Page 5 of Apparently, I’m Torture

She laughed. “Sorry, but that’s how it is. Just try and forget about Trevor, forget about the principal. Do your job and do it well. Prove them wrong.”

I shook my head and mumbled, “You’re right.”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “I know. So. When are you coming over again? The girls have been dying to see Aunty Lil.”

Tuesday Morning

South Bronx Classical

Lilly

“He’s on the board?”

I’d just come around and accepted the whole do-the-fundraiser-job-and-teach-to-the-test thing when I was called into the almost empty staffroom.

Trevor hovered behind our round table, a resigned smirk on his face as he told me exactly who I’d be working with over the summer break.

“He’s not just on the board, he’s leading the event. And if you take your job seriously, you’ll figure out a way to work with him.”

Trevor was firm, but I could still see the hint of glee in his eye.

At this point, I’d understand if Trevor came across as the villain of my story. But that wasn’t actually the case. He was a huge, irritating thorn in my side, but he wasn’t the villain. That title belonged to Shawn Jackson.

I folded my arms. “I can be professional, Trevor. He’s the one who pretended I didn’t exist for the past five years.”

Trevor put down his coffee cup and smoothed his hand through what remained of his blonde hair. “It is what it is. You’re going to have to figure out a way to deal with it.”

He stood with one hand in his pocket, one on the rim of his mug. His shoulders were relaxed, one knee popped to the side in his khaki trousers. I frowned. “You gave me this fundraiser so you could avoid him.”

He made a noise and looked over my head. “Now hang on, that’s the opposite of what I want.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at me like I should’ve known exactly what he was talking about. “Lilly, how many years has it been since we graduated from Pace?”

I sighed. “Five.”

“And what’ve we accomplished in those five years?”

I clenched my jaw. “We’ve raised the minimum grade in language arts across all years–”

“Except for your classes.”

I grit my teeth. “Except for my classes. Mia and Brianna have been featured in educational journals and have led a few professional development workshops–”

“And I’ve been promoted to head teacher.”

I folded my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, still grinding my molars. “Yes, you’ve been promoted to head teacher.”

“And what’ve you done?”

My eyes flew open and I glared at him. “Nothing, apparently.”

My anxiety ensured that I couldn’t handle the thought of submitting research to educational journals, where they could’ve been read and judged. But I did write articles. Despite the fact no one ever saw my work, that didn’t mean I hadn’t done it. I just couldn’t… submit it.

And as for the professional workshops? I didn’t teach them. Unlike my adorable students, their adult counterparts were so intimidating that my stomach clenched at the thought of standing in front of them. Teaching people with more experience in the field than I had… was that a joke? I’d spend weeks before the event just overthinking and overthinking. I wouldn’t sleep, I wouldn’t eat. I’d probably puke at the sight of the agenda.

There were some parts of teaching I was always going to be comfortable with, like managing my own classroom and helping high-schoolers understand the magical side of literature. But leading workshops and publishing my research? Nope.