Page 31 of Atticus
Amber Rivera has been described as a firecracker, a go-getter, and a few other words that I’d rather not repeat. When it comes to me, it doesn’t take much to grab her attention.
“Drama already? Ugh. That’s how you know a job’s shit. The first month is the most telling. What’s going on?”
“It’s the other staff. The principal, mostly. I hoped a change of scenery would help me find fresh perspective and clarity, and in some ways it has on a personal front, but St. Morgan can be so backwards.”
“Small city, small minds? That sort of thing?” Amber waves a slender, manicured finger at me, bracelets jingling with the motion of her wrist as she purses her lips sternly. “Or worse? Because if you say the word, I can write an exposé so big, heads will spin.”
“I know those are your favorite.”
Amber is accustomed to covering hard subjects. It’s why there are two camps: people like me who love her and think she’s amazing, and other people who spend their time creating podcasts and online videos about just how much they hate her. She never minds, though. She calls them her “little fan clubs.”
“The principal is just so much to deal with. I knew she’d be a hard-ass, but it’s not strictness or discipline. It’s a complete lack of compassion for anything related to students. She and I butted heads today, and it’s got me second-guessing things. Like, why is she even in this job? Go work as a manager in some customer service center somewhere and make your employees miserable. Stop sticking it to kids.”
From where the camera is pointed and from what I remember of her apartment, Amber’s in her room in front of her vanity powdering her nose. She’s leaned slightly away from the camera as she applies soft rose gold lipstick. I envy her blending game, how she contours her tawny complexion. She doesn’t have a single blemish even in her natural state, and her color selection is always trendy.
“I hate shitty bosses as much as the next gal, but they’re a part of life,” Amber reasons. “We both know this. If you hate it so much, you could quit and come home. I know the pay for teachers isn’t much, but at least people appreciate you here.”
“No. I’m not willing to give up yet. I just wanted to vent.”
“Vent away. You know I’m always ready to listen. Anything else bothering you?”
How much to say? I can tell she already suspects something. “I kinda—sorta?—met someone.”
“Aha!” Amber looks up from lining her lips red. “I knew it wouldn’t be long until some cute Illinois country boy scooped you up. Talk. Tell me everything. What’s the cowboy’s name?”
“He’s definitely not a cowboy,” I reply, trying to picture Atticus in a Western hat and boots and laughing to myself. “It’s complicated. We work together.” And that’s just the start. How do I tell her he isn’t human to begin with? Amber can be fairly understanding, but even she has her limits.
“That isn’t complicated to me.” Amber shrugs. “What with how everyone practically has to work two jobs to survive in this day and age, work romances are pretty much theonlykind of romance anyone has time for. I want his name, though, Luce.”
“Why, so you can run a background check on him?”
“Of course.”
“You won’t find anything on this one.”
“Oho, that sounds like a challenge. Try me,” Amber says with a self-assured little smirk.
“All right.” Talking to her is already lifting my mood. “His name is Atticus.”
“Atticus? Strong name. Classic. I love it. He already sounds sexy. Tell me about him. Is he gorgeous? Tall?”
“Oh god,” I groan. “He’s so beautiful, it actually physically hurts.”
“Hair?”
“He’s a redhead.”
Shetsks. “Pasty, burns-like-a-vampire-in-sunlight sort of ginger?”
“You’d think, but no. Not quite. A tiny tan, I guess.”
“He doesn’t sound bad. Last name, please and thank you.”
“Well...” I hesitate. “That’s the thing.”
Amber’s fancy gold-plated holographic watch starts going crazy, alarms beeping impatiently at her. She grumbles. “All right, I got it! Lucy, I can continue this but in my car, if that’s okay. I have a meeting I need to get to.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I say quickly. Atticus will be back any time now, anyway. “Maybe we can catch up later. A call this weekend?”
