Seeking Mr. Wrong Read online

  “Good morning! Good morning!” Brunhilda barked into the microphone. “Please take your seats so we can begin.”

  Mindy and I exchanged a glance but dutifully proceeded down the aisle and took our seats. “Fantastic. Welcome back, everyone. It’s so good to see you all. There’s Danish in the back, and some coffee and tea if anyone’s interested.”

  I darted a gaze around the room. No one moved. “We have some housekeeping items before we get to our official agenda,” she continued. “You all should have received a letter from the board of education.”

  We had. The administration, led by the likes of Brunhilda, had won in arbitration over the teacher’s union. Our salaries were frozen for a year, and the cost of our medical benefits was rising. D is for Dragon Lady.

  “I think we can all agree that the last few months of negotiations have been tense and have resulted in some hard feelings. Today, I want to put all of that aside so that we can move forward as one unified school.”

  Silence, and a cough at the back of the room. “Easy for her to say,” whispered Mindy. “Her salary is frozen at six figures.”

  I’d been counting on a modest pay raise and a cost-of-living increase. I didn’t live in an expensive house, but the price of everything was rising. Plus, I liked to donate what I could to Big Dog Rescue. They were a small charity, and they’d saved a lot of homeless pets that otherwise would have been euthanized—Odin included. Maybe I could take a cue from Mindy and manifest enough pennies to keep my charity, my house, my heat, and my food.

  Brunhilda deflected some questions from the lucky teachers who were protected by tenure. Reasonable inquiries like “Are we still expected to bring coffee cake for staff meetings when our salaries have effectively decreased?” And “Are we bringing back dress-down Fridays for charity?” Brunhilda replied that doughnut holes would be an acceptable substitute for coffee cake, and dress-down Fridays would not be returning, but we were all encouraged to give to charity nonetheless.

  “Let me be clear. You will have all the support you need. Your keys will open the school on evenings and weekends so that you can do your job according to the highest standards, which is what we all expect from each other.” And then she folded her hands primly on the lectern and said, “If there are any other questions, you can stop by my office some other time.” Discussion over. Screw all of you, she might as well have said. I won.

  “Now. You may have heard that Marlene Kitrich will be taking a leave of absence,” Brunhilda continued. “She is a valued colleague, and we will miss her quiet presence. However, our children deserve our best, so we must forge ahead, and I cannot leave the vice principal post vacant. The board of education has appointed Eric Clayman on an emergency basis to serve in that position until such time as Ms. Kitrich returns.”

  Behind me, Evelyn Pierce, the music teacher, whispered, “Eric who? Who the hell is that?” As if on cue, a man rose from the front row and proceeded onstage.

  “Well hello, Mr. Clayman,” Mindy murmured.

  Hello indeed.

  He had brown hair that curled just slightly and wire-rimmed glasses. Her heart stammered in her chest like a startled bird. He was taller than Brunhilda, and muscular. He was wearing a finely tailored navy blue suit and a light blue tie, and he looked as if he’d wandered out of a boardroom. He could be an executive. She’d like to take his dictation.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “Did you manifest him, Mindy?”

  “No, I’m not that advanced.” She fanned herself with one hand. “Is it hot in here, or is it just him?”

  He was hot all right . . . and vaguely familiar. At that moment, I saw him head-on, and his features came together. Eric. Everything clicked. This gorgeous man—he wasn’t just the acting vice principal. He was the guy who’d given my niece and nephew phallic lollipops in a back alley only the day before. And you told him your name was Matilda. I groaned quietly and mumbled an obscenity under my breath.

  Brunhilda stepped to the side to allow Hot Guy access to the lectern microphone. “It’s a pleasure to be here and an honor. I’ve been serving as assistant vice principal at River Junction Middle School for the past two years, and I see the vice principal role as a dynamic one. I’m a facilitator, and I’m here to make sure you all have what you need to do your jobs effectively.”

  “How about giving us pay increases!” someone shouted from the back of the room.

