Misconduct

“Does he have a moment for me?” I asked Mrs. Vincent as I stepped up to her desk.

She popped her head up, and a look crossed her face when she realized it was me. I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but it was clear she knew what was going on.

“I think so.” She nodded. “Go on in.”

I approached the principal’s office door, knocking even though it was half open.

“Mr. Shaw?” I broached.

He glanced over his shoulder, standing with his hands in his file cabinet, and offered a tight smile.

“Easton, hello.” He sighed. “Come in. I’m glad you stopped by.”

I walked in, making sure to close the door behind me, because I didn’t need Mrs. Vincent knowing more than she already did. I kept my back straight and my shoulders squared, even though I felt like I wore a badge of shame.

I’d screwed a student’s parent. I was a slut who was a threat to all of the other families in the school.

That’s how some parents and other teachers might see it.

They wouldn’t see that I was in love. That Tyler Marek was the one man to break me open and love and need everything he saw.

That he was the one man I needed in the same way.

I sat down in one of the chairs opposite Mr. Shaw’s desk and placed my arms on the armrests. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to speak to you about —”

“I know,” he cut me off, dropping the file folders he’d retrieved from his cabinet onto his desk. “I already spoke with Mr. Marek, and I saw the photo online,” he told me, and then asked, “When did this start?”

I lifted my chin, owning up. “We met at Mardi Gras last February,” I explained. “But we didn’t begin pursuing a relationship until this school year.”

He squinted, studying me. “Even knowing that you could lose your job?”

I faltered, dropping my eyes.

But then I looked back and faced it head-on. “Mr. Shaw,” I started.

But he held up his hand. “Ms. Bradbury —”

“Please, Mr. Shaw, let me say this,” I rushed out, quieting him.

I needed to tell him the truth, so no matter what happened, he would know that I didn’t take my actions lightly.

“I could never claim to be a person who was used to sacrificing what they wanted for the betterment of someone else,” I confessed. “I’ve been selfish and defiant many times in my life, most of which I regret,” I told him, remembering all too well my parents and sister.

“But I love what I do,” I maintained, “and I do it with everything I have. I’m committed to my career, and that hasn’t wavered. Mr. Marek” – I stopped and corrected – “Tyler is…”

I looked down, inhaling a long breath.

“I can’t do without him.” I stood my ground, owning my decisions. “I don’t want to. I love teaching, and I would hate to lose my job or your confidence, but I’m not sorry that I love him.”

I folded my hands in my lap, knowing I would do it all again. “I’m simply sorry things happened this way,” I admitted.

He sat there for a moment, looking like he was thinking about what I said.

I would hate to lose my job, hurt my reputation with the students and parents, or be the butt of someone’s joke, but I wasn’t tormented about the situation. Knowing that I would do nothing differently gave me peace.

He sighed and looked at me. “I’m not going to fire you.” He smiled gently. “I wasn’t going to.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

He shrugged, leaning on his desk. “You’re an excellent teacher,” he pointed out. “Your methods are drawing much-needed publicity for the school, and if I can be frank, your…” He waved a hand at me. “Mr. Marek will quite possibly be a senator. I can’t fire his wife.”

I dug in, shaking my head. “Wife?” I repeated. “Oh, no, we’re not engaged.”

He laughed and looked at me like I was stupid. “He went public with a love interest during a campaign, Easton,” he replied. “He may not yet realize he intends to propose, but his intentions toward you are definitely permanent.”

Okaaaay.

“Christian has been reassigned to the AP class,” he continued, standing up, “so there’s no longer a conflict of interest there. He is aware of this development, I assume?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” He nodded once. “You’ll no doubt have to field some gossip with the staff and parents, but I think you’ll find Mr. Marek’s status and reputation will go a long way in making sure it passes quickly. Let me know if you need anything.”

That was it?

He turned around and started rummaging through his file cabinet again.

I hesitated, feeling like there was still another shoe to drop, but when he didn’t say anything more, I slowly rose and began to leave.

“Thank you,” I said in a low voice.

“Easton,” he called, and I turned around.

“When the news crew observes your class today,” he instructed, “you represent this school and Tyler Marek now.”

And then he turned back around, leaving my stomach flipping with his little hint.

Yes. I represented Tyler.

For possibly a while to come.

“Principal Shaw says that you’d been offered opportunities to lead some staff developments,” the newscaster asked, “possibly taking days to go to other schools as well, but you turned him down?”

I smiled, the camera behind Rowan DeWinter, the Channel 8 anchor, fixed on me as I stood in front of the school.