Page 58 of Fundamentals of Chemistry

He tipped his head down, touching his lips to my temple. I tilted my head back, and his lips brushed the corner of my mouth. It was probably an accident. He couldn’t have meant to. But then his lips grazed along my lower lip, and my breath caught in my chest.

Before I had time to think—to react—we heard voices in the hall.

I felt as much as heard him groan before he stepped away. Cold air rushed to fill the place he had just been, an endothermic reaction pulling away all of my warmth.

The first parents entered the room, snapping me out of my inappropriate thoughts. Their child was one of my third period students, and I stepped forward to greet them.

“Milo is so bright. It’s a pleasure to have him in the class.” It was half true. Milo was a bright kid, but he was also a sneaky shit half the time. I had been forced to confiscate iPhones on more than one occasion.

As more parents filed in, slipping into the seats usually occupied by their children, my anxiety ratcheted back up. The muscles in my neck twisted into knots, and I rolled my shoulders in a vain attempt to release some tension.

In a minute, Jack was beside me, a soothing hand running up my spine. He leaned over to speak low in my ear. “Just picture them all in their underwear.”

I snorted a laugh and looked up at him. He was smiling down at me, completely at ease. I took comfort in his composure.

“Shall we get started?” I asked.

“I think so.” He removed his hand from where it rested on my lower back and reached for the first pop bottle.

Several parents jumped and gasped at the loud bang. Chatter stopped immediately, and all eyes were on us.

“Welcome, parents! I am Mr. Cooper, and this is Ms. Burke, and we have had the pleasure of teaching chemistry to your children this semester. Since Mr. Stephens retired last year, we have been approaching chemistry education a little differently than was previously done.”

I stepped forward and continued our prepared remarks. “While we do make sure there is a strong foundation of chemistry fundamentals, we aim to help students understand practical applications of the theory to not only help bring the material to life, but to help it stick better in their brains.”

“The pop bottles,” Jack continued, “are one of the tools that we have been employing this year to keep the students on their toes.”

The presentation continued for the next twenty minutes with Jack and I presenting together as though we did it every day. The way each of us responded to the other person’s most subtle leads felt like a dance—or like good sex. We were completely in sync.

For their part, the parents were an engaged and willing audience for our demonstrations. Their oohs and ahs during the coloring-changing oxidation-reduction experiment felt like a personal compliment. By the time we finished our presentation, I was feeling a heady sense of accomplishment. All that remained was ten minutes for questions and answers. It should be a breeze, and then we were free for the weekend.

Having never taught before this year, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from this part. I guessed there would be questions about the curriculum. Or perhaps there would be questions about standardized testing. I was no expert on AP exams or college admissions exams, but I was confident that the essential material was being covered in both mine and Jack’s classes.

Unfortunately, no one told the parents. And they had questions about exactly one thing—me. This wasn’t a Q&A. It was a firing squad.

“So you’ve never taught before? This is your first job?”

“What makes you qualified?”

“How much are they paying you?”

My tongue was thick and dry in my mouth. I tried to keep a smile on my face, but there was no way it reached my eyes.

“Well,” I started, praying my voice didn’t shake, “as an alumna of this school, I have a unique perspective of the expectations and culture. And as for my qualifications, I have a bachelor’s in chemistry from Columbia University with an emphasis on primary education which—”

“But you’ve never had to deal with students before?” pressed a woman with a pinched expression.

“I heard that your sections performed significantly worse on the first exam than Mr. Cooper’s sections,” a man in a pinstriped suit accused. Other parents leaned in, smelling blood in the water.

My brain sputtered to a halt. How the hell did he know that? Had his kid told him? Or perhaps he knew someone in the administration. Not that it mattered. It was true—my sections had performed poorly. This man simply caught me and called me out.

Dozens of pairs of eyes bore into me, ranging from merely annoyed to downright hostile.

The room was impossibly hot. A bead of sweat formed on the nape of my neck and rolled down my spine, sending a shiver through my body despite the oppressive heat.

“What do you have to say?” snapped a woman with a blonde I’d-like-to-speak-the-manager haircut.

“Well, I…” Words failed me. I was trying my best, but I knew that wasn’t what these people wanted to hear. They didn’t care about my best. They expected the best.