  I winced, but Eric didn’t flinch. “I understand there is a lot of concern over the contract negotiations, but let’s set the right tone. My office door will be open if you ever want to stop by. In addition, it will be my job to perform classroom observations in the coming months, so we’ll all be seeing a lot of each other.” He smiled. It was cute.

  He continued speaking before exiting the stage and turning the lectern back over to Brunhilda. When he was done, Mindy and I exchanged a glance.

  “I hope he’s a disciplinarian,” she whispered. “I’ve been feeling naughty.”

  THE FIRST TIME they shook hands, Gretchen Hauschild had nearly broken Eric’s fingers. “Mr. Clayman,” she bellowed. “It’s a pleasure.”

  He’d tried not to wince as she squeezed his bones together. “Dr. Hauschild. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh, really?” She’d clenched her fist tighter.

  “Good things, of course.”

  One more beat, and then she’d released her grip. Relief flooded his system. He’d never forget the smile on her face and the challenge in her eyes. He’d forever wonder whether she’d hurt him on purpose.

  This was the previous year, when Gretchen had been newly hired as principal of Noah Webster. It was true that he’d heard a lot about her. She was tough, smart, and no-nonsense, and he couldn’t argue with the test scores from her previous schools. She knew how to get results and everyone in the district knew it. Of course now Eric knew other things about Gretchen, as well. She was said to be petty and blunt, and rumor had it her own faculty would be on the verge of a mutiny if any number of them could figure out how to stop arguing with one another for five minutes and work toward a common purpose. Because as much as Gretchen’s reputation preceded her, so did the reputation of the Noah Webster faculty, and none of it was pretty.

  “It’s like high school over there,” one of his colleagues had warned him after he’d been named acting vice principal. “I give Dr. H a lot of credit. Her job isn’t easy.”

  “Be careful,” another had teased him. “That faculty is like a pit of vipers.”

  Eric chalked the warnings up to professional jealousy, nothing more. Given the chance, he had no doubt any one of his colleagues would have jumped at the same opportunity he had. The rumors must have had some effect, however, because he found himself being impressed when the convocation ended and no one had thrown a shoe at Gretchen.

  “Leadership is a dance, Eric,” she explained to him as they made their way down the school hall after lunch. “It’s a constant give-and-take. Done correctly, there’s an elegance about it.”

  He glanced over at the stocky woman beside him and tried to imagine her ballroom dancing. “I’ve sometimes compared being an administrator to writing sonnets.”

  “Ah. Sonnets.” Her small blue eyes lit at the suggestion. She folded her hands behind her back. “The careful selection of words. Nothing wasted. That’s a dance in itself.” She smiled. “I like your youthful optimism.”

  Eric’s collar tightened around his neck, but in hindsight he was relieved she hadn’t asked him to explain the analogy. He would’ve told her that being an administrator was like writing sonnets, because most people hate poetry. This little quip would not have impressed the new boss. He moved to stuff his hands into his pockets and then remembered he was wearing a suit.

  “We can start here,” Gretchen said as they approached a classroom. “This is the kindergarten wing.” She paused beside the door, staring at the bra
ss rectangle where the nameplate should have been. Then she glanced inside the classroom. “Miss Osbourne—oh, right. She was married this summer. It’s Mrs. Abbington now. She’ll need a new nameplate.” She glanced at Eric. “Make a note.”

  “New nameplate. Got it.”

  He peeked inside. The classroom was cheerful, with three large windows, colorful books arranged neatly in a wooden bookcase, and watercolor posters above each activity station. He read them quickly. Music. Reading. Writing. Welcome to Kindergarten. Eric took in the small chairs in primary colors and the little coat hooks on the wall. Were the children really so tiny? Their problems must be tiny, too. Runny noses and untied shoelaces. He realized how far away he was from his middle school comfort zone, where he was used to maneuvering an altogether different landscape of cliques and hormones.

  There were two teachers inside, laughing as they stapled paper leaves to a bulletin board. His eyes stopped at the pretty woman with her brown hair in a tight ponytail. She was quietly attractive, with soft features and a warm smile that lit her entire face. Unassuming, but definitely pretty. She stood in profile to him, whispering something to her friend and giggling. Except it wasn’t exactly a whisper. It was loud, and it sounded like “Screw the boss.”

