Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(20)

I let out a laugh.

He’s funny. And surprisingly easy to talk to.

He laughs back, and his eyes crinkle a little at the sides as he does.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “On my first day of teaching, I got diarrheaed on twice. By two separate kids. I had an extra set of clothes to change into after the first incident, but the second incident left me with no option besides Shannon’s winter coat. It was ninety degrees outside.”

I immediately regret my use of the word diarrheaed in our first one-on-one conversation, but he tips his head back and laughs, which encourages me to keep going.

“It gets easier,” I say. “I promise. Just remember that you’re their teacher, not their friend. I know how tempting it is to be the cool young teacher, but that’s how the paper airplane fights get started.”

He takes a deep breath. “I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear, Phoebe. Thank you, you’re amazing. And if there’s anything I can help you with, like…” He looks me up and down and I go completely still, hoping he doesn’t notice that all the hairs on my arms are raised. “Reaching something”—he smirks—“I’m your guy.”

“I might actually take you up on that.” He has no idea how many times Cheryl and I have needed to stack tables and chairs on top of each other to get to things.

I’m already thinking of all the things I can pretend I need him to reach for tomorrow.

“You know where to find me.”

For the first time in maybe ever, I’m anxious to keep the conversation going.

“Did you get the memo from Principal Dan? About Book Buddies?” I ask.

“Yes!” He seems genuinely thrilled. “He did that on purpose, you know.”

“Did what?”

“Put me with you. He said that since I’m new, he’d pair me with his strongest teacher. That’s you.”

Oh.

“I’m sure he was talking about Cheryl.” I balk. “Cheryl’s an amazing teacher. And she’s been here much longer than I have.”

“I think he was talking about you, Phoebe.”

He hasn’t stopped smiling since I brought up the diarrhea incident, and neither have I. My cheeks hurt.

A sharp pain coming from the inside of my skort reminds me that I have half the list pressing against my bare ass and the other half sticking out of the top of my underwear, where Finn could easily see it if he finds himself on the wrong side of me. I start to back away slowly, not wanting to push my luck.

“Well, I’ve gotta run. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.”

He nods as I walk backward to the door.

I allow myself one last look at Finn before I make my exit, and I notice his eyes are fixed on my legs. His face is red.

“Um—um,” he stutters, flustered.

Is he…checking me out? Could it be possible that my new ThighMaster is already producing results? The Instagram ad did promise that my satisfaction would be guaranteed, or my money back.

And Nora’s always said that I should show off my legs more.

His eyes linger on my legs for another second before he chokes out, “Bye, Phoebe. See you tomorrow.”

He is checking me out.

My self-confidence surges, and I subtly position one leg out in front of me and, ever so slightly, flex.

“Bye, Finn,” I whisper, casting my eyes slightly downward as seductively as possible.

I let out a sigh of relief when I make it to the other side of the door, and once I finally get to a secure area, I remove the list from my skort.

“Teacher Phoebe!” I turn around to see two of my former students, twins Violet and Rose, barreling toward me.

“Girls!” I open my arms wide and they knock me back with the force of their hugs. “Don’t tell me.” I give them a quick once-over. “Sixth grade?”

“Seventh!” they chime at the same time.

I clutch my heart. “That can’t be possible.” Violet and Rose were part of my first class.

“That would make me…” I feign an expression of horror. “Almost thirty,” I whisper.

We laugh, and I ask them about their first day, which they describe to me with detailed enthusiasm.

“Well, I’ve gotta run, but come visit me and Teacher Cheryl soon.”

We hug goodbye, and I turn toward the door.

“Uh, Teacher Phoebe,” says one of the girls. I look back.

“You have period on your leg,” Rose whispers.

I look at the back of my leg and, sure enough, a trail of dried blood runs from the hem of my skort to the middle of my thigh. My hand shoots reflexively to the cut on my butt.

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

I pause, staring at the girls in silence, unsure of what to say.

“Thank you for letting me know,” I finally tell them while doing my best not to look mortified. I wouldn’t want them thinking periods are anything to be ashamed of.

Shannon and the outside garden are nothing but a blur as I whiz past them and race to my car. It’s only once I’ve reached the safety of the front seat that I give myself a second to process everything that just happened. I’m feeling so many things at once: embarrassment, pride, infatuation, more embarrassment, the impulse to return my ThighMaster…but the feeling that trumps them all is genuine excitement.