me on edge.
I nodded and took the paper, creased with half a dozen folds. “And where are your parents?” I inquired.
“My mother’s in Egypt.”
I noticed that he was in my first-period class and handed the paper back to him. “And your father?” I prodded.
He sat up, stuffing the paper into the back pocket of his khakis. “At a city planner’s meeting. He’s meeting me here.”
I watched him stand up and smooth a hand down his black shirt and khaki and black necktie. He was nearly as tall as me.
I straightened and cleared my throat. “A city planner’s meeting?” I questioned. “On a Sunday night?”
His white teeth shone in a condescending smile. “Good catch,” he commended. “I asked him the same question. He ignored me.”
I arched an eyebrow, immediately discerning that he and his father didn’t get along. What were they going to be like in the same room together?
He affixed the earbuds back into his ears, getting ready to tune me out. “If I give you any grief, it’s best just to call my mother in Africa rather than deal with my father,” he told me. “Just a tip.”
I shot up my eyebrows, breaking out in a small grin. He was a little pill.
But then so was I. I could understand where this one was coming from. We might just get along after all.
Turning around, I walked to my desk and slipped my phone out of the drawer. Dislodging the battery, I walked over and handed it to him.
“Charge it back up tonight and we’ll exchange tomorrow morning, okay?”
He pinched his eyebrows together and slowly reached out his hand, taking the battery. Luckily we both had the latest generation of the same phone.
“According to the student handbook,” he started, swapping out his nearly dead battery with mine, “we’re not allowed cell phones in the classroom.”
“In my class, you are,” I shot back, standing my ground. “You’ll find out more about that tomorrow.”
He handed me the dead battery and nodded. I relaxed, relieved that he seemed to soften a little.
“Christian.”
We both looked up, turning our heads toward the door, when the sharp tone startled us both.
Standing in the doorway, filling the space in a deep-black three-piece suit, white shirt, and gold tie was Christian. All grown up.
The stone-blue eyes narrowed on us under eyebrows that didn’t curve but slanted.
Oh, shit.
I stood there, stunned still and not breathing as my fists instantly clenched.
I may have just met the son, but I already knew the father.
I looked away, blinking long and hard. No, no, no…
My pulse raced, and my forehead and neck broke out in a cold sweat.
I didn’t know if he recognized me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move toward him. What the hell was I supposed to do?