Page 41 of The Write Place

He shakes his head. “I can’t stay long. I have to work.”

Something like disappointment tugs at me. “Right. Of course.” I’m not sure what to say next, but Jenny’s voice telling me to be honest and gentle runs through my head. “We missed you today.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “We?”

“The students asked about you.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed, but his expression is neutral.

“And I guess I’ve gotten kind of used to having you around.” I give him this half-admission because the full truth of it is that I thought about him all day, but I’ve made up my mind to move this firmly back to friend territory, no matter what. The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, then falls.

“Look, Mac, I meant it when I said I don’t want to cause you any trouble. Honestly,” he pauses and runs a hand through his hair. It flops back over his forehead, and I have to bite my lip against the impulse to reach out and run my hands through it. His eyes drop to my lips and back to my eyes, but he squares his shoulders, swallowing hard. “I have everything I need to finish this book, I think, so I can get out of your hair if you want. I’ll make sure the contract is fulfilled with the novels and textbooks and—”

My mouth falls open and my eyebrows knit together. “That’s not at all what I want!” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I want to shove it back in.

He looks as surprised as I feel. “It’s not?”

“Not exactly,” I start, backpedaling slightly. “I think that we should cool it a little. Be friends.”

“Friends.” He says the word like it tastes bad in his mouth, and it doesn’t sound great to me either, but it’s the only solution I can see. If we can say goodbye on a happy note, I won’t have to face the sadness I know would otherwise be waiting for me when he leaves.

“Yeah, you know, people who hang out and enjoy each other’s company and don’t kiss.” My joke falls flat.

“Friends,” he says again, then he stands a little straighter. “Sure. Yeah. Friends.” It’s like he’s repeating the word, trying to convince himself it’s true.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask, a tiny bit of hope in my voice.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, resolute. I open the door for him and watch him walk down the driveway to his car. Friends, I tell myself. Friends. Friends. Friends. As if I need to convince myself, too.

Chapter 18

“I know it’s not ideal to start something new on a Friday,” I say as I walk around the classroom, handing a novel to each student, “but I won’t be here on Monday, so I wanted to make sure you all have copies of our next book so you can spend Monday reading while the substitute is here.”

Daniel, who came back today as promised, pops his head up at that, a questioning look on his face. He must have been engrossed in his draft or in the messages that have had his phone buzzing all day when I told my other classes, because I am positive this is the fifth time he’s hearing about it.

“What’s more important than us, Miss Mac?” Warren demands.

“It’s probably none of your business, Warren.” Aimee rolls her eyes.

“It’s okay, Aimee. I have an appointment that couldn’t be changed,” I say, still handing out books. Warren shrugs and flips through his book. Daniel looks a little skeptical, but returns to his writing.

“Anyway,” I continue, “As you can see, we are starting Frankenstein next, just in time for Halloween.”

Christian’s hand shoots up. “Miss Mac, the first three pages are missing in my book. Do you have another one?”

I see Daniel frown, but he continues staring at his notebook. I grab another copy and swap it out with Christian’s, leaving the defunct one on my desk.

“Why do you care, Christian?” Justin challenges. “You’re not gonna read it, anyway.” Some of the class laughs, but I can’t let that slide.

“Oh, and your homework return record is perfect, then, Justin?” I ask. His dark skin flushes, and he looks down. “Mmm hmm. He who lives in a glass house should not throw stones.”

Christian cackles at that, so I turn to him. “Glass houses, Christian. Be honest with yourself and consider if Justin has a point.” That silences the lot of them. “As I was saying, we will be reading Frankenstein next, and before you get too excited, let me warn you, it’s nothing like the movie.”

There are a few groans, and Haze says, “Yeah, isn’t the monster’s name not actually even Frankenstein?”

“In a way, you’re right, Haze. The guy who creates the monster is named Frankenstein. Victor Frankenstein, to be exact. I’d better not see any of your papers making that mistake.” I pointedly look at Christian and Justin, who have the good sense not to look back at me. “But as you read, I do want you to consider what makes a monster, and whether a human can be more of one than an actual monster.”

I write, What makes a monster? on the board, and about half of the students write that down in their notebooks.