Hate You Still by Lyssa Lemire

CHAPTER TEN

EMMA

I’m four days into my student teaching assignment.

After the first day, I held out hope that Megan’s, err … nontraditional approach to teaching was just a weird first impression, or normal first day of the year laxness, and that she’d tighten up and things would run more like a normal classroom in the following days.

Well, now that I’ve just finished my fourth day, Thursday, and Friday is right around the corner, I’m starting to wake up and realize that this is the atmosphere I’ll be dealing with for the entire semester.

I’m past praying it’ll get better, and have moved on to just trying to figure out how to make the most of it.

I’ve at least convinced her to let me have control of the class to do some structured lessons at a regular schedule, telling her that it’s a required part of my student teaching evaluation. So at least for a portion of the day the students are actually learning something, other than interpretive dance and how to share their feelings in a drum circle.

This afternoon, I’m staying late tutoring a student. Or trying to, at least.

Bryce Hastings, a thirteen-year-old boy who badly needs more structure than Ms. Kimler’s class provides. But I’ve talked with his mom, and she’s a sweetheart. Her ex-husband left her, Bryce, and his younger sister high and dry, and she has to work two jobs to support them.

Just in this first week, she’s called twice to check on him. She really cares about him and wants him to do well and have a brighter future.

Staying after school for math tutoring is the last thing in the world he wants to do right now, which is clear from his demeanor. But his mom made sure he would, and he’s at least putting in a genuine, if begrudging, effort, because he knows I’ll let his mom know if he doesn’t.

And as much of a sweetheart as Ms. Hastings is, I can tell that she’s also a no-nonsense woman when the situation calls for it.

“Alright, good job today,” I tell him encouragingly after he gets three practice problems in a row right. “You have football practice now, right?”

He nods his head. Staying academically eligible for football is another thing that pushes him to put more of an effort into school than he would probably be inclined to do otherwise.

“Alright. I’ll walk you out to the field.” I know that security guards still roam the halls in the after-school hours, since students have been known to try and hide out or sneak back in and get up to all kinds of trouble unsupervised.

Bryce, especially, is one that they’d be looking out for, and would expect the worst of if they saw him wandering around the hallways after school alone.

“We’ve got this new coach,” Bryce tells me as we walk out of the building toward the athletic fields. “Or, well, I guess he’s the assistant coach. He’s one of the football players at Alton.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. Maybe one of the players on the Alton Eagles is in the education program, too, and is working with the football team as a sort of substitute for traditional student teaching?

“Hey! I said line up! Defensive positions, come on!” An exasperated voice carries across the air from behind the bleachers. My ear strains at the sound of that voice … it sounds like … but, no, it can’t be.

Of all people, there’s no way it could be him.

Bryce laughs. “That’s the new assistant coach.”

I crane my neck to try to get a glimpse of the players and coaches on the field, but the bleachers still obstruct my view.

“Do you like the new coach?” I ask.

Bryce shrugs. “He’s fun to mess with.”

I tut-tut. “Come on Bryce, don’t mess with the coaches.”

Bruce laughs again. “But it’s too much fun. He gets so frustrated. See you tomorrow,” he sets off on a run to the field as we start to round the bleachers and the field and players come into view.

I catch a glimpse of who’s apparently the new assistant coach from behind.

He’s tall. His back is wide. His incredibly muscular arms are bent at the elbow, his huge hands set on his trim hips.

Oh, God, it really can’t be …

“Hey, Coach Delton, I’m here,” Bryce announces as he jogs up to him.

I cringe. The part of my brain responsible for hopeless rationalization revs up. Okay, Delton. It’s not, uh … exactly the most common name. In fact, I can only think of one Delton. But, just because I’ve only ever known one Delton in my life, doesn’t mean that this Delton is that one Delton …

Right?

But as he turns around, all hope is obliterated.

There may be more than one Delton in the world. But there’s no other face like his in the world. And there’s no doubt it’s him now that I see it.

Somehow, some way, Knox Freaking Delton is coaching at Marshall Middle School.

