elements from the periodic table papered over the green tiled walls. Colorful pipe-cleaner models of DNA swayed from the ceiling. An ancient display case housed Rube Goldberg machines, rockets, a whole taxidermy collection of birds and large rodents, and ostensibly, a human skull.
Phil’s classroom was at the end of the hallway, but Olive couldn’t help peeking into the classes in session as she hurried past. A chubby man in a sweater vest lectured to a room full of bored-looking students. That would be Mike Coleman, the earth science teacher. Olive had a hard time picking out the teacher in room 212, a tiny, white-haired lady, who was scurrying among the stations as her students spread something on petri dishes. The aptly named and beloved Flora Hughes of biology. One of the chemistry labs was fully occupied by a class, but the other had just a handful of students busy with Bunsen burners and graduated cylinders. A make-up quiz, perhaps, presided over by a pretty red-haired teacher. Jessica Flynn, the only female chemistry teacher, Olive deduced. Her slim figure and porcelain doll-like features seemed familiar, and then it hit Olive. The girl from the coffee shop.
Last April on her way to work, Olive had stopped to pick up cappuccinos for Tina and herself and spotted Phil on what looked like a date. The redhead had been sitting too close to him on the sofa and laughing loudly. Olive had hid behind a display of teapots and mugs and told herself in between deep breaths, “So. He’s moved on. What did you expect him to do?” She had tried to be calm and nonchalant, but the line had been inching forward at a snail’s pace and Phil was tucking a strand of the redhead’s hair behind her ear, so before Olive had reached the counter to order and risk being seen, she had fled.
The chemistry teacher studied Olive with friendly curiosity. Olive hadn’t realized she’d been frozen like an idiot in the doorway. She smiled vaguely, as though she’d been looking for something but now knew where it was, and hurried away before the redhead could ask her if she needed any help. No way was Olive letting Jessica Flynn get her hooks into Phil this year.
She practically ran the rest of the way down the hall. Phil’s classroom door was closed, but the lights were on, and when she pressed her nose against the glass, she could see him seated at his desk in the back of the room, eating what looked like a bowl of soup. She rapped twice and then hurtled into the room.
Phil bolted upright in his seat, eyes wide. “Thank God it’s you. I thought you were Gina.”
Not the welcome she’d expected. “Who’s Gina?”
“You remember Gina. I told you about her last year when she was in my class. She’s a sophomore now, and she’s still stalking me.”
“Oh,
that
Gina. Yes, now I remember.” Honestly, she couldn’t blame the girl for being in love with him. She bet half the girls at Wright High School had little hearts penned into their notebooks with “Mr. Russell” doodled inside. He just looked so gosh-darn cute in his sky blue dress shirt, striped tie, and khakis with that ridiculous crease pressed down the middle of each pant leg. Standing at the whiteboard, drawing diagrams, and cracking lame jokes like:
Why did the chicken cross the road? Because chickens at rest tend to stay at rest, and chickens in motion tend to cross the road.
Honestly, how could you not fall in love with a guy like that?
“I’m so glad to see you. I was worried when you didn’t return my calls yesterday.” Phil slurped a spoonful of his soup.
“I’m really sorry that I didn’t get back to you. I had an unexpected visitor at my apartment.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t miss much. It just didn’t seem like you, so I was a little concerned. An unexpected visitor?” He raised the bowl to his lips and drank the rest of the broth.
“Yeah, one of my mom’s friends. Sherry Witan.” No lies here. She would tell him as much of the truth as
Phil’s classroom was at the end of the hallway, but Olive couldn’t help peeking into the classes in session as she hurried past. A chubby man in a sweater vest lectured to a room full of bored-looking students. That would be Mike Coleman, the earth science teacher. Olive had a hard time picking out the teacher in room 212, a tiny, white-haired lady, who was scurrying among the stations as her students spread something on petri dishes. The aptly named and beloved Flora Hughes of biology. One of the chemistry labs was fully occupied by a class, but the other had just a handful of students busy with Bunsen burners and graduated cylinders. A make-up quiz, perhaps, presided over by a pretty red-haired teacher. Jessica Flynn, the only female chemistry teacher, Olive deduced. Her slim figure and porcelain doll-like features seemed familiar, and then it hit Olive. The girl from the coffee shop.
Last April on her way to work, Olive had stopped to pick up cappuccinos for Tina and herself and spotted Phil on what looked like a date. The redhead had been sitting too close to him on the sofa and laughing loudly. Olive had hid behind a display of teapots and mugs and told herself in between deep breaths, “So. He’s moved on. What did you expect him to do?” She had tried to be calm and nonchalant, but the line had been inching forward at a snail’s pace and Phil was tucking a strand of the redhead’s hair behind her ear, so before Olive had reached the counter to order and risk being seen, she had fled.
The chemistry teacher studied Olive with friendly curiosity. Olive hadn’t realized she’d been frozen like an idiot in the doorway. She smiled vaguely, as though she’d been looking for something but now knew where it was, and hurried away before the redhead could ask her if she needed any help. No way was Olive letting Jessica Flynn get her hooks into Phil this year.
She practically ran the rest of the way down the hall. Phil’s classroom door was closed, but the lights were on, and when she pressed her nose against the glass, she could see him seated at his desk in the back of the room, eating what looked like a bowl of soup. She rapped twice and then hurtled into the room.
Phil bolted upright in his seat, eyes wide. “Thank God it’s you. I thought you were Gina.”
Not the welcome she’d expected. “Who’s Gina?”
“You remember Gina. I told you about her last year when she was in my class. She’s a sophomore now, and she’s still stalking me.”
“Oh,
that
Gina. Yes, now I remember.” Honestly, she couldn’t blame the girl for being in love with him. She bet half the girls at Wright High School had little hearts penned into their notebooks with “Mr. Russell” doodled inside. He just looked so gosh-darn cute in his sky blue dress shirt, striped tie, and khakis with that ridiculous crease pressed down the middle of each pant leg. Standing at the whiteboard, drawing diagrams, and cracking lame jokes like:
Why did the chicken cross the road? Because chickens at rest tend to stay at rest, and chickens in motion tend to cross the road.
Honestly, how could you not fall in love with a guy like that?
“I’m so glad to see you. I was worried when you didn’t return my calls yesterday.” Phil slurped a spoonful of his soup.
“I’m really sorry that I didn’t get back to you. I had an unexpected visitor at my apartment.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t miss much. It just didn’t seem like you, so I was a little concerned. An unexpected visitor?” He raised the bowl to his lips and drank the rest of the broth.
“Yeah, one of my mom’s friends. Sherry Witan.” No lies here. She would tell him as much of the truth as
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