Page 91 of Troublemaker: The Big Picture Edition

Go away, chest flutters.

As I walk down the hall to the principal’s office, I pass the teachers’ lounge. Miss Farrell walks out of it.

She smirks at me. “Have a great evening,” she says.

That smirk. That tone of voice. It gives me a chill, and I get that sinking feeling in my stomach.

I don’t respond to her. I wouldn’t, even if I didn’t have a lump in my throat all of a sudden. She can kiss my ass with her stupid thin lips.

Mrs. Hernandez smiles at me when I walk into the front office. “Go on in, honey. She’s expecting you.”

All I can hear as I shuffle toward Mrs. Woodard’s open door is the insane pounding of my heart and theStar Wars“Imperial March” theme in my head.

Which is dumb. Because maybe she just wants to congratulate me again on the work that Alex and I did on the holiday show. Maybe tell me that it was nominated for a local theatre award or something.

She’s at her desk, holding a bottle of drinkable yogurt with one hand and typing on her keyboard with the other.

I knock so quietly on the door because I am hoping she won’t actually hear me.

She glances up, completely stone-faced. “Emilia. Come in. Close the door behind you, would you? Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” I do all of those things, hesitantly.

She puts her yogurt drink down, places one hand over the other, flat on her desk, in front of herself. She gives me a tight smile. “How are you?”

“Fine. How are you?”

“I have a bunion on my foot and a canker sore in my mouth. Other than that, I’m tired and stressed. But enough about me. I want to bring something up with you… This is not an official reprimand.”

Oh shit.

“Because, as I’ve mentioned, we do not have an official policy regarding such matters.”

Oh fuck.

“It has come to my attention that you have been spending non-school-related time with the single father of one of your students. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“Romantically? Don’t answer that—I can’t ask.” She watches my face for a response, even though she clearly already knows the answer.

I don’t even blink because I’m afraid a cascade of tears will fall if I do. I clear my throat. “Can I ask how you know about this?”

She sighs. “Miss Farrell overheard Ryder Vega and the blonde girl—Cheyenne—talking about it. He was asking her what his dad should get you for Valentine’s Day. She heard him say you’ve been at their house a lot and that you had a sleepover.”

Fuck you, Paige.

“Um. To be clear, I did stay in his guest room when I slept over that night. As a friend. Ryder is…well, I thought he was unaware of the kind of relationship I’ve been having with his father.”

“Oh, honey. Kids know. They always know. And I know it’s not like he’s married or anything, but there are optics to consider. I’ve had nothing but positive feedback about you from the parents so far. But you’re new. You’re young. You’re pretty. I’m sure I don’t need to explain it to you. Perceptions. Gossip. Jealous students.”

“I do understand.”

“I am asking you to consider putting a pin in this. Nip it in the bud before more people find out. Wait until Ryder is no longer your student.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know that’s easier said than done. I mean, let’s face it—he’s one of Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelors. Why would he wait for anyone for five months?”