See Me After Class(10)

This . . . this is why I didn’t want Dewitt to hire Greer Gibson, because during her interview, she was very expressive about her “offbeat” teaching style. She wants the students to care about the books, rather than just read them. She wants to give them a chance to understand them, appreciate them by using alternative methods.

That interview . . . it was, quite frankly, embarrassing. Watching her falter from confident to ignorant. When she left, I actually laughed, wondering if asking her to come in was a joke, but when Dewitt was serious about hiring her, I had to take a calming breath.

She couldn’t be serious.

A teacher who prides herself on using teaching methods like movies and children’s picture books to help understand literature? This is a serious high school, not a dainty, hippie-filled educational system.

This is Forest Heights, the most prestigious public school in the country—at least that’s what was said last year.

Greer Gibson has no right to be teaching here.

And no . . . this has nothing to do with her saying I’m an elitist.

This has everything to do with her being underqualified, unprofessional, a disturbance, and not the right fit for the Forest Heights English department.

The department I’m in charge of. I will not tolerate her making a mockery of teaching high school English.

Slamming on desks and belting out nonsensical lyrics by a seventies rock band is a prime example of her incompetence. And not only is it an elementary approach to learning, it’s been a massive disruption to every single class I’ve had today. Her inability to appropriately teach has taken away my first day intimidation tactics, the same tactics I use every year to set my expectations.

The bell rings. Class is dismissed, and I wait a whole two minutes before I stand tall, lift the sleeves of my green cardigan, and make my way to the classroom next door.

Unfortunately, I share a wall with Greer. I knew going into the school year that was going to be the case. I wasn’t aware I’d be making a visit on the first day.

Thankful for lunch break, I charge through her door, only to be slapped in the face with an obnoxious amount of color pinned to the walls. Her room is decorated like it’s for kindergartners, not high schoolers. A “reading corner” is in the back. A rainbow of color spans across the walls, one hue rolling into the next. It’s ridiculous and childish. Just like the woman standing before me.

“Oh, Arlo. You startled me.” Greer chuckles, sitting at her desk, a salad in front of her.

I close the door behind me and set my hands on my hips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She glances at her lunch and then back at me. “Uh, eating my lunch. What does it look like?”

Through clenched teeth, I say, “During your classes?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . pumping the kids up for the school year. I want to establish a rapport with them, let them know it isn’t going to be a stuffy English class of Shakespearean knaves and knaps.”

“So you decide to disturb every other classroom around you?”

She faces me now, a look of shock on her face. “You heard my music?”

“The walls aren’t soundproof.”

She taps her chin. “Hmm . . . I guess I never thought about that.”

“Shocking,” I mutter.

“Hey.” She stands and closes the space between us.

It’s hard not to notice the skirt she’s wearing and how it clings to her hips, or the tucked-in button-up shirt that leaves no room for the imagination, or the way her hair is pinned up into a bun, highlighting the curves and contours of her face. Coraline might have been right. Greer is slightly my type.

Only slightly and only physically.

With her manicured index finger, Greer pokes me in the chest and says, “What’s your problem? Are you this rude to everyone?”

“Just turn it down; some of us have to actually teach.”

“As opposed to what I’m doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re doing besides being a disturbance in this school.”

She rears back. “Wow, you’re something else.” She shakes her head, moving to her desk. “Principal Dewitt has the utmost respect for you.” She gives me a slow once over. “I can’t possibly see why. You’ve been nothing but an ass to me since I arrived.”

“Respect isn’t just given, you have to earn it,” I reply.

“Clearly.” Folding her arms, she turns to face me. “So what is it, Arlo? Why are you so hostile around me? Does it really stem from the interview? Because we’re fighting and I have no idea why. Did you want someone else to be hired?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Oh, so you’re being a petulant child because you didn’t get your way. I get it.”

“I’m not being a petulant child,” I say. “I didn’t care who got the job, all I cared about was hiring an individual whose teaching abilities matched the Forest Heights standards. Your predecessor came in with the same unconventional attitude as you did, and do you know what happened?”

“They were well received by the students?” She smacks on a charming smile.

“No, he got caught up in being friends with the students, lost control of the classroom, preliminary test scores dropped drastically, and I was forced to step in and help tutor his failing students. I spent what little free time I had making sure his students were prepared. I refuse to let that happen again.”