45. Birdie

Confession: I fall...fast.

Walking into school on Monday in my new clothes, I felt like a new woman. I could still feel the effects of Cohen on my body. The tender spots on my hips where he'd grabbed me tight. The way any little thing could send my mind back to thinking of him.

For the first time in a long time, I felt giddy, infatuated, whatever this was, and I couldn't get enough.

On my way to get coffee, one of the popular girls, Olivia Nelson, greeted me. "Nice skirt, Ms. M. I need some sunglasses with you around."

I knew she was making fun of me, and my first instinct was to shy away. To make some self-deprecating joke. But then I noticed Sierra Cook a few lockers down and thought of her being brave enough to make her own choices after high school. I could wear a skirt.

"Thanks, Liv!" I said cheerily, doing a half turn. "Isn't it so cute? And stretchy too."

She blinked, shocked at my response no doubt, and I continued walking to the teachers' lounge, running right into Headmaster Bradford.

His eyes traveled my outfit, and he swallowed. "Ms. Melrose, may I speak with you?"

"Of course." I lifted my chin, refusing to look away, even though I could feel the eyes of other teachers in the room on me.

I followed the headmaster to his office—one with heavy wooden furniture, stacks of gilded tomes, and even a taxidermized bear.

The bell rang as he shut the door behind us. Ignoring it, he said, "Do you have a copy of the Emerson Academy handbook?"

My eyebrows drew together. "Yes."

"And have you referred to the dress code section recently?"

"Not recently, no, but my skirt is below my knees. And my top covers my shoulders and isn't made of cotton material."

He pressed his lips together, making his short mustache flatten. Then he licked the tip of his finger and flipped to a page in the handbook. "All staff are required to dress business professional. For men, slacks, dress shirts, and ties, jacket optional. For women, close-toed loafers or heels, dresses or skirts knee length or longer, or full-length pants, as well as professional tops."

"Yes," I said. "I'm not sure how I'm violating the dress code?"

He looked pointedly at my skirt. "Professionalism not only includes pieces, but prints and colors as well."

I raised my eyebrows, already feeling hot behind my ears. "Viewing pink as unprofessional comes across as misogynistic, Headmaster. I'm sure that isn't the impression you'd like to make with your staff, students, or parents."

For the first time ever, Headmaster Bradford looked surprised, but he quickly gathered himself. "Please, keep professionalism in mind when building your wardrobe. That is all."

I walked out of his office, knowing, at least for now, I had won. The high carried me through the week, that and the texts Cohen sent me. On Monday, he showed me a picture of a cardinal that had landed in a tree outside the bar. On Tuesday, he sent money to my Venmo and told me to get a coffee on him. Wednesday, he asked for a selfie because he missed my smile, and by Thursday, my thoughts were consumed with how much I longed to see him again.

So much so that I got distracted meandering the halls between classes and was now late getting back to my office. I needed to make a call to a parent, and then I had some paperwork to complete after that.

I picked up the pace, my kitten heels clicking softly on the tile as I walked toward my office through the empty halls.

One student stepped out of a classroom, and I said, "Do you have your hall pass, sweetie?"

She smiled and held up a hall pass of the teacher's making.

"Great." I wished her a good day and turned a corner to take a shortcut to my office. I had to walk through the gym and past some sporting goods storage closets, but the gym teacher wasn't around to yell at me for taking my heels on the hardwood.

Something to my left rattled inside a closet, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I took a few steps away from the doors, wondering if something had shifted inside, and then I heard another rattle.

Someone, or something, was inside there.

I had my keys, but just in case it was Coach looking for some gear, I knocked on the door. "Anyone in there?"

No voices came.

I worried an animal had somehow gotten into the building. I almost chickened out and left to fetch the custodian, but decided I was a strong, independent woman. Besides, if there was a racoon in there, it would probably run away, not jump for my face like in a slapstick comedy movie.

Taking a deep breath, I put my key in the knob, twisted, and stepped back, wincing in case there was, in fact, a raccoon inside.

Instead, I found something much more surprising.

Ollie Bardot and Ryde Alexander.

Their faces were red, their lips pink, and Ollie's curly hair was wilder than usual.

As they stammered out excuses, what had really been happening became quite clear.

I cleared my throat, trying to catch my own bearings. "Do either of you have a hall pass?"

They looked at each other and then shook their heads.

"Come with me," I said.

The walk to my office felt longer than ever. And they weren't in trouble. Plenty of kids skipped class, but both of them had fairly good attendance records. No, I needed to talk to them about safety—with their bodies and their hearts.

We reached my office, and I turned to the boys. "Ryde, will you wait in the hallway, please?"

Silently, he sat on the bench while Ollie followed me inside.

His eyes were on Ralphie, and Ralphie seemed to peer back at him with his big black eyes.

"Ollie," I said softly, "does this have anything to do with why your grades have been suffering?"

Ollie didn't quite meet my eyes. But he nodded enough to know the answer. "Are you going to tell my parents?" he asked. "Or Ryde's? His family doesn't know..."

"Oh, Ollie." I covered my chest with my hand, shaking my head slightly. I took a deep breath and spoke softly. "As it's a first-time offense, I'll let you both off with a warning." He turned toward the door, but I said, "Wait. I know how difficult this must be for you."

"Do you?" He turned on me, his eyes red-rimmed. "Do you know how hard it is to be gay in a small school where the majority of the student population is Christian? Do you know how hard it is for your sexual orientation to be an insult or the butt of a joke?"

His words had a bite behind them, but I knew the sting wasn't for me. "I don't," I said gently. "But I know how hard it is not to be free to date who you want to date." I pressed my lips together, shaking my head. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Me neither," he said.

My lips tugged into a shadow of a smile. "Why don't you get back to class? I'm assuming fourth-hour wasn't scheduled to take place in a utility closet."

He nodded and walked out the door.

Gathering myself, I took a breath and went to the hall to get Ryde to come into my office. But when I looked at the bench, he was gone.