Learning Curve

“I am so far.” Up until about five minutes ago, anyway.

“Any problems with any of the students?”

What was he fishing for? What had he heard? Calm down, she ordered herself. If Linda didn’t know why she was in here, no one knew. And as for Linda’s theory about what Kyle was after… Emily shuffled that thought out of the way.

“Problems with the students?” Emily asked. “None. No problems at all.” She pulled one foot out from under her chair and crossed one knee over the other to get more comfortable.

“So, no problems,” said Kyle. “Glad to hear it. We’re proud of our students here at Caldwell.”

“They’re terrific.”

“And the staff? I hope they’ve been helpful.”

“Oh, yes. Extremely.”

“Good, good.” He smoothed his tie again. “We want you to feel like part of the team here.”

“Thank you.”

He cocked one hip against the edge of his desk, shifting his weight to one foot and letting the other dangle near her knee. When Joe made that same move, it was fluid and casual. Kyle’s version was posed and calculated. She tried to ignore his loafer’s subtle invasion of her space and her urge to shift out of reach.

“You’re probably aware, Emily, that there are several staff members who are single, like you.”

She nodded, hoping Linda’s theory wasn’t about to become fact.

“And many single people these days meet and get to know each other at the workplace,” he continued.

She nodded again, feeling like a bobble-head doll.

“I was wondering if there might be any circumstances in which you would consider a friendly, social interaction with a member of this staff. A social relationship, outside of school.”

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’d certainly be willing to attend any parties for the faculty members.”

Kyle tilted his head back and laughed a forced little laugh. “I’ll make sure you get an invitation.”

Emily laughed, too. Hers sounded a bit strangled.

“Actually, Emily…” Kyle hesitated, and the smile disappeared. His hand passed once more over the silk of his tie, a long, teasing stroke. “I was wondering how you might feel about the possibility of developing a…a personal relationship with someone on staff.”

Think diplomacy, she told herself. Think tact and subtlety. And if that doesn’t work, think Sherman tank blasting a hole in the walnut and leaving caterpillar treads on the splintered furniture and the splattered principal on the way out.

She smiled a neutral smile. “I hope to develop personal relationships with several of the members of this staff before I leave. I think I’ve already begun to form some friendships. And I’d like to develop some mentoring relationships, too.” She settled back a bit and spread her hands. “There’s a lot I can learn from many of the people here.”

“Yes, of course. That’s something we can discuss at some other time.”

He rubbed at his chin. “The reason I asked to see you today is to find out whether or not you might consider dating one of the staff members.”

“Dating? No.” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Kyle’s plastic smile was back. And something else, too. Something in the way he leaned forward and glanced down at her neatly crossed kneecaps.

Something fishy.

The vision of her suspended foot swinging up into Kyle’s carefully positioned crotch was strong and clear and too tempting by half. She uncrossed her legs and tucked her feet beneath her chair. “I have a personal rule against dating coworkers,” she said. “It seems the best policy.”

“Yes. Simple and tidy.” Kyle nodded. “I can certainly see how it might seem that way.”

Emily had no intention of hanging around so Kyle could ask her to indulge in some friendly social interaction just to test the limits of her simple, tidy rule. “Well,” she said, setting her hands on the arms of her chair and edging toward escape. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No. I just wanted to touch base,” he said, and paused to let the words hang between them. “To see if you’re happy here.”

“Thank you for taking the time to check with me,” she said, ignoring the remark about touching base as she stood to go. He didn’t move, and she was forced to dance a quick sidestep to avoid brushing against him.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, Emily,” he said, following her to the door, “anything at all, you let me know, okay?”

“I will. Thanks again.” She felt his eyes on her back as she fled toward sunlight and fresh air.

JOE MUTTERED A CURSE as he stepped into Caldwell’s quad at lunch break. Drifts of smoke carried the stench of burning byproducts, piles of refuse dotted the lawn and something that was supposed to be music throbbed from the speakers behind an oversize grill. Another football season hot dog barbecue in all its glory.

He carried his curried-chicken-and-brown-rice salad across the quad to a twisted fir tree, found his favorite napping space between two root bumps and stretched out on his back on the grass, his head cushioned on his hands. He gazed up through the tree limbs and contemplated saying something to someone about the song lyrics, but decided it was such a petty thing compared to the unrecycled waste and charcoaled carcinogens surrounding him. He simply closed his eyes to shut it all out.

“Pardon me.”

Emily. He turned his head toward the sound of her voice and opened his eyes. She was standing above him, sunlight rimming her curls in a blinding corona. He squeezed his eyes shut, but her afterimage danced in a negative exposure. “Yes?”

“Is this exposed root taken?”

“No.”

He cracked one eye open to watch her sink to the ground, cross-legged and skirt-draped.

She held out a can of soda. “You looked thirsty.”

He crossed his ankles and shifted his hands more comfortably under his head. “I was hoping I looked asleep.”

“Nope.” She set the can down near his elbow. “I could see your eyes twitching.”

He watched her sip her soda, her mouth puckering around the rim of the can and her long neck arching back in a grateful curve. She swallowed, lowered the can and ran her tongue along her moist upper lip.

Joe looked away. He wasn’t feeling drowsy anymore. He was feeling far too awake. And far too aware of Emily’s throat and tongue and lips. “What do you want, Ms. Sullivan?”

“To buy you a soda. To say thank you for agreeing to this internship.”

She lifted the can of cola and offered it again. It wouldn’t have been polite to refuse.

“To have a simple, friendly conversation,” she added.

He wondered if this was a student teaching assignment. Have a friendly chat with your master teacher sometime during the first month of classes. Report due on Monday.