Learning Curve

“I thought that’s what the candy in the snack machines was for.”

“Hyped up on a sugar fix and ready to rumble,” said Linda. “Either way, things could get ugly.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’ll try anything. They’ve been pretty easy on her so far. If I didn’t know better, I might start believing some of these crazy rumors going around.”

“I heard her dad is a three-star general who used to send her to basic instead of summer camp.”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t happen to know where that rumor got started, would you?”

She inspected her nails. “Not a clue.”

“Speaking of military types, how’s Alice?”

“Your department chair? Still AWOL. Having a real tough time with this pregnancy, from what I hear.” She paused. “I don’t think she’s going to make it back at all this year.”

“Damn.” Joe took a deep, resentful breath and let it rush out in despair. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I guess I’d better get up there.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Things may be nice and quiet right now, but what really worries me are the crazy ideas Ms. Sullivan might be pouring into those empty heads.”

EMILY STARED at all the hands in the air, exhilaration and terror churning in her stomach along with her leftover pizza breakfast. She wished her university adviser was here to observe how well she was directing this American History discussion. And she hoped Joe wouldn’t tell her adviser he wanted her out of his classroom because she directed discussions just like this.

“Does anyone disagree with what Matt just said?” she asked, looking for someone who hadn’t yet had a chance to speak. “Angie?”

“No way!” Angie twisted in her seat to face Matt across the room. “I mean, it’s so obvious that the Boston Tea Party was totally an anarchy thing. You know, like those people who smashed the windows in Seattle.”

“Yeah, but at least those Seattle dudes didn’t wear disguises,” added someone from the back row.

“Starbucks coffee and English tea,” rumbled Joe’s soft voice from the classroom doorway. “Hmm.”

Emily winced at the ominous sound of that hmm. She turned to see him lounging against the wide wood trim. One corner of his mouth slid into a wry grin. The kind of grin that could mask any number of things: irritation, amusement, her imminent dismissal. The kind of grin that scrambled her pulse and scattered her thoughts.

“Guess some people can get a little violent about their caffeine addiction,” he said. “But anarchists? That’s an interesting take on the Sons of Liberty.”

She cleared her throat and pasted on a bright, confident smile to mask her panic. “We were discussing how some British taxpayers might have been angry about the actions and beliefs of some of the American colonists. Considering a different point of view.”

“Is that so?”

“Just for the sake of argument,” she added.

“Well, now. That sounds…fascinating. Sorry I missed it,” he said. “How about a little review of the highlights?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and settled into one of those deceptively negligent poses. “Just for the sake of argument.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AN HOUR LATER Emily faced Arnold, the copier, her fingers hovering just above the green start button. “Okay, Arnold. Time to boldly go where no copier has gone before.”

“Arnold?” Linda leaned against the doorjamb, a cup of coffee in one hand. “As in Schwarzenegger?”

Emily shook her head. “As in Kitchener. Not the Terminator—the Tormentor, in third grade. He used to trip me and steal my snack at morning recess. Then he got a crush on Alexa Poukopolis, and I got to keep my Twinkies.”

“Men.” Linda sipped her coffee. “Food and sex.”

Emily nodded. “Hit and run.”

The copier clunked once, twice and then flashed a jammed code. Emily sighed. “Is it just me, Arnold? Or do you treat all the girls this way?”

“It’s the colored paper. Can’t do anything creative on this machine.” Linda opened the front compartment and ripped a shredded piece of paper out of the gears. “Did Wiz ask you to do this?”

“No, this is for the hospitality committee. Double-sided.” Emily refilled the feed bin with a thick stack of plain white paper. “Wiz wouldn’t use green paper for a handout.”

“Guess not.” Linda reached past her to punch Reset. “But it might be fun to see what would happen if you brought him a stack in hot pink. I have a secret stash of neon stuff. You could tell him we ran out of white.”

“Are you trying to cause problems for me?”

“Just looking for a little more entertainment. I enjoyed hearing about the show you two put on yesterday. Maybe I’ll get lucky and see your next spat live.”

“What spat was—oh,” Emily said. Her cheeks were getting warm. “That was just—well, I was—”

“Marcy told me there was a fight in the faculty room.” Linda set her coffee on the counter and hoisted herself up next to it. “But I didn’t believe it until Russell came in, shaking his head and saying he’d never seen Wiz get red in the face before. I’m just sorry I missed the opening round.”

“There wasn’t any opening round.” Emily keyed in the copy commands and punched Start. “We were having a simple, civilized, philosophical discussion.”

“I heard you two were going at it in the hall during break.”

Emily’s face grew uncomfortably hot. “We weren’t ‘going at it.’ Not exactly.”

Not unless you counted intense hissing from nose-to-nose range.

Linda looked unconvinced. “Maybe not in the halls. But in the faculty room, definitely. I heard it from a couple of sources who had ringside seats. What was that about him being a jerk?”

“The word was knee-jerk. As in response.”

Linda’s smile was beatific. “Hmm.”

Emily sighed. “Here I am giving my master teacher a bad time when he’s been nothing but generous and patient with me.”

“Pull-eez. Joe’s patience is laziness in disguise. And generous?” Linda snorted.

“I’m trying to be grateful here,” said Emily.

“How about honest? What’s he been generous with besides copying duties?”

“That is part of the job.”

“A very small part.”