“Bryce! Where have you been …” he begins to address Bryce, but his voice trails off when his eyes lock with mine. “What … what are you doing here?” In the course of his question, his voice starts in a confused tone, but ends as if he’s throwing an accusation at me.

“I’m student teaching here,” I tell him. “What are you doing here?” I lob the question at him with as much acrimony as he lobbed his.

“Curing cancer,” he answers with edgy sarcasm before spreading his arms before the field. “I’m coaching football, what does it look like?”

I take a step forward like I’m about to square off with him. “Can’t you leave me alone for one second? Why do you have to be here of all places?”

He chortles. “You think I’m following you around? That’s some ego you’ve got.”

“Ego?” I huff. “You’re one to talk about ego.”

“Believe me,” he says. “I had no idea you were here. I’d have told the judge to just throw me in jail if I knew you were here, too.”

“Judge?” What’s he talking about?

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “Forget it. It’s your fault anyway.”

“My fault? What are you talking about?” I can’t even follow his rambling. What does his being here have to do with a judge? And how in the world could it be my fault?

He also takes a step forward now, turning the distance between us into mere inches. It’s a warm day outside, but the heat I feel radiating off of his body is far more intense than that coming from the sun. “If it weren’t for that stunt you pulled with the trash, I wouldn’t have to be here right now.”

“Have you gone insane?” I ask, still completely bewildered. Nothing he’s saying makes any sense. It’s like he’s telling a story and omitted a couple important scenes that explain everything.

Whatever. Maybe I don’t want to know what he’s talking about.

He’s going to be out here, on the football field, after school. I’m going to be in the building during school. There’s no reason for our paths to cross just because he’s helping coach the football team.

I look over his shoulder and notice that all the kids have gathered together and are gawking at us. Some are giggling, and a few are whispering amongst themselves and pointing to us. My face flushes with embarrassment.

Bryce isn’t the only one of my students on the team, and the last thing I need is for my students to see me have an embarrassing shouting match with Knox Delton – who is, very much to my chagrin, their new coach, after all.

I hurry off the field and back to my classroom. I still have some assignments to grade. Megan was beside herself with the suggestion that I actually give students assignments (the horror), but I was again able to use the excuse that it’s a requirement of my student teaching evaluation. By hook or by crook, hopefully I can actually teach these kids something this semester.

I try to sit down at my desk and focus on the task in front of me, but I can’t shake the annoyance of not being able to get away from Knox Delton. I thought I’d left him in the past – more accurately, I thought I was left in the past by him.

Either way, I didn’t expect that our paths would cross again.

At least, not realistically. I may have imagined different scenarios of how we would meet again, years later. I might have spent more time imagining and fleshing out those scenarios than I’d ever admit – to anyone else, or to myself. But they always seemed like what they were: fantasies.

As is often the case, the reality ended up being far from the fantasy. Because I never dreamed up the scenario of Knox ending up being the next-door neighbor from hell.

At the very least, he seems to have learned his lesson. There haven’t been any wild parties, and no sleepless nights on my part caused by them, since I treated Knox to a professional redecorating job, courtesy of the trash he produced the night before.

Suddenly, the thought occurs to me. Maybe I just need to start dating again.

Truth be told, I haven’t really had a relationship worth mentioning since Knox dumped me. As pathetic as that is. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on dates, I’ve had two guys I called boyfriends, even had a few one-night stands when I was getting used to college life.

But, honestly, none of those relationships were all too memorable, and they basically just fizzled out.

Maybe it’s time for me to look for something more substantial, and truly put my past with Knox not only behind me, but firmly and permanently behind me.

The idea lifts my spirits, and I’m able to breeze through my grading.

On my drive home, I notice Knox walking on the side of the road.

That’s odd, doesn’t he have a car?

It’s a hot day, so for just a split second, the thought of being magnanimous and stopping to give him a ride passes my mind. Obviously, we’re heading to the same place. But it’s only the splitest of a split second.

I pass him by and take another glance at him in the place where I’m hoping to finally put him permanently: the rear-view mirror.