My hand hovers over the doorknob as I prepare myself for my entry.
Taking a deep breath, I twist the doorknob and enter the classroom.
3
Elijah
I thought my time in high school had ended, and I'd never be back, but I was wrong. Just like I was wrong that writing a book will be easy, and success will come quickly.
I snort at my naivety.
I finished college with a perfect 4.0 GPA, and that didn’t mean shit for a career as a writer. The words I put onto paper doesn’t make money to feed me and pay the rent when I can’t find a publisher. As much as I hate the idea of being one of those ordinary adults working nine to five, I have to do it.
So here I am. In a town at the size of my thumb. In front of a well-designed building Madison Hall High School, to teach some posh private school kids. But beggars can't be choosers, and this is the first opportunity in my job hunting. I don't have the luxury to wait for something more appealing. Especially not when my last payment from the Diner I worked in barely covered a few months’ worth of due rent I owed.
I’m sure I’ll be bored to death in this small town, but maybe I can finish the first draft of my novel.
It's just for three months. When the teacher who took time off because of her pregnancy decides to come back, I'll be gone. Hopefully, with a book ready to be sent to the publishers I've already emailed many times.
I sigh.
I hope high school isn’t as bad as I remember.
I look at the gold colored letters, Madison Hall written on the building. High school can be the most crucial time in a person's life. It leaves marks on you, some better than others, but high school changes you from a kid to the first draft of the adult you'll become.
At the age of twenty-six, it still gives me anxiety, and I want to rebel just like I did in my time.
Before taking a step into the big gate, I walk around the building and light up a cigar. Filling my lungs with the deadly smoke one more time.
I stop when I see someone sitting under the big tree. I can't see clearly who it is from where I stand, but that doesn't prevent me being hypnotized. All I see is long black hair, falling in waves to her arms. She sits with her bag on her legs, but it's not what I see that stops me, it's how it feels. Everything about her, from where she sits – far from the school building to how she sits – her back to the world like she doesn't want to face anything and anyone – feels lonely. The writer in me finds something inspiring and beautiful in her melancholy. Taking one last glance at her, I crush the butt under my boot and walk into the school. The ring goes off, and every door in the hallway opens. Voices erupt and the hallway fills with people. Before I'm suffocated between the chaos, I stop a girl.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for the Headmaster.”
The girl licks her lips as she gives me a once over. I suppress my grin and wait for her answer.
“He’s in the other building,” she points.
With a thank you, I turn my back and walk away.
I hear her call out, “You don’t look like a student?”
With the tight dark jeans, combat boots, and leather jacket I sure as hell don’t look like one. I smirk over my shoulder, “I’m not.”
I can still feel her gaze on my back, and I chuckle. The high school girls are still the same it seems. I've had my fair share of women through high school and college and after. But this isn't the same ground as before. Now I'm here as a teacher, and I'm certainly not going to ruining the chance of my livelihood for some young, eager pussy.
There are only three offices in the small building. Counselor, headmaster, and nurse. I knock on the headmaster's door and step in.
“Mr. John? I’m Elijah Richards. We’ve been in touch since last week,” I say.
“Mr. Richards, have a seat. I’ll have to quickly explain what we expect from you because I need to head over to the teachers meeting.”
“Sure,” I say, glad that it’ll be over fast.
"You're a substitute teacher since one of our English teachers is taking time off. You'll be working with one class only. We have appointed teachers for every class here. I think you can clearly see how different and dedicated our school is. We care very much about keeping the kids and their parents happy," he says arrogantly.
I nod with boredom.
He glares. "You can be a temporary teacher, but the same rules apply to you. We care about professionalism. And…" he trails off to look at my attire disapprovingly. "I assume you have a suit. Male teachers are required to wear a white shirt," he finishes.