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ChapterTwelve
Paislee
When I stepped onto the school grounds the morning after I outright rejected Sebastian's proposal, I was certain of one thing: Callie's absence. But what I do not expect is the letter I am being handed merely a week later by a sour-faced Mr. Beatles, who is refusing to state what I have done wrong.
I stare from the letter in my hand to Mr. Beatles, who is doing a very good job of ignoring me.
“Mr. Beatles,” I try again. “You cannot just relieve me of my duties without telling me where I've erred.”
This time, Mr. Beatles does not try to vaguely wave me away but looks up from the adult game he's playing. I know it is a game because I have caught him quite a few times.
“Do you really want to discuss that right now, Miss Donovan?” He says in a low, deadly voice. His gaze pinning me to the spot and making me feel like he is tying my hands behind my back. “You want me to spell it out for you?“
I think hard and my eyes widen as I remember how I followed Sebastian to his car that day. How he had specifically asked for my company in Mr. Beatle's presence. But that could have happened to any teacher, right? Mr. Beatles does not know what happened in Sebastian's home, right? I am clueless. If I am being handed a letter of termination with no questions asked; it can only mean that I've been discovered.
I step out of Mr. Beatles' office without another word. One question plagues my mind. Who informed Mr. Beatles of my little rendezvous with Sebastian?
I spend the following week moping at home. There is a constant ache in my chest that refuses to go away. I feel ashamed and wonder if I am even qualified to apply to other schools. If I had been discovered, had Mr. Beatles told the entire school? Am I being laughed at? Am I being used to teach others a lesson?
I've been lounging on my couch for the past nine days. I do so again today in a faded tank top, shorts, while eating a bowl of cereal. I can't be bothered to cook. I can’t be bothered to do anything except mope. I am almost completely out of savings and know I have to get up and begin to put in applications to other schools. I just can't find the strength for the task that suddenly seems so daunting.
My phone starts to ring. I twist away from the television show I'd put on and stare unseeingly up at my ceiling.
“Hey, Meghan.”
“Don't tell me you're still lounging on your couch with the same clothes you wore two days ago.”
I self-consciously sniff my shirt. I am still on the couch but I'm not wearing the same outfit as yesterday. I care too much about my hygiene to let myself go like that.
“I am just relaxing.”
“And you plan to do that for the rest of the year, don't you?”
I frown. Having someone who completely knows you can be a downer sometimes.
“I’m correct, aren't I?”
“I hate how well you know me,” I confess.
“We can do something about it.”
“What?”
“How about you don’t do the same thing you’ve been doing every day.”
"I don't understand what you're proposing, Meghan."
“Why don't you take a wild guess?”
“I think we both know the obvious. You are not over the fact that you were wrongfully terminated. The world is a sad, dark place filled with the shittiest people, Paislee. You didn't have to do anything wrong for someone at your workplace to hate your guts. You know that, right? You know that you could have been framed, right? And fuck whoever did that.”
I swallow.
I had not considered that fact. But who would have hated me enough to do that? I had been on good terms with all the other teachers and even went out for drinks with a couple of them. I cannot think of one person who would have wanted me to lose my job.
“...to come back around. Hello? Paislee? Are you there?”
I clear my throat.