  Her companion shook her head and shrieked, “I love it.”

  Eric shifted his weight on his feet and glanced at Gretchen, whose mouth tightened with disapproval. She gave three loud raps with her knuckles on the open door and said, “Mr. Clayman, this is Mrs. Abbington’s classroom. And that’s Ms. Ling. She teaches first grade.”

  That’s when the pretty girl turned to face him and he realized he’d seen her before, when his good deed had backfired and he’d made a complete ass of himself in the alley. Matilda. He cleared his throat. Was there a chance she wouldn’t recognize him? Was it wrong to hope that she suffered short-term memory loss? But no, he saw her gaze shift away from his. She knew exactly who he was. Eric held his breath and vowed that if she said a word about what had happened in the alley, he would feign ignorance. He wasn’t going to be unraveled by one harmless mistake. She had overreacted.

  He saw the distrust in Matilda’s eyes, but he forced himself to smile. He set his uneasy hands on his waist and tried to assume a casual, friendly stance. Day one of the new job, he thought wryly, and he was already off to a great start. He’d be writing sonnets in no time.

  I LOVE classroom setup, the order that comes before the happy chaos of the school year. I’d hung the name tags on the coat hooks and cubbies by the door, and the reading corner was neatly arranged by level and subject matter. I had four little wooden tables along the edge of the room, each with four little plastic chairs in blue, red, and yellow. I’d made name tags for each place and set a plastic box filled with crayons in the center. My fall alphabet poster was hanging, and I’d spent hours cutting out yellow, red, and orange leaves to make the room look bright and friendly. I’d stocked the supply closet with tissues, hand sanitizer, and rolls of paper towels. The only thing I had left to do was to hang my bulletin board, so I’d enlisted Mindy’s help to staple the red strips of paper to the board.

  “What are we going to call him?”

  Mindy was standing on a low bookcase, holding the paper in place. It was the first time I realized she was wearing robin’s-egg-blue ballet flats and a short, raspberry-colored sleeveless dress. Brunhilda would not approve of the armpits. “Who are you talking about?” I said as I removed a plugged staple.

  “Clayman. Señor Caliente. The vice principal of hotness.”

  “Wait, are we brainstorming?” A staple shot across the room. “I don’t know. What’s his last name, Clayman? That’s funny enough, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell Mindy that I’d already met Eric, and that he was possibly a sexual predator and definitely a person I was taking pains to avoid. I knew how the rumor mill worked at Noah Webster. “Eric Clayman gave my niece and nephew a candy phallus in a back alley” would quickly evolve into a story that warranted a criminal investigation. But no matter how much I tried to change the subject, Mindy was stuck on it. “Brunhilda and Clayman. It doesn’t have the same punch as Brunhilda and the Familiar. That sounded like an indie band.”

  “Let’s sleep on it. There’s got to be an obvious one we’re missing.”

  We were stapling background to the middle of the board. Mindy was wearing silver rings on nearly every finger. Mine were naked. “I like your rings,” I said, glad she’d dropped it for now. “You got some new ones.”

  “The kids love them. I let them try them on when they listen.” She eyed me sidelong. “So when are we getting another Sweet Pea book? And do you have any extras? My classroom copies are getting dingy.”

  “Soon, I hope. I’m meeting with my editor on Saturday. I owe her one more under my current contract, but I’m hoping she’ll offer me another contract to write more.” The stapler was jamming again, but I could muscle through it with a good whack.

  “Is it called Sweet Pea Gets Her Love Life Back on Track with a Torrid Love Affair?”

  “Close. It’s called Sweet Pea’s One-Night Stand.”

  Mindy giggled. “Sweet Pea Tries Pole Dancing.”

  We struggled to hold the paper in position, and I laughed so hard I snorted. “No, no. How about, Sweet Pea Screws the Boss?”

  “I love it!”

