God, you look fucking hot, though.
I can come get you. In fact, I’m leaving now.
When I read the last one, I quickly reply that we’ve made it out safely and that I’ll call him as soon as I can. Hopefully, he hasn’t left yet or gotten too far.
They haven’t reached Mama’s work yet, and with any luck, they won’t. The paparazzi invasion at the school has begun, and I recognize some of the same faces from earlier. Why would anyone want a career like this? Chasing people around, invading their lives, and harassing them for a few dollars? The stupidity of a job like that just makes them assholes. I’m a teacher. What do they think they’ll get from me? A lecture and a syllabus?
I guess I’m not as boring to the gossip mags as I imagined.
I’m relieved to see the resource officer doing his best to keep them a safe, legal distance away from the building. He and I don’t get along most of the time, but at least now he’s doing something productive that doesn’t involve harassing my students. I glance around, knowing the paparazzi can all see where I’m parked, and I consider asking for a new spot, but it wouldn’t matter. If these people want information and images, there’s plenty of staff and even students that would rat me out for a payoff. I leave my grading in the car—I can send someone out for it later or come out myself when they’ve grown tired of watching a public school’s parking lot.
I’ve never wished for spontaneous rain so hard in my life.
I’d hoped that getting to my classroom would help, but I’m still too frazzled and can’t get the image of all of those people hanging over our fence out of my mind. The terrifying reality that my family, my house, my car, everything, and everyone in my life are going to be fodder to those blood thirsty assholes knots my stomach. If I hadn’t had that talk with Cynthia last week, I might lose my shit, but she gave me some pointers on how to not get arrested for punching one of them in the nose. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep myself from doing that, but I’m going to try my best, for her sake.
I’m almost inside when I glance over my shoulder one more time. That’s when I spot the big, fake blonde wig of the reporter that came to my house. I want to gouge her eyes out. There’s something off about her, but I can’t figure out what, and I can’t waste time hanging around to find out. If she’s here, I can bet on who ratted me out.
“Miley, you fucking son of a bitch,” I murmur as I duck into my class. A few of the students are in class early, milling about. If they hear me, they don’t mention it. Too busy on their phones.
Shit. The phones.
“Okay, Hannah? I’m going to put you in charge of this—I want everyone’s cell phones on the table in the back of the classroom. Face up, understand? Tell the other students as they come in.” This won’t go over well. I always allow cellphones in my classroom. Encouraged, even. I use them as a teaching tool rather than taking them away as punishment. Not all teachers can or should do that, but I’m a technology teacher.
“Tell them it’s part of a class assignment and they’ll all get their phones back in a few minutes, okay?”
I feel awful taking their phones away. Most of these kids can’t focus on a lecture; their brains don’t allow for it anymore with the overstimulation that surrounds us these days. It’s one of many downsides to technology. I'm not blind to that, but I can’t change it either. The adrenaline wanes and I head to the back of the classroom to get prepared while there’s still time. Locking the door to the storage room, I hop up on a counter I can see out into the classroom from.
“Hey, Ren, I’m so sorry—”Chase stammers as soon as he answers my call. But I cut him off.
“These people are fucking insane!” I shout, looking out the small window on the door to monitor the students. It’s only five minutes until class starts. “But, baby, it’s not your fault. Stop apologizing.”
“Itismy fault. I knew this would happen. I knew better than taking you last night, putting you on display for those vultures.”
“Are you serious about that?”
There’s silence, followed by a heavy sigh as he thinks about it.“No. I’m glad you were there, Ren. I knew it would all blow up, but I thought it would take a day or two to find out who you are.”
“Miley and that fucking bitch reporter were behind that leak.”
“Who?”
“The one that came to my house.”
“Fuck,”He sighs into the phone, and I can picture the stressed look on his face.“Come to my place after work. There’s a chance fewer of them will stay around your house if you’re not there.”
“I don’t know, Chase. I don’t have any clothes with me or anything.”
“You’ll be at my place. Why would you need clothes?”His goofy laugh lures me in..“I can get a driver to pick up clothes from your house, or I’ll order you more. I don’t use my celebrity privileges often, so let me use them for you.”
“I have all these papers to grade and…”
“I promise, I’ll let you. I’ll stay out of your hair. Hell, you can grade them out by the pool. You know you’d love that.”He tries to persuade me, and it’s working.“I’ll cook us dinner and make sure your mom and Dani are taken care of, too. It’s like a vacation, Sunshine.”
“A vacation where I still need to work.”
“Please? You don’t want the alternative, remember? Cameras, security systems, and cops.”
“When do you leave for Atlanta again?”
