Page 33 of Teaching the Teacher's Pet

Biting my lip, I fought the urge to laugh. It was hilarious how dedicated she was to granting Connor anything he wanted. More time? Sure. Another extension? Yeah, no big deal. Another handout? What was next, she’d take the test for him?

It was weird, because on one hand I wanted to lobby for my student. I wanted to ask her for more time, ask her for a shorter test, foranythingthat would aid him in passing this exam. On the other hand, asking for special privileges for a guy who was used to freebies made my stomach turn. Maybe he needed to get knocked off his feet to learn that not everything would bend to his will.

I thought about the sweatpants he lent me last night. Alex agreed to take me home without finishing our game, and I’d practically bolted back to the table for my sneakers, head tucked down. Connor had been in the process of bowling, focused on the lane, so I didn’t have to go through the awkward process of thanking him. I’d dodged everyone’s gazes, especially Jade’s. Strangely enough, she’d let me walk away without a scathing remark.

“Another week wouldn’t do much,” I told Principal Oliphant honestly. “It’s a lot to learn in general. But we’re getting through it.”

She turned impassive, as if we were playing poker now. “You always do your best, Maisie. I believe that.”

“There’s only so much Icando.”

“I believe that, too.” But her voice sounded different now. More formal. “Connor is one of the school’s prime athletes, you know. I’ve gotten many letters from schools saying they’re sending scouts to our games, some even specifically asking about him. His abilities on the field are benefiting a lot of players in the long run. They’re putting Brentwood on the map.”

As soon as they asked me to tutor Connor, I knew this conversation was coming. The goo-goo, ga-ga fawning over a simple player like he was God’s gift to Brentwood instead of just a boy with an above-average ability to run with a ball in his hand. Treatment that made my blood boil.

“If you have any ideas on how we can help Connor pass this test, please let me know,” Principal Oliphant told me in the same voice. “We want to see every student at Brentwood High succeed.”

I’d known Mrs. Oliphant practically my entire life. I’d known her when she first started her principal position, had known her when Madison’s dad had passed away, had known her when she’d won an award from the city for Teaching the Youth of Tomorrow or some crap like that. But as she spoke now, with a hypnotized expression and practiced words falling from her lips, I felt like I didn’t know her at all.

Overhead, the bell rang, signaling the end of fourth period.

“Well, if you need anything else, I’m more than happy to help.” She rose to her feet with her hands pressed against her desk. “I can set something up. But that’s all from me for now. You can head to lunch.”

Even though she’d given me the dismissal, something kept me glued to the chair, unwilling to move for a long moment. This whole conversation felt distinctly one-sided, and it left me with more to say. More about the list, more about valedictorian, more about Connor. But she didn’t ask any of those questions, and I had no idea how to phrase the swirling storm of thoughts in my mind.

“About the Most Likely Tos,” I began softly. “It might not be anything more than drama and gossip, but it does hurt to be singled out in a negative way. I’d think really hard about potential candidates for creating it.”

“Any suggestions on where to start looking?” Her gaze trained on me, and for a moment, it almost felt as if it were Madison eyeing me so curiously, so intently.

“I’m sure something will come up,” I said instead of giving a straight answer. In all honesty, I couldn’t gauge how she’d react if I told her that I suspected Madison and her friends. Would she act like a principal, or would she deny the possibility like a parent? There was no way of knowing for sure. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Ava, paw prints have four fingers, not three.” Rachel frowned sideways at her reflection in the mirror, cherry-red lips twisting back at her. She’d taken a play from Ava’s book and scraped her hair up into two little buns on the top of her head, one gold ribbon wrapped around one bun and a blue ribbon wrapped around the other. “You have to add one more.”

Ava stared at Rachel’s cheek with intense focus, hand gripping the face paint marker so tightly that it shook. “Iam. Be patient, sheesh.”

“Did you just call the toe printsfingers?” I asked, hugging one of Ava’s decorative lumbar pillows to my chest. The lacy edge tickled my throat.

Rachel shot me a grin. “Basically the same thing.”

“Except animals don’t have fingers.”

“They have toe beans,” Ava said, and then laughed.

The two were getting dolled up for the Brentwood football game tonight. Ava wasn’t nearly as decked out as Rachel was, only wearing an oversized Bobcats sweater from a few years back. She didn’t have a pawprint—yet. They had a half-hour before they needed to leave for the game, so there was time to put on the finishing touches.

I sat on the bed and watched the whole thing, because even though I wasn’t going, they wanted me here to spend time with them. It was times like this, hanging out with them outside of school, in their houses, that shocked me a little. Like a part of my brain couldn’t believe we were close enough for me to be seeing them outside of school.

But coming off a friendship that’d lasted over a decade, Rachel and Ava taught me that you didn’t always need years to form a tight bond with someone. Sometimes, moments like this—sitting on Ava’s bed while she and Rachel bickered over pawprints, K-Pop filtering through Ava’s laptop speakers—still felt a little surreal.

“I hope they win tonight,” Rachel said. “They’re up against the Chesterfield Vikings and they haven’t lost once this season.”

“The season did just start.” Ava shook the paint marker a little before touching up a stripe along Rachel’s cheek.

Rachel lifted up her cell to peer at the screen. “Ooh, Jade posted a photo of the cheer squad doing warm-ups. They’re there already.”

Ava leaned in. “Aw, look how Madison styled her hair. I swear, she always comes up with the prettiest styles. We should try recreating them sometime.”

“Or ask her to help us,” Rachel whispered back, and then laughed, as if what she’d said was as controversial as removing sweets from the school vending machines. “Maisie, you should let us practice on you.”

---