Page 6 of Roommate's Guide to Love

Now, my pranks didn’t stop. Those continued on well through my high school and adult years. But books calmed me. They gave me something to look forward to. And for the first time in my young adult life, I felt like I wasn’t just existing when it came to school.

That’s why I decided to become a teacher. I wanted to help kids find their way. To show kids that finding an outlet, whether it be reading or art or music or whatever it is, could help fill voids you didn’t know you had.

And if it’s in the form of a book? Even better.

I wave to a few of my fellow teachers as I enter the principal’s office. I don’t bother her secretary, who’s standing in front of the opened doors to the copier with a scowl on her face, as I open the door.

Though the second I walk in, I realize this meeting is not to congratulate me on being a two-time Teacher of the Year.

No, I’m standing in front of the firing squad.

Also known as the P.E.N.I.S. Posse.

“Please sit down, Quinn,” Hargrove says. “We need to have a discussion.”

guide to love rule #74

Stand up for what’s right. Giving a middle finger for emphasis never hurts.

2

quinn

Beingno stranger to a principal’s office growing up, I got good at picking up on cues for how much trouble I was actually in. If the principal was still working on something, or taking a call, when I walked in, it was going to be easy. Just a warning or maybe even a curiosity of how I was able to wrap his car in cling wrap while not missing a single class.

Then there were times I knew I was in trouble. The mood was tense. Sometimes my parents were there. And always the first words I was told were, “Sit down, Miss Banks.”

This is neither of those.

Principal Hargrove is sitting at the edge of her desk, arms crossed and looking her normal stoic self. What is throwing me is the cold gust of air I feel emanating from the three sets of eyes staring at me, lips snarled, injected, and pursed.

“I didn’t know it was a P.E.N.I.S. Posse day! How we doing, ladies? What’s the hot gos?”

All three women narrow their eyes at me even more. They don’t like any teachers, but they hate me.

Probably because of the nickname I gave them.

P.E.N.I.S.—the horrible acronym for the mom group called Parents Ending the New Indoctrination of Students—should just be called PITA for Pain in the Ass. They’re a group of around fifteen parents who’ve been in every teacher’s business this year from kindergarten through twelfth grade, complaining about one thing or another. Christmas was a nightmare; they threw a fit when I gave a dyslexic student the option to listen to the book that we were reading; and tried to go to the local news, telling them that I was forcing every student to speak Spanish as their primary language.

I did no such thing. I just found some worksheets that were also in Spanish because half of my class has Mexican parents. Because we live in fucking Arizona.

And that’s just me. I know they’ve driven the science teacher up the wall. They made a second-grade teacher cry. They tried to get the Halloween parade banned because of the obvious devil worship we do here. I think the only one they haven’t fucked with is the math teacher, and that’s because she’s downright terrifying. Basically, they’re horrible people with bad lip filler who were mean girls in school and don’t know their life’s purpose without causing some sort of drama.

“Monica, so good to see you,” I say to Makayla’s mother, who I’m certain is fresh from filming her daily vlog. “I didn’t realize you were a P.E.N.I.S. member. Congrats! Is it true you get a bedazzled Stanley upon joining? Or is it a more discreet gift based on your acronym? I have one I think you’d love. It has?—”

“Sit down, Quinn.”

I give Monica a fake smile as I do what Principal Hargrove asks. But only so we can move this along. A new episode of my show dropped today, and it’s not going to watch itself. “Are they going to sit or are they going to loom over me like the witches they are?”

“See! Witches!” That comes from Taylor, the leader of the group, whose youngest is in first grade and oldest is in fifth. She’s the Halloween hater despite us teachers finding pictures of her, before kids, in a slutty nurse costume. “Why would she say that if she wasn’t teaching it?”

“Now ladies, let’s have a seat.” The three of them squeeze on a couch meant for only two people. I want to laugh, but I’m going to read the room, put my smartass card away, and deal with whatever bullshit they’re about spew.

“Can I ask why I’m here?”

Before Hargrove can answer, Regina, the mom of Irish triplets, speaks up. Yes. Three kids in three calendar years. And I had them all, with the last one leaving my classroom last year. “Because you’re about to start that murder book, and we’re here to ban it!”

I stare at Regina, waiting for her to say the punch line. When she doesn’t say anything else, and the other P.E.N.I.S. members give me the same smug look with their arms crossed, I can’t help but burst out into laughter.

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