Kristi should spend her summer finding a new career and winning back her ex, Russ. She should not, under any circumstances, be flirting with her hot coworker, Ethan.
Kristi has a list of reasons she shouldn’t cross that line: he’s her coworker, they’re just friends, she’s still hung up on her ex. But the biggest reason that thin line needs to be a thick, impenetrable brick wall is that Ethan is one of her former students. Word about their relationship would be premier gossip in their sleepy small town. Nope, dating Ethan is not an option in any way, shape, or form.
No matter how much he flirts, no matter how many times they get stuck working in close quarters with their bodies bumping here and there, and no matter how many times his soft lips get oh so close to hers, she doesn’t allow herself to give in. That is until one crazy summer night finds them literally stuck up a tree and running low on willpower.
Is Kristi dowsing fuel all over the dumpster fire that’s currently her life, or is she finally figuring out what she’s been missing all along?
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Ch. 1: Who Knits a Fucking Tie?
“My cat, Cupcake, has six toes on one paw,” Curtis proudly announced after he finished his web quest assignment on Shakespeare’s Globe Theater.
Kristi sighed and looked at the clock. There were only a few minutes left in the period anyway, so she didn’t bother to steer the conversation back to Shakespeare or Hamlet. She might as well follow Curtis down the rabbit hole of missing digits and student pets. “That’s a random thought, Curtis, but I think I can still steer it back to literature. Did you all know Ernest Hemingway’s six-toed cats are like local celebrities down in the Florida Keys?” Crickets from the students, so she added, “Maybe not celebrities to the locals, but the tourists love them. Curtis, maybe your cat is a descendent of one of Hemingway’s cats.”
Her students were not impressed by this interesting bit of trivia. Curtis, in particular, seemed bummed that his teacher had been able to take what he thought to be a cool factoid about his beloved cat, Cupcake, and turn it into something educational and, in his eyes, geeky.
Becky’s hand shot up on the other side of the room. Kristi, done with any attempt at teaching for the day, joked with Becky. “Let me guess. You either need to go to the office,” the most likely option since she made the request at least once a week, “or you have a story about having an extra toe, too.”
Becky had lowered her hand once Kristi acknowledged her, but then she held it up again for the whole class to see. “No, but I only have three fingers on this hand,” she said as she wiggled her remaining digits. “And I need to go to the office, please.”
Kristi’s mouth gaped open for a full three seconds before she recovered from shock. She quickly counted and found Becky really did have one thumb and only three fingers on her left hand. So many thoughts flew through Kristi’s mind as she tried to find the right words to respond to Becky. How was it possible that she hadn’t noticed it in all the months she’d been teaching her? And if that wasn’t upsetting enough, she was horrified at the possibility that some of the students, Becky included, would assume she had known about Becky’s missing finger and had openly mocked her in front of the whole class.
“I did not notice, Becky,” Kristi managed to say. “You may go to the office.” Please don’t accuse me of ridiculing students while you’re there, Kristi prayed as Becky made her way out of the room.
All eyes were on Kristi who was miserably failing at fending off an exceptionally strong episode of flop sweat. “Might as well start packing up here since the bell is going to ring any second now,” Kristi told the rest of the class as she pretended to busy herself with organizing papers at her desk. Mercifully, the bell did ring not long after signaling what was essentially the end of the teaching day for Kristi.
The next fifty-two minutes, her planning period, was the last period of the day. There were no students, so her time was usually uninterrupted. Kristi was supposed to use the period to grade students’ work, enter grades, and get everything ready for the next day. But that little bit of time, less than one hour, was never enough. Her blue Toyota Yaris was always one of the last cars left in the faculty parking lot.
