Love Again
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 14
“All right,” Steve said, stepping away from the podium at the front of his classroom. “I know that bell’s about to ring and you all want to bolt out of here but humor me for the last few minutes. I want you to write a short paper—half a page is fine—on how science is part of your daily life.”
A boy in the back row yawned and asked, “Can you give us an example?”
Steve set down his marker. “Sure. Those cell phones you’re all sneakily texting on behind your lab tables—as if I don’t notice—that’s science.”
A few students guiltily looked up from their phones.
“And remember that list of lab safety rules we went over earlier. Before we dive into real experiments or design projects, you need to understand the importance of lab safety. Otherwise, you’ll learn about combustion the hard way.”
The bell rang, and the students scrambled out of the room. Steve stuffed a few leftover papers into his messenger bag and locked up the classroom. Normally he stuck around after school in case a student needed help, but no one ever did on the first day.
Besides, he had plans—Equal Opportunity was holding a cleanup night, getting the space ready for its reopening.
As he made his way down the hall, he treaded lightly, almost on tiptoe. He had to pass Georgina’s office, and the last thing he wanted was to get roped into another awkward conversation. Ever since her twenty-seventh birthday, she’d set her sights on him like he was some sort of ticking biological deadline.
It was embarrassing—worse than that, it was exhausting. Her flirting wasn’t subtle, and despite his many, many attempts to show he wasn’t interested, she remained blissfully unaware or willfully ignorant.
His shoe caught on a rug near the staff lounge, making a thudding sound like a flat tire. Almost immediately, he heard the unmistakable click, click, click of high heels coming toward him.
He cursed under his breath.
“Hey there, handsome!” Georgina’s voice practically sang as she rounded the corner. She was wearing a fire-engine red outfit that looked like it belonged to a cocktail bar, not a middle school. “Why didn’t you stop in and say hi?” she gushed, placing a hand on his elbow. “Oh no—Steve, you have a marker stain on your shirt! Let me take that home and wash it for you. I know just the thing to get out ink.”
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