Too Good to Be True. Kristan Higgins

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СКАЧАТЬ papers were always sharp and insightful—but more than likely, peer pressure would keep him home, miserably lusting after Kerry, Emma Kirk’s wholesome appeal lost on him.

      “Hey, Tommy?” I called.

      He turned back to me. “Yeah, Ms. Em?”

      I waited a beat till everyone else was gone. “Everything okay with you these days?”

      He smiled a bit sadly. “Oh, yeah. Just the usual crap.”

      “You can do better than Kerry,” I said gently.

      He snorted. “That’s what my dad says.”

      “See? Two of your favorite grown-ups agree.”

      “Yeah. Well, you can’t pick who you fall for, can you, Ms. Em?”

      I paused. “Nope. You sure can’t.”

      Tommy left, and I gathered up my papers. History was a tough subject to teach. After all, most teenagers barely remembered what had happened last month, let alone a century and a half ago, but still. Just once, I wanted them to feel how history had impacted the world we lived in. Especially the Civil War, my favorite part of American history. I wanted them to understand what had been risked, to imagine the burden, the pain, the uncertainty President Lincoln must have experienced, the loss and betrayal felt by the Southerners who had seceded—

      “Hello, there, Grace.” Ava stood in my doorway, doing her trademark sleepy smile, followed by three slow, seductive blinks. There was one…and the second…and there was three.

      “Ava! How are you?” I said, forcing a smile.

      “I’m quite well, thank you.” She tipped her head so that her silky hair fell to one side. “Have you heard the news?”

      I hesitated. Ava, unlike myself, had her ear to the ground when it came to Manning’s politics. I was one of those teachers who dreaded schmoozing with the trustees and wealthy alumni, preferring to spend my time planning classes and tutoring the kids who needed extra help. Ava, on the other hand, worked the system. Add that to the fact that I didn’t live on campus (Ava had a small house at the edge of campus, and speculation was that she’d slept with the Dean of Housing to get it), and she definitely heard things.

      “No, Ava. What news is that?” I asked, trying to keep my tone pleasant. Her blouse was so low-cut that I could see a Chinese symbol tattooed on her right boob. Which meant that every child who came through her classroom could see it, too.

      “Dr. Eckhart’s stepping down as chairman of the history department.” She smiled, catlike. “I heard it from Theo. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other.” Super. Theo Eisenbraun was the chairman of the Manning Academy board of trustees.

      “Well. That’s interesting,” I said.

      “He’ll announce it later this week. Theo’s already asked me to apply.” Smile. Blink. Blink. And… wait for it… blink again.

      “Great. Well, I have to run home for lunch. See you later.”

      “Too bad you don’t live on campus, Grace. You’d seem so much more committed to Manning if you did.”

      “Thanks for caring,” I said, shoving my papers into my battered leather bag. Ava’s news had hit a nerve. Yes, Dr. Eckhart was old, but he’d been old for a long time. He was the one who’d hired me six years ago, the one who stood by me when a parent pressured me to raise little Peyton or Katharine’s grade, the one who heartily approved of my efforts to engage my kids. I’d think he’d have told me if he was leaving. Then again, it was hard to say. Private schools were odd places, and Ava’s information was usually on the money, I had to give her that.

      Kiki met me outside Lehring Hall. “Hey, Grace, want to grab some lunch?”

      “I can’t,” I said. “I have to run home before Colonial History.”

      “It’s that dog of yours, isn’t it?” she said suspiciously. Kiki was the proud owner of the mysteriously named Mr. Lucky, a diabetic Siamese cat who was blind in one eye, missing several teeth and prone to hairballs and irritable bowel syndrome.

      “Well, yes, Angus was a little bound up, if you must know, and I don’t want to come home tonight and find that his colon just couldn’t hold on anymore.”

      “Dogs are so gross.”

      “I won’t dignify that with an answer, except to say that there are double coupons for Fresh Step at Stop & Shop.”

      “Oh, thanks!” Kiki said. “I’m actually running low. Hey, Grace, did I tell you I met someone?”

      As we walked to our cars, Kiki extolled the virtues of some guy named Bruce, who was kind, generous, soulful, funny, sexy, intelligent, hardworking and completely honest.

      “And when did you meet this guy?” I asked, shifting my papers to open my car door.

      “We had coffee on Saturday. Oh, Grace, I think this guy is it. I mean, I know I’ve said that before, but he’s perfect.”

      I bit my tongue. “Good luck,” I said, making a mental note to pencil in some conciliatory time for Kiki about ten days from now, when Bruce would more than likely have changed his phone number and my friend would be crying on my couch. “Hey, Kiki, have you heard anything about Dr. Eckhart?”

      She shook her head. “Why? Did he die?”

      “No,” I answered. “Ava told me he’s retiring.”

      “And Ava knows this because she slept with him?” Kiki, like Ava, lived on campus, and they hung out together sometimes.

      “Now, now.”

      “Well, if he is, that’s great for you, Grace! Only Paul has more seniority, right? You’d apply for the job, wouldn’t you?”

      “It’s a little early to be talking about that,” I said, sidestepping the question. “I just wondered if you’d heard. See you later.”

      I pulled carefully out of the parking lot—Manning students tended to drive cars worth more than my annual salary, and nicking one would not be advisable—and headed through Farmington back to the twisted streets of Peterston, thinking about Dr. Eckhart. If it was true, then yes, I’d apply to be the new chairman of our department. To be honest, I thought Manning’s history curriculum was too stodgy. Kids needed to feel the importance of the past, and, yes, sometimes they needed it jammed down their throats. Gently and lovingly, of course.

      I pulled into my driveway and saw the true reason for my trip home, Angus’s bowels not withstanding. My neighbor stood in his front yard by a power saw or some such tool. Shirtless. Shoulder muscles rippling under his skin, biceps thick and bulging… hard… golden… Okay, Grace! That’s enough!

      “Howdy, neighbor,” I said, wincing as the words left my mouth.

      He turned off his saw and took off the safety glasses. I winced. His eye was a mess. It was open a centimeter or two—progress from being swollen completely shut yesterday—and from what I could see, the white of his eye was quite bloodshot. A purple-and-blue bruise covered him СКАЧАТЬ