And yet the thought of staying an extra two to three hours still wasn’t enough to motivate her to grade the stack of essays on her desk. She wasn’t scrolling social media or doing any other mindless time suck. Mostly Kristi sat there in a despondent daze. She spent a few minutes doing some mental math to determine how many essays or tests she’d already graded so far during her career, and how many she would grade in the next thirty years before she could retire. Occasionally she absently grabbed for the chocolate chip cookies the student council had dropped off during third period in honor of teacher appreciation week. About halfway through her planning period, she’d reached into the bag and blindly groped the plastic for way too long before she realized that she’d eaten them all. In her defense, they were absolutely delicious. The student council group knew their way around a kitchen.
Kristi didn’t think much of her lack of motivation. It was early May and usually this was about the time when the entire school suffered from senioritis. On top of that, it was an unusually hot spring. Well, not the entire season. It had been mostly rainy and cool aside from one four-day stretch where the temperatures randomly hit highs in the upper 80s each day. It didn’t matter that it went right back down to the mid-60s. Once there was any hint of warm weather, everyone went into summer mode and it was damn near impossible to get anything done.
Her trance was broken when the bell rang for the end of the day. Kristi wanted to cry. She hadn’t done a thing during her planning period and she had probably consumed an entire day’s worth of calories from the cookies. She scooped the crumbs off her desk and grabbed an essay from the top of the stack. It was all a blur. It took every bit of energy she had to focus her eyes enough to read and comprehend each page of Austin Smith’s literary analysis of Hamlet. She went through the motions of correcting grammar and citations. The essay was bloody red with pen marks by the time she had finished.
As she set Austin’s masterpiece in her graded bin, her work roommate Autumn Carter returned. Autumn was a special education teacher who bounced around to different rooms throughout the day. Since she didn’t have a set classroom, Kristi offered to share her room with her. Autumn had a desk in the back and stored her cart of supplies there when she wasn’t using it.
Autumn had been named teacher of the year twice in the past five years. She probably would have won every year if admin would have allowed it. Autumn had long auburn hair, purple glasses, and she was always dressed in a professional blouse that perfectly coordinated with whatever colorful pants she’d chosen for the day. Her sleeves were often rolled up revealing a Fibonacci tattoo on her left forearm.
Autumn awkwardly maneuvered her traveling cart into the room and then bounded towards Kristi. “It’s teacher appreciation letter day! I got your mail on my way back up from seventh period; hope you don’t mind. I love reading these sweet letters from the kiddos. It always makes me cry,” Autumn said as she handed a few papers to Kristi.
“Yup. It’s the highlight of my year, too,” Kristi replied as she took the letters. She was happy to have something to help her procrastinate just a bit more. There were five letters. She couldn’t help but compare her five to the massive stack Autumn had already begun to read through at her desk on the other side of the room.
She knew it made sense that Autumn would have a larger fan base: She was the best teacher in the school. But even Kristi wasn’t convinced five letters for the 150 students she taught was a good sign. The first letter was from Austin:
Miss Campbell,
You’re the funniest teacher I know. I love sitting in your class and laughing and laughing. You also help me with writing and stuff. You yell a lot, but I still think your cool.
Happy Teacher Appreciation Week,
Austin
Kristi’s eyes remained dry and she resisted the urge to put a red pen to the letter to correct Austin’s grammar. Autumn, on the other hand, was clutching a tissue as she turned the page of her student’s letter. One side just wasn’t enough to express all of the adoration the student felt for the beloved Autumn Carter. Kristi glanced back down at her letter. It was only half of a sheet and it had been ripped rather than carefully cut.
She didn’t need to read the last four to know they all said something similar. Kristi even agreed with them. She wasn’t changing lives. She was a mediocre teacher who wasn’t unkind to students, but she also wasn’t going out of her way to develop strong relationships with any of them. She wasn’t coaching any teams, she wasn’t organizing clubs or events, and she wasn’t holding extra tutoring events on weekends or over the summers.
Kristi got up and walked to the bathroom to stretch her legs and clear her mind. As she walked, she tried to remember everything she loved about her job. She tried to recall why she became a teacher to begin with. That part was kind of easy: she loved reading and writing. The idea of doing that and discussing it daily with students, for a living, was an absolute dream to her. The reality, though, had been very different.
