Page 12 of The Invite
“Do you have any advice for me?” I ask Ace, who draws every single girl’s attention as we stroll down the hall.
He either doesn’t seem to notice them or he’s used to it.
I’m betting on the latter.
“Facing a class full of seniors can be daunting, but don’t forget you’re in charge,” he says low. “It’s your wish if you want to be friendly, but always be firm and don’t hesitate to put them in their place if they step out of line.”
“Do you think they will?” There is no hiding the nervousness in my tone.
We stop one door down my class. “You’re young and new, you can expect a few of the boys to test your boundaries. They’re rich and entitled so they believe they can get away with it. They’re wrong. It’s you who holds all the power.”
“Okay.”
His palm skims down to my wrist and squeezes it. “You’ll be fine, Nessa.”
Nodding, I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, and march toward the classroom at the end of the high-ceiling hallway. Ace, still standing tall in the same spot, gives me an encouraging smile.
I enter the room. At the sound of my heels clicking on the shiny white-tiled floor, the loud and playful chatter dies down.
“You’re not Mrs. Perry,” a high-pitched female voice says just as I put the books and my purse down on the desk.
“Even with plastic surgery, she couldn’t get this hot.” A boy snickers from one of the back rows. Ruckus ensues as everyone laughs or hoots.
“I’m Miss Nessa Davenport,” I say loudly, my sharp voice cutting through the chatter. Easily finding the culprit who made the comment, I hold his smug eyes with my cold ones, and announce, “Your new English lit teacher.”
Want to know whose confidence I’m channeling?
Professor Annalise Keating from the showHow to Get Away with Murder.
Rounding the table to the front, I lean against it and firmly speak. “I don’t know how Mrs. Perry conducted this class, but I will not tolerate any disrespectful comments or behavior. So, act accordingly unless you want to face the dire consequences. Is that understood?”
A chorus of yeses rings out from different corners of the room.
“Sorry, Miss Davenport,” murmurs a beautiful girl with exotic features, looking over to the boy who joked from her perch in the middle of the row. “Manners aren’t taught in the trailer parks. You know what they say, you can take a man out from the wrong tracks but his class will stay the same.”
Another boy, whose features must have been carved out from stone and is sitting beside the first, retorts in an impassive tone, “Just like you can dress a bitch in expensive shit, but she’ll still be a bitch.”
The girl’s face twists into an expression of wrath.
“Enough,” I sharply say, before it can escalate. Their gazes snap to mine, animosity waving between them. I snap my fingers at the girl. “Your name.”
“Scarlett Grayson,” she utters in a way that it’s supposed to mean something.
I, however, miss the hidden meaning.
“And you?” I ask the boy.
He answers through gritted teeth, “Kaid.”
“Well, Scarlett and Kaid, I don’t want any name-calling or bullying in my class. Everyone here is equal and will learn to push aside their differences and learn to coexist. I’m letting you both off with a warning today. Don’t let there be a next time.”
I pat my shoulder inwardly when they reluctantly nod. I don’t mind being dubbed as a strict teacher as long as they obey me. I know their rebellion is far from over and they will start again in the coming weeks. Nevertheless, I’m prepared to handle it when it comes.
“Now, if everyone would open—”
The door to the classroom slams against the wall, cutting me off mid-sentence. Annoyed, I turn to see who interrupted me after getting the students under control, when all the color drains from my face.
So does the confidence I had grown in the last few minutes.