  We were laughing so hard that we didn’t hear them at first. Then there was a loud knock on my open classroom door and a cough. My stomach fell as I turned to see Brunhilda and Señor Caliente—darn, guess that one stuck—standing in the doorway. By the stern look on Brunhilda’s face, I was pretty sure they’d just gotten an earful.

  “Mr. Clayman, this is Mrs. Abbington’s classroom,” Brunhilda boomed. “And that’s Ms. Ling. She teaches first grade.”

  He looked away before meeting my gaze. Then he smiled and nodded his head. When he smiled, he was intimidatingly hot. “Nice to meet you both.”

  I wondered if he recognized me at all. If he didn’t, that would save us both some awkwardness. But Eric was watching me in such a way—I just knew this was wishful thinking. Candy phallus aside, Señor Caliente wasn’t entirely clueless.

  I climbed off the bookcase and tried to pretend that life was normal. Why, no, Mindy and I haven’t been having a wildly inappropriate conversation at all! And of course I didn’t ask my new boss just yesterday if he was a pervert. Ridiculous!

  “Actually, it’s still Ms. Osbourne,” I said, grasping at the straw that maybe they’d both feel so sorry for me they’d forget all the unpleasantness. “I took down the new nameplate. I’ll need the old one back.”

  Brunhilda’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were taking your husband’s name? When we talked in spring you said—”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She made me so nervous sometimes, and I pulled a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I did say I was changing my name, but James and I didn’t actually get married, so it should just say Ms. Osbourne.”

  Bam! Just like that, I’d dropped the Wedding Bomb of Shame. There, aren’t you sorry you asked, Brunhilda?

  Except that my principal is apparently not sensitive to things like other people’s feelings, so Brunhilda stared at me and said, “You didn’t get married? I thought you were getting married in July.”

  “June. But we called it off. I notified Marlene.”

  “I see.” She tightened her mouth and lifted her chin, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was trying to come up with a reason that I was mistaken. But finally she said, “Eric, you’ll need to amend your to-do list. Ms. Osbourne needs her old nameplate back.”

  Her old nameplate. My cheeks burned. I glanced uneasily at him, and he cut a tentative smile at me and said, “Sure. We’ll get that fixed right away.” He had a deep, rich voice. I wondered what he looked like under his clothes. So much for my comatose vagina.
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  “Great. Thanks.” I bobbed my head a few times and stared at my feet. “So anyway, this is my classroom. I have everything arranged for the most part, and Mindy’s helping me set up the bulletin board.”

  “It looks great.” Eric pointed to a poster of a boy and a girl sharing a book on a beanbag chair. “I like these pictures you’ve set up all over the room. You have one in each station?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at them. “Yes, one each for art, reading, music, and dramatic play. I drew them.”

  “She writes children’s books,” Mindy said.

  Eric’s eyebrows rose. “Really? What about?”

  I waved a hand. It wasn’t false humility; it was genuine embarrassment. “Manners, mostly. I started writing them for my students, and then some people encouraged me to send them to a publisher, so I did, and they were picked up.”

  “They’re adorable,” Mindy said. “The Sweet Pea series. Have you heard of them?”

  “It . . . sounds familiar.” But Eric looked apologetic.

  “I wouldn’t expect anyone to know them. It’s not like they’re bestsellers or anything. Still working the day job.” I forced a flat laugh.

  Brunhilda held her nose high in the air as if she had sniffed something foul. “We encourage this kind of ambition. We’ve incorporated these books in the curriculum. They’re delightful. Adorable, really,” she added drily.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  Adorable? Delightful? Brunhilda made the qualities sound like a liability. I started pounding on my stapler. “This is stuck again. I’m going to have to get a paper clip or something to unjam it. Mindy, do you have a stapler I could use? Maybe we should go to your classroom to get it?”

  She blinked at me a few times. “Sure. Okay. We could do that.”

  “You’re probably both busy, anyway.” I couldn’t quite meet Eric’s eyes, but I’d noticed them. They were a lighter green than I’d realized, and they were beautiful.