In the restroom, she stopped at the sink and looked in the mirror. She was of average height and had long blonde hair. She wore it loose and let her natural waves take over rather than fight the straightener each morning. Her bright yellow dress contrasted with her dull-looking skin and drawn expression. This wasn’t just end-of-the-year exhaustion. It was her fifth year. She should have found her groove by spring of her fifth year.
Kristi looked up at the writing over the mirror. She was in the students’ bathroom since the district encouraged teachers to use the students’ facilities to help keep an eye out for vaping and any other activities that didn’t belong in a school bathroom. This year’s bathroom message was from Michael Jackson: “I’m starting with the man in the mirror.” The words were painted on the wall with vibrant colors and in expert penmanship. Autumn’s club, the Positive Climate Committee, had spent the past summer painting positive messages and images throughout the school and this was one of them. Typical Autumn. Kristi didn’t run a club. She tried for years to get one started. Last year’s attempt had been a knitting club, but no one showed. After two months she stopped promoting it and let it go. The next year Josh Grub had started the same club with raging success. Effortlessly attracting over a dozen students to the first meeting. Either Kristi had missed the knitting craze which had been about to consume Willoughby High School, or she just wasn’t cut out for any of it.
Kristi turned to head back to her classroom when she noticed Rachel, one of her students, standing in the doorway and looking at her uneasily. “Are you okay, Miss C?” They called her Miss C as if Campbell was just too much to remember. It drove Kristi crazy and she corrected the students throughout the first semester each year. Regardless, each year the students would continue to call her Miss C throughout the second semester as well. Kristi gave up correcting them. She was tired of correcting people. Tired of deciding which battles were worth fighting and which weren’t.
“Yes, Rachel. I’m fine,” she responded with a smile she was sure looked forced and unnatural.
“Oh, okay. You just look really depressed lately.”
Damn. Kristi could always count on Rachel’s candor. “No, no. I’m fine. Just thinking about what I’m teaching tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Rachel responded. Kristi was about to end the conversation when Rachel added, “You’re wearing two different shoes. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Kristi looked down to see Rachel was right. She had two slightly different black flat shoes on. Of course Rachel would notice. “I did that on purpose. See you tomorrow, Rachel.”
Without waiting to hear a response from Rachel, Kristi hauled ass out of the restroom and almost ran into Josh, the health teacher and knitting club sponsor, in the hallway. He was walking out of the boys’ restroom and was greeted in the hallway by the entire knitting club. Everyone in the club was cheering and gushing over his new knitted sweater, hat, and tie. Who knits a fucking tie?! Kristi’s brain shouted to no one in particular. Kristi knew her face looked twisted as she jealously took in Josh’s perfectly knitted ensemble.
“Hey, Miss Campbell. Check out this amazing stitch-work from my students. They’ve been secretly working on it since winter break. Can you believe they just learned to knit a few months ago and now they’re making personalized clothing items? I mean, look at these reverse stockinette stitches!” Josh was beaming with pride and excitement. Also bursting were his colossal biceps. The club was meticulous. Just as his work shirts were always tight to the point of almost ripping open at the seams, so too was his new knit sweater.
“Wow,” Kristi said with genuine surprise. “That is really amazing. Awesome job, you guys.” That would have been enough, but Kristi couldn’t resist doing something more to show her encouragement. Unfortunately, all she came up with was an awkward double thumbs up with some sort of punching motioning. It didn’t matter. The students were too busy gushing their accolades at Josh, their fearless knitting leader, to notice her at all.
“It’s all Mr. Grub. He’s an amazing teacher,” said Ella Snover, one of the junior class officers. She wasn’t even looking at Kristi when she said it. Ella’s eyes were wide and intensely focused on the man adorned with the articles of clothing they all so lovingly knit. Finally, she turned to face Kristi. “Next year, we’re going to knit hats, scarves, and gloves in our school colors: purple and black. We’ll sell them at the football and soccer games and donate all the money raised to the local food bank.”
