Getting Warmer Read Online Free PDF Page B

how to maximize class discussion and partly because I couldn’t bear forty-five minutes of Jared staring at me with his rodent eyes, I had the kids move their desks into a circle. The discussion was pretty much the same as always (Sarah said something brilliant; Claudia interrupted her to say something inane; Cody thanked me for my insights), but at least the rearrangement killed three minutes (ninety seconds to put the desks into the circle, another ninety to put them back). Also, Jared wasn’t quite so much in my face, and he even stopped tapping his pen for a few minutes.
    Once the bell rang and the kids shuffled out, I straightened the desks. They were all mixed up, as I had told the kids to stick the desks back into rows before they left; I didn’t say they had to return them to their original position. In the second row back, a desk on the end had new blue ballpoint graffiti: “Fuck the Duck.”
    Stupidly, I teared up. I doused the spot with some Comet that I kept in my desk. It left scratch marks on the beige laminate desk, but at least it obliterated the words. Thank God he hadn’t had time to dig any deeper.
    I fled to the English teachers’ lounge. This was my prep period, but right now maintaining the caffeine level in my blood seemed like a more important priority than doing any actual work. Besides, Jared’s evil karma still hung over my classroom. I dropped a dime into the can next to the coffeepot and poured myself a mug that managed to be both bitter and tasteless at the same time. I added plenty of nondairy creamer to make sure I got my ten cents’ worth.
    The door swung open; Mrs. Clausen scurried in. “I need the Globe for my next class,” she said breathlessly, grabbing the department’s model of Shakespeare’s theater. She looked immaculate, as always, in a tailored gray skirt, peach silk blouse and a thick gold chain. Her silver hair was short and expensively cut. “We’re starting Hamlet today—the kids are so excited!” Mrs. Clausen is the kind of committed, innovative teacher I want to be, assuming I keep teaching and don’t end up incarcerated for, say, sneaking poisonous oleander petals into Jared’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “How did it go last night?” she asked.
    I suddenly brightened. “It was wonderful. I haven’t had that much fun in ages.”
    “I’m so happy for you!” she said. “I just knew you and Paul would hit it off!” With a little wave of her pinky (she was holding the model, after all), she disappeared out the door. Oh, well. I could explain later—assuming Paul didn’t explain first.
    After guzzling my coffee, I made my way down to the counseling office, where I found Jill alone, relaxed and flipping through some paperwork. I swear: if I had it to do over, I would have gone the school psychology route. Yeah, sure, the job has its downsides: the Ritalin pushing, the suicide prevention, the STD talks. Last year Jill shared her file of syphilis photos with me; I haven’t had sex since. But she is spared the nightly task of grading ninety-two homework papers. She never has to make sense of The Odyssey . Kids don’t carve obscenities in her furniture. Genital warts just can’t compete.
    I closed her door behind me (the anorexics, suicidals and general delinquents would just have to wait) and settled myself in one of the two chairs across from her desk (typically, one is for a wayward student, the other for the parent responsible for bringing up such a thug). I grinned.
    “So?” she said.
    “I had a nice evening.” I blushed. Behind Jill’s desk, a poster showed a clean-cut boy in a varsity jacket chastely holding hands with a pretty girl. Above them, giant letters read: WAITING FOR MARRIAGE: IT’S THE RIGHT DECISION.
     
    Jill leaned forward. “Oh, my God! Did you get laid?”
    “No!” I said. “I just had a couple of drinks. Ate a burrito. Had a nice kiss.” I blushed again.
    “Who knew? Just when you were getting ready to swear off