Don't Stand So Close Ch. 25

Chapter 25 of DSSCTM is now up!

At Last...I have returned...

I am so sorry for the delay with this post. I originally sent it out as a review reply to everyone who reviewed chapter 24, only to learn a few days later that most people hadn't received their reply, thanks to the many FFn fails that have been going on. As much as I'd love to say I had time to write another 200 replies, I did not, and I wasn't sure they'd get to you. So here it is, for you to read at last.

It took me so long to get it up here because of a particularly aggressive case of strep throat I've had for the last week. This is my first day out of bed. 

Chapter 25 will be up ASAP.

Happy Reading!

Xo!

EPOV

            “Did you iron your shirt?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you have all of your information together? Your resume and your portfolio?”

            “Yes.”

            “Which suit did you wear?”

            “The blue one.”

            “Hmm, I’m not sure about that one. Why not gray?”

            I smiled a little at the phone, projecting my mother’s voice on speaker. Should I tell her I didn’t wear the gray one because it still smells like Bella? That I wore parts of it while fucking her wildly on the couch? That I never want to have it dry-cleaned again, for fear it will lose her scent?

            “I just wore the gray one to the dance on Friday, Mom. I haven’t had it cleaned yet.”

            “It needs to be cleaned? Did you spill something on it?”

            I roll my eyes as I finish tying my tie in the mirror. “No. I just…I worked up a sweat, dancing, Mom. I want to have it cleaned before I wear it again.”

            “I just think gray is so classy. Plus, it’s very hip right now.”

            “How do you know what’s hip?” I grab a comb from the drawer of the vanity and run it through my hair a few times. It’s no use.

            “Please, Edward. Jasper is quite the fashionista.”

            “I don’t think Jasper would appreciate being called a fashionista,” I laugh, grabbing my suit jacket off the hanger.

            “Well, maybe not, but the fact is, he knows what’s hip and what’s not. He says gray is in.”

            “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, Mom. I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

            “Okay, honey. Good luck! You’ll do great, I know it. Call me when you’re finished.”

            “I will, I love you.”

            “Love you, too,” she says, and hangs up.

            I grab my phone off of the counter and silence it before slipping it into my pocket. I check myself one more time in the mirror. I look…professional.

            I grab my things and hit the road. The sooner I’m sitting in front of Port Angeles High School, the better.

            I feel awful for not telling Bella. I tried to, multiple times, but we always got sidetracked. Plus, as much as I keep telling myself she will be happy if I get another job, I’m not sure that’s true. If I work somewhere else, it takes away the obvious ethical issues with our relationship, but does it change some of the grayer areas? She’ll still be a student; I’ll still be a teacher. She’ll still be leaving for college in a few months; I’ll need to get yet another job if I want to go with her. She’ll still have to deal with her father; and fuck…I’ll still have to deal with him, too.

            All I know for sure is that if I go to another school, I can’t get fired for dating a student at my school. I know I’ll see less of Bella, but we’ll make it work.

            I see a hand waving at me as I drive and turn my head to see the Chief himself, passing by. Lovely. I give him a small wave and hope he won’t ask me too many questions about why I’m not at school on a Thursday the next time I see him. I continue down the road, going over my interview answers in my head.

            I don’t mind interviews. While I’m not crazy about the process, I don’t lose sleep over them, either. I know my shit when it comes to education. For me, it really comes down to the compatibility of the school.

            That’s what sucks so badly about leaving Forks. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have thought my first teaching job would be at such a perfect school. The staff, the school board, the community…they are all so supportive of teachers and hold them to the highest standard. I love the pressure and challenges of teaching at a great school. And while I hope like hell Port Angeles will be the same, I know how unlikely that is.

            I roll up to the parking lot and grab my phone. I should text Bella. I glance at the clock. Shit. She’s going to be heading to my class next, and she’ll realize I’m not there. I should have told her. Fuck. Great move, Cullen. I could tell her over the phone, but something tells me I should tell her in person. Maybe I can dazzle her into forgetting she should be mad.

            I type out a quick text, eagerly waiting her response. In such a short period of time, Bella has become so much to me. She’s my friend and confidante and favorite companion but she’s also so much more…she’s my lifeline, my drug, my obsession.

            My phone chirps back with a response.