“Wow,” Kristi repeated with immense shame. How was she, an English teacher, unable to come up with anything beyond “wow”? She pushed onward regardless and threw in a few fancy words to try to make up for her lame initial comments. “How fortuitous that Mr. Grub has such an exceptionally gifted ensemble of students in his club.” Nope, that didn’t redeem her at all.
She almost mentioned that she had had the same club the year before with zero participation, but no one was talking to her anymore. The group had started migrating down the hallway and repeating the whole knitting show-and-tell for any teacher or student they passed on their way back to Mr. Grub’s classroom.
Kristi turned and walked back to her room thinking about how many students’ lives had been changed for the better because of Josh Grub. How effortless he made it all seem.
She vowed to do better. To sit at her desk and focus everything she had on providing meaningful and relevant feedback on the literary analysis essays. When she opened the door to her room, she caught sight of Autumn crying her tears of joy as she devoured her letters. Kristi shut the door and turned to walk back down the hallway. On autopilot, she went down the steps, through the history wing, and into the main office.
“Hi, Joyce. Is Paul in?” Kristi asked.
“Yup, you can head in,” Joyce replied without even looking up from her screen. Kristi could just make out the faint sound of some light rock music coming from Joyce’s computer. She listened as she navigated the maze of desks that made up the front office area. It was “Heartache Tonight” by the Eagles.
Paul’s door was open, as always. His wide smile as she walked in almost made her turn around and change her mind. But it was too late for that. She had made her decision and with every step towards Paul’s office, she had felt relief instead of dread. The weight had been lifted and she couldn’t bear to bring it back down again.
“Hi, Paul. Mind if I close the door for a quick chat?”
“Hey, Kristi. No, no, of course not. I’m going over the graduation plans one last time before we finalize everything.” He made a few more notes as Kristi shut the door and took a seat. “Okay, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”
She opened her mouth to speak but then faltered when she spotted Paul’s hand-knit purple and black tie. At that, a twinkle of pride sparkled in Paul’s eyes and he carefully held up the end for her to see. “Isn’t this amazing? Who knew we had such talented knitters in the school? Who knew high school students would even care about knitting? Man, that Josh is something else. Everything he touches – academics, electives, clubs, sports – he just brings the best out in everyone.” Paul reverently gazed down at his tie before continuing. “Anyway, you were about to say?”
“I can’t work here anymore,” Kristi blurted.
Paul was completely still except for a twitch of his mustache. Kristi wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. “I mean, not just here. I don’t want to teach at all. Anywhere.” It was out and Kristi felt relief as every muscle in her body finally relaxed.
At that Paul nodded in understanding. “Well, it’s not for everyone, that’s for sure. The average teacher only stays in the profession for five years, and I think that’s about how long you’ve been here.” He stroked his mustache as he regarded her and tried to assess if she was the average teacher he was referring to. “You know May is not an easy time for teachers. There’s state testing, end-of-year exhaustion…Are you sure it’s not that? I’d hate to see you walk away from something you’re going to miss come fall.”
Kristi nodded in agreement that May can be deceptively difficult for some teachers even though it’s so close to summer break. He had a point. But his response to her resignation was proof enough that she was making the right choice. “I notice you’re not saying, ‘You’re one of the best teachers we have, and the students will be lost without you,’” Kristi replied.
Paul smiled. “No, I won’t lie.” Ouch. He could lie a little to spare her feelings. “You’re right, you’re not one of the best teachers I’ve seen. But you’re not a bad teacher. Your students are learning, and you provide a safe and nurturing environment.”
“Thanks, Paul. It’s just…I’m not the teacher type. I don’t have that personality where I can easily bond with the students. I teach and they learn but it’s not enough. I’ve seen what the students can do with teachers like Autumn and Josh. And I’m miserable. I know it’s not a good fit for me and it’s causing me stress and misery.” Kristi looked up from Paul’s desk and met his gaze. “I won’t regret this. I’ll finish out the year, of course. I wanted to tell you as soon as I made my decision so you’d have time to find my replacement before next year.”
