Page 17 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

“Bartending isn’t teaching. These kids are going to chew you up and spit you out.”

Fresh indignation flared in my chest. I used to spend six hours on my feet in the lab only to turn around and spend another eight hours on my feet at the bar. I could admit it wasn’t teaching—I wasn’t delusional—but it also wasn’t easy, not by any stretch.

“We’ll just see about that. Maybe I haven’t taught before, but I’m here now, just the same as you. And I’m not going down without a fight.”

We were nearly nose to nose, glaring daggers at each other. He had a pleasant, musky scent like he had been outside. I pushed the thought roughly out of my mind.

Don’t smash coworkers, Silvia had said.

“You won’t last a week,” he scoffed. “But when you quit because it’s harder than you expected, you’ll still have your trust fund to break your fall. I need this job, and I intend to keep it.”

My anger faltered for the briefest moment at the way he emphasized the word “need,” but then it flared right back. I needed this job too, and it wasn’t up to him to judge who’s need was greater.

“I have never backed down from a challenge in my life,” I said. “I’m not afraid of the students, and I’m certainly not afraid of you. This isn’t over until one of us leaves. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He huffed a humorless laugh, and a warm breath ghosted across my face.

“Keep telling yourself that, Princess,” he said.

He pulled back abruptly and looked around the classroom as if just noticing where we were. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

There were those words again. But this time, there was no malice. The words didn’t sound like a challenge, but rather, they sounded curious.

I pulled back too, the heated anger reducing to a simmer, low in my belly. I ran my hands through my hair and hoped he didn’t recognize the nervous gesture for what it was. This conversation had gone completely off the rails, and I needed to get it back on track. Stature notwithstanding, I needed to be the bigger person.

“The same as you, I’d expect,” I said.

He retreated back to the first bench, and once again, leaned back against it with his arms folded. His scowl was gone, and his face was arranged into a neutral expression that looked anything but natural. I realized that he was trying. This was his way of offering an olive branch.

I took a deep breath and shrugged, releasing some more of my anger, and accepted the metaphorical ceasefire.

“I just wanted to see the room. And start lesson planning, maybe.”

Cooper ran a hand through his dark hair. Was he nervous too? “Yeah, that makes sense. It’s good to get started early.”

“Did that hurt?” I asked with a smirk.

“What?”

“Admitting that I had a good idea.”

He sniffed. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

That sounded almost like a joke, at least I hoped it was. Maybe there was a little life under that prickly exterior. Once he got over his petty jealousy, he might even be decent to work with. But that was a him-problem, not a me-problem. All I could do was keep being polite and professional. Keep my temper in check.

“So, I was looking at the syllabus and the schedule,” I said. “I can take the first and third period sections, and you can take second and fifth, if that’s alright with you.”

Cooper rubbed his jaw as he considered. “Sure. My issue isn’t the schedule. It’s maintaining consistency. Students in all the sections need to receive the same level of instruction.”

I bristled at the implication. He was making it so hard to be polite.

“I agree,” I said through clenched teeth. “That’s why we need to share a lesson plan like Richmond said. So we can be sure everyone is getting the same material. Same lessons, same homework, same exams. Same… everything.”

“Different instruction,” he pointed out again.

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Are you trying to be difficult or is rudeness natural for you?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice dripping sarcasm.