and Paul’s on-again/off-again relationship we were these days, but that would add a little spice to my night. We hung up.
I dialed Ted’s cell number as I grabbed my bag and keys. “Is it urgent?” he answered. Great. Another person who was dispensing with hellos when I called.
“Nope. Just checking in. Where are you?” I could hear the sound of traffic in the background.
“At work,” he said, as if explaining things to a rather slow person.
I’d sort of expected him to take at least a day off. “You feel well enough for that?”
“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Can we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something.” He sounded distracted.
“Sure. How about McClannigan’s at nine?”
“What now, Melina?” Now I had his attention.
“I thought you wanted to talk later.” I teased.
He made a funny noise, but then apparently whatever was going on caught his attention again. “Fine. McClannigan’s. Nine o’clock,” he said, and hung up.
I left the apartment and bopped down the stairs, feeling slightly more energetic than I had any right to. It wasn’t until I was on the street and headed toward Grandma’s Buick that I became aware of the distinct feeling of being watched.
I didn’t get the buzz of anything supernatural, but I did get that uncomfortable sensation that makes the hair on my neck stand up a little. I whirled around and examined the street behind me. Nothing. No one was out. The street was a sunny panorama of a perfect northern California day.
I turned back around and started walking again, listening for the scrape of a footstep or the sound of breathing behind me. I thought I caught the slight tap of a boot. I turned again. Nothing. Maybe it had been an echo of my own footstep. I hurried the rest of the way to the Buick and leapt inside. The solid thunk of the door as it closed reassured me.
I stayed quiet in the car for a few moments before I started it up and let my senses open. Damn it. There was nothing. But I knew I’d been watched. I’d felt it too many times before not to know the sensation and I’d learned to ignore it at my own peril.
I started the Buick and headed to the studio, keeping a careful watch on my rear- and side-view mirrors.
“STOP CROWDING ME!” CONNOR HILL TURNED AND GAVE WILL Greer a good hard shove.
Will stumbled backward, keeping his balance but knocking down Cassie Trebatchnik behind him.
“Hey,” I waded in, not waiting for the melee to escalate. The class had not been right from the second they’d walked in today. I’m not saying thirteen-year-olds were the easiest group of human beings to keep a handle on. I personally think that all junior high teachers deserve some kind of special combat pay bonuses, but this group was generally pretty respectful of one another, at least inside the studio.
“He keeps coming up right behind me.” Connor turned to me, arms flung out, trying to express his frustration.
“I do not.” Will was clearly just as frustrated. “You keep saying that. I’m nowhere near you, dude.”
“Don’t ‘dude’ me!” Connor advanced on Will.
This would not do.
“Both of you. Opposite corners. Now,” I said in my very best sensei voice, then thanked any lucky star I might have that it worked. I wasn’t all that much bigger than them and wasn’t sure what I’d have had to do if they hadn’t listened. Oh, I could take them, but it wasn’t the way I wanted to run my dojo. In the end, both boys were still steamed, but at least it wasn’t about to escalate into a fistfight.
“Take a moment. Breathe. Count to ten. You can come back to the mat when you think you can behave in a way that’s appropriate.” I marched back to the head of the classroom, rubbing the back of my neck. The feeling of being watched hadn’t left me all afternoon.
“Yes, sensei,” both boys muttered from their corners.
I looked over the class. Everyone was tense. Were they getting it from me? If they were,
I dialed Ted’s cell number as I grabbed my bag and keys. “Is it urgent?” he answered. Great. Another person who was dispensing with hellos when I called.
“Nope. Just checking in. Where are you?” I could hear the sound of traffic in the background.
“At work,” he said, as if explaining things to a rather slow person.
I’d sort of expected him to take at least a day off. “You feel well enough for that?”
“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Can we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something.” He sounded distracted.
“Sure. How about McClannigan’s at nine?”
“What now, Melina?” Now I had his attention.
“I thought you wanted to talk later.” I teased.
He made a funny noise, but then apparently whatever was going on caught his attention again. “Fine. McClannigan’s. Nine o’clock,” he said, and hung up.
I left the apartment and bopped down the stairs, feeling slightly more energetic than I had any right to. It wasn’t until I was on the street and headed toward Grandma’s Buick that I became aware of the distinct feeling of being watched.
I didn’t get the buzz of anything supernatural, but I did get that uncomfortable sensation that makes the hair on my neck stand up a little. I whirled around and examined the street behind me. Nothing. No one was out. The street was a sunny panorama of a perfect northern California day.
I turned back around and started walking again, listening for the scrape of a footstep or the sound of breathing behind me. I thought I caught the slight tap of a boot. I turned again. Nothing. Maybe it had been an echo of my own footstep. I hurried the rest of the way to the Buick and leapt inside. The solid thunk of the door as it closed reassured me.
I stayed quiet in the car for a few moments before I started it up and let my senses open. Damn it. There was nothing. But I knew I’d been watched. I’d felt it too many times before not to know the sensation and I’d learned to ignore it at my own peril.
I started the Buick and headed to the studio, keeping a careful watch on my rear- and side-view mirrors.
“STOP CROWDING ME!” CONNOR HILL TURNED AND GAVE WILL Greer a good hard shove.
Will stumbled backward, keeping his balance but knocking down Cassie Trebatchnik behind him.
“Hey,” I waded in, not waiting for the melee to escalate. The class had not been right from the second they’d walked in today. I’m not saying thirteen-year-olds were the easiest group of human beings to keep a handle on. I personally think that all junior high teachers deserve some kind of special combat pay bonuses, but this group was generally pretty respectful of one another, at least inside the studio.
“He keeps coming up right behind me.” Connor turned to me, arms flung out, trying to express his frustration.
“I do not.” Will was clearly just as frustrated. “You keep saying that. I’m nowhere near you, dude.”
“Don’t ‘dude’ me!” Connor advanced on Will.
This would not do.
“Both of you. Opposite corners. Now,” I said in my very best sensei voice, then thanked any lucky star I might have that it worked. I wasn’t all that much bigger than them and wasn’t sure what I’d have had to do if they hadn’t listened. Oh, I could take them, but it wasn’t the way I wanted to run my dojo. In the end, both boys were still steamed, but at least it wasn’t about to escalate into a fistfight.
“Take a moment. Breathe. Count to ten. You can come back to the mat when you think you can behave in a way that’s appropriate.” I marched back to the head of the classroom, rubbing the back of my neck. The feeling of being watched hadn’t left me all afternoon.
“Yes, sensei,” both boys muttered from their corners.
I looked over the class. Everyone was tense. Were they getting it from me? If they were,
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