                        Well hurry up and get in here. I’m waiting for you. X

           

            Shit. I can see her now, perfectly perched in her seat, eyes glued to the doorway. I hate the feeling that I know she is about to experience. My substitute is going to walk through the door, and the dread that will fill Bella is making me feel a little sick, too.

            I glance at the clock. Shit. I need to get in there. I place my phone in the cup holder, grabbing my briefcase and heading into the building.

            Port Angeles High School is newer than Forks High School, with a flashier interior and entryway. After passing through a few sets of doors, I stop at a window, looking into the main office.

            The young woman behind the desk blushes as soon as she sees me, and it takes all of my self-control not to roll my eyes.

            “How can I help you?” she asks, leaning over her desk toward the plexi-glass that separates us. I don’t miss the double entendre in the way she says it.

            “I’m Edward Cullen. I have an appointment with Principal Worthington,” I say, smiling. The girl looks like she’s about to faint.

            “Certainly,” she says, batting her eyelashes. “Please, come in.”

            I hear the buzz of the door and pull it open, bringing me into the main foyer of the Port Angeles High School. I step into the main office, looking around at the many awards and recognitions of the school posted on the wall.

            “Please have a seat, Mr. Cullen,” the girl says, and gestures to a chair sitting by the entrance. I sit down quietly, looking around.

            A group of girls enter the office, wearing blue plaid skirts and white shirts. I had forgotten P.A. has a dress code. I notice one of them watching me and give her a questioning look. How do I know her?

            She leans over the counter, exposing her already too bare legs to me and speaking quietly to the girl who let me in. I glance at her reddish, blonde hair. How do I know her?

            “Tanya, you ready?” Another girl asks from the doorway. Red turns around, gives me a wink, and saunters out of the office.

            Son of a bitch. That’s Tanya Denali, Bella’s field hockey nemesis. God, I hate the idea of teaching her and being a part of this school, after the way they played against Forks. Stop thinking that way, Cullen. You need to do what’s best for Bella. Besides, you’d have to leave Forks a year from now, anyway.

            A blond man appears then, smiling widely. “You must be Edward,” he says, extending his hand.

            “Yes, hello, Principal Worthington,” I say, standing. He leads me into his office closing the door behind us.

            “Please, call me James,” he grins, sitting behind his desk.

            “James,” I repeat, sitting across from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The interview goes by quickly. Seventy-five minutes later, James tells me he’ll call me in a few days about second interviews, and that they hope to make their decision by the end of the month. I don’t know why, but I get a bad feeling from him.

            He walks with me out to my car, chatting with me about life in Forks. “You’ve got some very skilled students at Forks,” he says. “I grew up in that area. I know some of the families well.”

            “Really? Like who?” I don’t know why I ask. Do I want to know? No. Honestly, I just want to get away from this sketchy guy and his sketchy school. No. I need this job.

            “Well the Newtons and I go way back, do you know their son, Mike?”

            “Yes, I have Mike in class.”

            “Yes, and the Webers I’ve known for a long time. You must know Angela.”

            “I do, sir. Yes.”

            “And of course Charlie Swan,” he smiles.

            I nod. “Charlie is a good man,” I say softly, holding his eyes.

            “His daughter, too. Do you have Isabella in class?”

            I nod. “I do.”

            “Talk about a swan, huh? I remember when she was just a baby. Boy, has she grown up,” he says, and although the words themselves aren’t that offensive, something about the way he says it makes my stomach churn.

            “Isabella is a very bright young woman,” I say. I offer my hand to him. “Thank you for your time, James. I look forward to hearing from you.”

            He shakes my hand and turns back into the building, leaving me alone with the sick feeling inside.

            I get into the car and immediately see my phone lighting up: Nineteen new text messages. Great. Well done, boyfriend.

            Can you meet me at my house after practice? I’ll explain then.

            I need to get this over with. Bella will likely be upset, and why shouldn’t she be? I should have told her. Maybe she won’t be. Maybe she’ll see it as I do—a great opportunity for us to stay out of trouble and stay together.

            I sigh as I back out of the parking lot, heading back toward the freeway. As much as I know I should be happy about this chance to go elsewhere, a large part of me can’t help but beg, “please don’t make me work there.”

            The things we do for love.