Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [50]
“You’ll be terribly missed, Dr. Eckhart,” I said huskily.
“Ah. Thank you, Grace.”
“Oh, yes. It won’t be the same without you,” Ava hastily seconded.
“Indeed.” He hauled himself out of the chair on his third attempt and shuffled out the door. I swallowed thickly.
“Good luck, girls,” Paul said cheerfully. “If you’d like to have a Jell-O wrestling match, winner gets the job, I’d be happy to judge.”
“We’ll miss you so,” I said, grinning.
“It’s so unfair,” whined Wayne. “When I was at Georgetown, I had dinner with C. Vann Woodward!”
“And I had sex with Ken Burns,” I quipped, getting a snort from Paul. “Not to mention the fact that I was an extra in Glory.” That part was true. I’d been eleven years old, and Dad took me up to Sturbridge so we could be part of the crowd scene as the 54th Massachusetts Regiment left for the South. “It was the best moment of my childhood,” I added. “Better even than when that guy from MacGyver opened the new mall.”
“You’re pathetic,” Wayne mumbled.
“Grow up, little man,” breathed Ava. “You don’t have what it takes to run a department.”
“And you do, Marilyn Monroe?” he snapped. “I’m too good for this place!”
“I’ll be happy to accept your resignation when I’m chair,” I said graciously. Wayne slammed his hands on the table, followed by some stomping, followed by his most welcomed departure.
“Well,” Ava sighed. “Best of luck, Grace.” She smiled insincerely.
“Right back at you,” I said. I didn’t really dislike Ava—prep schools were such tiny little worlds, so insulated from the rest of the world that coworkers became almost like family. But the idea of working under her, having her approve or disapprove my lesson plans, rankled. Watching her leave with Paul, her ass swinging vigorously under a too-tight skirt, I found that my teeth were firmly clenched.
For another minute or two, I sat alone in the conference room and allowed myself a tingling little daydream. That I got the chairmanship. Hired a fantastic new teacher to replace Paul. Revitalized the curriculum, raised the bar on grades so that an A in history from Manning meant something special. Increased the number of kids who took—and aced—the AP test. Got more money in the budget for field trips.
Well. I’d better get started on a presentation, just as Dr. Eckhart suggested. Tight sweaters and easy A’s aside, Ava had a sharp mind and was much more of a political creature than I was, which would definitely help her. Now I wished I had chitchatted a bit more at last fall’s faculty/trustee cocktail party, instead of hiding in the corner, sipping bad merlot and swapping obscure historical trivia with Dr. Eckhart and Paul.
I loved Manning. Loved the kids, adored working here on this beautiful campus, especially at this time of year, when the trees were coming into bloom and New England was at her finest. The leaves were just budding out, a haze of pale green, lush beds of daffodils edged the emerald lawns, the kids decorating the grass in their brightly colored clothing, laughing, flirting, napping.
I spied a lone figure walking across the quad. His head was down, and he seemed oblivious to the wonders of the day. Stuart. Margaret had e-mailed me to say that she’d be staying with me for a while, so I gathered things weren’t better on that front.
Poor Stuart.
“WELCOME TO MEETING MR. RIGHT, said our teacher.
“I can’t believe we’ve been reduced to this,” I whispered to Julian, who gave me a nervous glance.
“My name is Lou,” our teacher continued plummily, “and I’ve been happily married for sixteen wonderful years!” I wondered if we were supposed to applaud. Lou beamed at us. “Every single person wants to find The One. The one who makes us feel whole. I know that my Felicia—” he paused again, then, when we failed to cheer, continued. “My Felicia does that for me.”
Julian, Kiki and I sat in a classroom at the Blainesford Community Center. (Kiki’s perfect man had dumped her on Wednesday after she’d called his cell