School Ties by Tamsen Parker

He’s spilled on his crush, so why shouldn’t I?
    â€œKind of.”
    â€œAre you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?”
    â€œI don’t have time for a girlfriend.” It’s true and an easier answer than “I can’t, she’s my teacher.” Caleb’s head might explode. I wouldn’t blame him. His current teacher is one I had, too. Mrs. Ellis is nice, but she could be our grandmother. Definitely not girlfriend material.
    â€œHow much time does it take? All you have to do is be nicer to her than you are to anyone else and eat lunch with her.”
    I’ve never wished so hard I were ten again. But I’m not and life’s more complicated than that. But . . . “Speaking of eating, sounds like dinner’s ready.”
    By “dinner’s ready,” I’d meant Dad had stopped yelling and Mom had stopped crying. Later, I’d hear them through the thin walls while Caleb snored obliviously. Fucking. I didn’t want Caleb to hear him using her, that she lets him.
How can she let him?
    I’d buried my head under my pillow, tried to go to sleep. Failing that, thought of Erin. How I’d never do that to her. How I’d be different. How if she’d let me, I’d deserve it. Earn it. Finally it had stopped and I’d heard my dad’s heavy uneven footfalls headed to the bathroom. Happy Thanksgiving from the Shepherds.
    But now I’m hauling up the steps of Ford to let myself into my room, preparing myself to put all my stuff away. I usually get pissed off while I’m doing this because it’s after a six-hour drive in the car with my dad, who’s been sullen at best or a raging asshole at worst. This time he’d been silent, which was fine by me. But instead of meditating on what a dick my dad can be, I find myself thinking of Erin. I wonder if my fleece is going to smell like her, like flowers, when she gives it back tomorrow.

Chapter Four
    I’m looking over my calendar for the first time in weeks. Winter break has been welcome; a chance to decompress and finish planning for spring. My classes are all caught up on their material, but spring semester is going to be a long haul. Especially for my seniors who have to get ready for the AP exams right when their maturity and attention level is tanking. Not to mention I’m worried about a few of them.
    Most of my kids are doing well, As and Bs. I don’t trouble myself too much about most of the Cs. They’re smart but lazy. I’ve offered help more than once and my encouragement is unflagging, but if they’re not prepared to work for it, I’m not going to drag them up the mountain like some mathematical Sherpa. The rest of the kids—particularly the ones who are struggling—deserve my effort and attention way more than the ones who are so confident in their parents’ ability to buy their way into a good college they don’t care.
    I make a list of the kids I need to talk to, draft emails I’ll send them once they’re back on campus. When my draft folder is full to bursting, I flip through my calendar to make sure there aren’t any looming deadlines before the kids get back in a few days.
    As I flip through the last week, something catches my eye. A red dot. It’s subtle, not meant to be seen or mean anything to anyone but me, but it’s there. A little red dot that may as well be a giant strobe light exploding from the page. That tiny red dot says I should’ve gotten my period a couple of days ago. It’s totally out of character for me to have missed that, but perhaps I’ve been so entrenched in the vacation routine I’ve set up for myself, I’ve been on auto-pilot.
    Late.
A word that strikes fear in a single woman’s heart like no other. My cycle’s always been so steady you could set a German train schedule to it. Two days is a big deal. Huge.
    A shudder runs through me and I clutch