17. Oliver

SEVENTEEN

Oliver

On Monday morning, bright and early, almost two hours before students enter the building, I sit at my desk and sip my coffee, mentally preparing myself for the week. I glance through my calendar, organizing my life and notes in my head. I note the Principal’s Conference about district goals, the School Leadership Team meeting about our school goals, the meeting with the Parent Teacher Organization president regarding classroom materials, the meeting with District Finance regarding our enrollment numbers, the disciplinary meetings with the head of our after-school program, the compliance meetings with our Special Education department and school psychologist, the Department of Buildings for the air conditioning, CPS, the classroom observations, coaching sessions. The fundraiser planning meetings.

The thing is, even with this packed schedule, meetings on meetings on meetings, leaving no time for face time with students, I like my job. I love my job. I love running a school. I’m excellent at it. I don’t get to see students much, which used to be my favorite part about working in education, but I enjoy making decisions that positively affect them on a larger scale. I love working with teachers, parents, community members. I feel like an active, contributing member of the PS 2 community.

I think about what life would look like if I worked in the district office as the Deputy Superintendent. It could mean something even bigger. Instead of making large-scale decisions that impact one school, I could make decisions that positively impact the fifteen schools in the district. I could meet with principals instead of teachers, helping guide them to make the right choices for their school community. My “community” would just grow, be larger.

What I do not think about, however, is my encounter with Georgia on Friday night. Particularly what happened when I got home.

I do not think about the way I stood in my shower, hearing Georgia’s voice say that she would let me spit in her mouth or the way she said “sir”.

I do not think about the feeling of her soft, delicate finger on my lips, or the way I imagined sucking it into my mouth, as I gripped myself under the stream of water.

I do not think about the way I imagined the feeling of her fingers, instead of mine, tugging me tightly, nails scratching in just the right way.

I do not think about spilling all over her tits, open mouth, tongue out, instead of my shower wall.

I definitely do not think about the way I would rub my come into her brash, impertinent mouth.

No. The two of us are finally in a good place, it seems, and I refuse to, I cannot, jeopardize it in any way.

I sigh. The list. The goals. Lists are good. Lists are dependable. Lists won’t get you fired.

Later that day, Superintendent Daniel’s shiny face pops through my door .

I clear my throat. “Good morning, Mr. Daniels. This is a surprise.”

“Hello, Oliver,” he waves, forgetting he is holding his coffee in his hand and spilling some of it across my floor. He smears the spill around with his foot, then moves forward to sit in the chair in front of me.

Wordlessly, I hand him a roll of paper towels. He looks at it for a second, as if he doesn’t know what it’s for. I point to the spill. “Ha, of course.”

He unravels what seems like the whole roll, as if he’s never had to clean up a spill in his life and does not know the appropriate amount of paper towel it takes to clean one up, and gingerly moves the pile around the spill using his toe. I hand him a trash can, and using the very tips of his fingers, he moves the mostly dry paper towel bunch into the trash.

He drops his body into the chair. “Well, Oliver, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to pop by and say hi to my future Deputy Superintendent.”

“Hello, Mr. Daniels,” I give him.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“Well, I certainly would be remiss if I didn’t.”

“Wonderful! Have you given any thought to the terms of this promotion?”

“Get Class 302’s test scores up. Make sure to keep them up. Not too difficult.” It really isn’t too difficult, if Georgia’s history of high test scores has anything to say about it. The other day, I pulled out the screenshots of Georgia’s class data that Lina had given me. Upon further digging and research of my own through my internal database, I determined they were, in fact, real screenshots, and Georgia did, in fact, have excellent test scores. She wasn’t wrong when she said she was a great teacher. She had the data to back it up.

“Yes, yes,” Daniels says, waving his hand in the air in a shoo-ing motion. “Obviously the test scores. But I’m disappointed in you that you didn’t read the ‘subtext’,” he says, irritating with finger quotes, “in my messaging. You have to be ready to talk the talk, and be even more ready to decipher the meaning behind the words.”

“What does that even mean?”

He leans forward, so close that I can see that the shine on his face is because of oily skin, not sweat, which makes it somehow more disgusting. “Keep the class off the radar, Oliver.” He leans back. “I’ve gotten a phone call from a parent in that classroom. He says that he doesn’t appreciate that his son is a part of a ‘den of sin’, is what he called it.”

I frown.

“Now, I don’t know exactly what that parent means. It could be a number of things. It could also be because of the hot young thing you have in there, parading around with her tits spilling out of her shirt.”

I feel my face turning red, outraged. I am a tight wire, ready to snap. “Excuse you?”

“Now, now, Oliver. I don’t blame you for keeping her around. She’s certainly nice to look at. I peeked in that classroom myself, before coming down here.”

My knuckles turn white because of how hard they are gripping the edge of my desk.

“Now it could be that, or?—”

“Enough.” I stand up. The calm of my voice does not betray my rage. “I will not have you coming in here and insulting my staff. I?—”

Daniels smiles silkily. “I see I’ve hit a nerve.” He stands up to meet me eye to eye. “Let me tell you this directly, Oliver, since you cannot seem to read between the lines. Keep that class off the radar. I do not want to hear one thing about that class, regarding test scores, regarding their new teacher, regarding any drama that could be politically twisted to make the district look bad. If I hear from them or about them one more time, consider your promotion in jeopardy.”

I stare at him stonily, not bothering to respond.

“I’ll see myself out, then.” Daniels turns to walk out the door. “Oh, and Oliver?” He turns to meet my eyes once more. “I seemed to have missed a spot,” he says, pointing to the spilled coffee on the ground. “Would you be a dear and wipe that up for me?”

The list. The goals. Having to work with this fucking asshole will be a blip on the radar compared to the work I’ll actually be able to accomplish, the impact I’ll have. Stay off the radar. No drama. I blow out a breath.