“Okay. Well, I appreciate you letting me know. Type up a formal resignation when you get a chance. Once you get that to HR, we can post your position.” Kristi waited for Paul to say something else, but there was nothing. That was that.
She left Paul’s office and found her motivation to finish grading. The stack on her desk would be the last stack of Hamlet literary analysis essays she would ever grade. With each essay she tossed in the graded pile, her excitement grew. In years past she would finish and there would be a pit in her stomach knowing that there were more coming. Decades of Hamlet essays had been waiting for her red pen. But not anymore. She practically skipped across the empty parking lot.
Reality started to sink in again as Kristi pulled into the driveway of the house she rented with Russ, her boyfriend. She’d never even hinted to Russ that she had considered quitting. It wasn’t intentional. She hadn’t known herself until she had started to make her way to Paul’s office that day. Also, she never complained about teaching to Russ. He was just like Josh and Autumn and the millions of other amazing educators out there. No, she couldn’t tell Russ any of it. She had always been embarrassed to admit the struggles she had as a teacher. It had been her secret shame for the past five years.
“Hi, honey. Sorry I’m so late today,” she called out as she dropped her bag on the couch in the living room and made her way to the kitchen. To the right of the front door, there was a living room, and the kitchen was to the left. A stairway separated the kitchen from the living room. Upstairs was a full bathroom in between an office and a spare bedroom. Behind the kitchen was a dining room and behind the living room was the master bedroom. It was an odd layout, but they were just renting so it suited them fine.
Russ stood at the stove with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. He was clean-shaven and still in his work clothes: a polo with his school’s Lansky Lions logo on the chest and a pair of khakis. His light brown hair swooped down across his forehead, which was a good style for him given his receding hairline. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before returning to his pans. Russ taught U.S. History and was listening to one of Ken Burns’ many documentaries on PBS while he cooked.
“That’s fine.” Russ clicked off the TV. “I love how devoted you are to your students.” He took the last swig of his beer and threw the empty bottle into the recycling bin. Kristi reached into the fridge and popped open two new beers. She handed one to him and began to sip her own. She needed a beer after the day she’d had.
Kristi and Russ met in college and then both found positions at high schools in neighboring districts. Somehow their love had flourished despite the intense rivalry between their two schools. They’d talked about marriage and kids and mortgages. She had been sure Russ was going to propose last Christmas since they’d already been dating for six years. As her Uncle Jerry would say, it was time to piss or get off the pot.
“Smells great,” Kristi called as she made her way to the bedroom to get changed out of her work clothes. “What is it?”
“Chicken fajitas for my little fajita.”
Kristi laughed as she made her way back to the kitchen in yoga pants and a tank top. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun using the hairband she always wore on her wrist. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Kristi leaned against the wall drinking her beer and watching Russ. He had a large burn mark on his left forearm from a fireworks accident at his frat house his senior year of college. Kristi, one of only a handful of sober people at the party, had driven him to the ER. Even though Russ had been drunk he had still been in excruciating pain. To help him take his mind off of it, she told him all about her childhood and asked him questions about his. When he finally told her he loved her a few weeks later, he told her he’d known he was in love with her since the night she’d rescued him at the infamous fireworks party.
She walked up behind him for a quick hug and kiss on the back of his neck. He smelled like home and it was exactly what she needed. She finished her beer and inhaled deeply through her nose before continuing: “I have some news.” Kristi threw her empty bottle in the recycling bin.
Russ turned his back to the stove and was facing her. “Let me guess,” he said as he closed his eyes for effect. “You were chosen to teach yearbook next year.”
“No,” Kristi replied with thinly veiled annoyance as she popped the top of her second beer. She’d requested to teach yearbook for three years with no luck. Russ knew that was a sore spot with her.
Undeterred, Russ tried again with just as much enthusiasm and optimism: “You pitched your idea for a multicultural club at school and it was instantly hailed as the newest ‘it’ club.” Worried that his dinner would burn, Russ opened his eyes again and went back to cooking chicken and sauteing vegetables in various pans on the stove.
Kristi took a long swig of her beer. She was borderline chugging before she mustered the courage to blurt out, “I quit.”
Russ turned and studied her face trying to determine if her comment was some crazy joke. Then he shook his head in disgust. “What is going on with you?” It was an accusation as much as a question. He turned off the burners and gave his undivided attention to Kristi.
Kristi was taken aback and literally took a step back from him. “Nothing. I just finally figured out what I want to do with my life. Well, no. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I do know I don’t want to teach anymore which is a huge step for me.” Kristi reached out and rubbed Russ’s arm and felt the slight variation in the texture of his skin from his fireworks scar. She had the urge to pull him close, but she didn’t.
He shrugged her hand off. “It’s not just about teaching. It’s everything. You used to be unstoppable.” His gaze was intense. Like he was looking for something within her and was no longer seeing it or able to find it. “When we first met I was dating Julia. Do you remember that? We were talking at a party while Julia was home for the weekend at a wedding. We hit it off and you didn’t care whether I was dating someone or not. You saw what you wanted and you wouldn’t quit until it was yours.”
She remembered that. It wasn’t her finest moment to steal someone else’s boyfriend, but she had it bad for Russ. “What does that have to do with me not teaching?” Kristi finished her beer and felt it go right to her head. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and the beers were strong.
“I admired that so much. You did it with everything. You wanted something, you went for it with everything you had: learning to be a bartender, getting published in the school and local paper, forming a committee to paint murals around Main Street. But now…I don’t know what you’re passionate about. You spend your summers reading and talking about the things you want to do. Complaining about all the things you haven’t done yet.” Russ paused, looking for the right words to finish his thoughts. In a lowered voice he continued, “But you never do anything about it. You don’t fight for anything anymore.”
“I…” Kristi tried to think of what she’d done lately to prove Russ wrong. “I’ve been working really hard. I haven’t had time for other stuff.” She wished she wasn’t tipsy. Things were escalating fast, and she couldn’t think straight. She’d expected him to be surprised and maybe a bit concerned, but not critical and judgmental.
Russ gave an incredulous laugh. “Right, you’ve been working hard. What about last summer? And the summer before that? You always wanted to be a writer. You said as a teacher you could spend your summers writing and working on getting published, learning new languages, and exploring the world. What have you written? What have you learned? Where have you gone? You spend all your time staying up late watching TV and complaining about the terrible writing. And then you sleep all day. You stopped working out.”
“Oh, so you’re disappointed in me because I’m a fat, monolingual shut-in?”
“Don’t. You know that’s not what I mean.”
“And what about you?” Kristi asked as she pointed a finger at Russ. “What amazing things are you doing? How are you moving your life forward in a positive direction? Huh? I think at the top of your bucket list is marriage and kids. Six years later and I still don’t have a ring!” She was shouting now and holding up her bare ring finger just inches from Russ’s face.
Russ replied with just as much anger, “Once again an example of you waiting around for everyone else to make it happen for you. Why haven’t you asked me to marry you?”
Kristi needed a minute to think about this. Why hadn’t she asked him to marry her? What had she accomplished these past few years? Shit. He was right.
When Russ spoke again his voice was calm. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I haven’t asked you to marry me because I’m not in love with you anymore. I don’t even recognize you. And now this…” Kristi closed her eyes and shook her head as if she could make it all go away. But they both knew this couldn’t be undone. He must have felt it, too. “I’m leaving. I’m moving out. You can keep renting the house and keep all the furniture. It’s in your name anyway. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom tonight and start moving my stuff out tomorrow.”
“Oh, no. I’m not staying here.” Kristi had no idea where she was going with this, but she couldn’t let Russ call all the shots. And she couldn’t bear to stay in the house. Reminders of Russ and their failed relationship everywhere she looked.
“Fine. I don’t care. We just can’t do this anymore.” He walked upstairs to the spare bedroom and shut the door.
Kristi turned and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. The scent of chicken fajitas hung in the air.
