After Hours
Chapter One.
Emily Asher pulled into the parking lot of Ridgewell high school and nervously tucked a hair behind her ear. It was her first day as an English teacher, or any teacher for that matter. She was new, young, and definitely terrified of having to talk in front of at least 150 teenagers that didn’t care to be there. But she signed up for this and she wasn’t going to chicken out.
Her hands shook against the steering wheel, and it wasn’t until she looked down that Emily realized her fingers were white from gripping so tightly.
“Calm Down, Em,” she told herself, turning off the ignition and opening the car door. A few kids passed by and gave her strange looks as she waved at them. She shook her head and started to grab her bags out of her car. Closing the door, she took a deep breath and walked towards the school.
It looked so much more intimidating today than it had before.
Emily struggled to gain her balance as she walked in her black wedges. At her petite size of 5’1”, Emily often resorted to wearing heels. But when she was extremely anxious, like today, wobbly shoes could only call for disaster. Maybe she should have rethought her decision.
But other than Emily’s shoe dilemma, she looked professional and mostly put together. Clad in a dark pencil skirt and a flimsy auburn colored blouse, she looked prepared for the day.
Walking down the hall called for many odd glances. She couldn’t blame them. After all, she was a new teacher, and she was young. Especially with a baby face, Emily could probably pass as a high school student herself.
“Morning, Ms. Asher,” Mr. Garrison called from a few feet away. She looked behind her and smiled softly, giving a slight wave.
“Morning,” she said politely. Mr. Garrison was a 40 year old teacher who taught History. He was very tall and had a moustache that stood out on his skinny face. He was nice, but too nice, and was obviously into Emily.
“Ready for your first day?” He asked, bumping into her more than a few times.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she stated honestly. Mr. Garrison chuckled and patted her on the shoulder warmly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. I was just as nervous as you on my first day too,” he said. Emily figured that was at least 15 years ago.
“Thanks,” she said timidly as she reached her classroom. “I’ll see you later.”
Mr. Garrison gave a nod and a smile, and walked down the hallway to his room, high fiving some students and occasionally glancing back at her. Emily gave a sigh of relief when she unlocked her door and made it into her classroom.
The room was empty, aside from a few posters about grammatical structure and being positive. She was hoping that soon inspiration would strike and she could decorate some more.
This was the start of it all, she thought to herself. A getaway, a beginning.
And as nervous as she was, Emily was happy that the thing she was worried most about was how empty her classroom was.
Her hands shook against the steering wheel, and it wasn’t until she looked down that Emily realized her fingers were white from gripping so tightly.
“Calm Down, Em,” she told herself, turning off the ignition and opening the car door. A few kids passed by and gave her strange looks as she waved at them. She shook her head and started to grab her bags out of her car. Closing the door, she took a deep breath and walked towards the school.
It looked so much more intimidating today than it had before.
Emily struggled to gain her balance as she walked in her black wedges. At her petite size of 5’1”, Emily often resorted to wearing heels. But when she was extremely anxious, like today, wobbly shoes could only call for disaster. Maybe she should have rethought her decision.
But other than Emily’s shoe dilemma, she looked professional and mostly put together. Clad in a dark pencil skirt and a flimsy auburn colored blouse, she looked prepared for the day.
Walking down the hall called for many odd glances. She couldn’t blame them. After all, she was a new teacher, and she was young. Especially with a baby face, Emily could probably pass as a high school student herself.
“Morning, Ms. Asher,” Mr. Garrison called from a few feet away. She looked behind her and smiled softly, giving a slight wave.
“Morning,” she said politely. Mr. Garrison was a 40 year old teacher who taught History. He was very tall and had a moustache that stood out on his skinny face. He was nice, but too nice, and was obviously into Emily.
“Ready for your first day?” He asked, bumping into her more than a few times.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she stated honestly. Mr. Garrison chuckled and patted her on the shoulder warmly.
“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. I was just as nervous as you on my first day too,” he said. Emily figured that was at least 15 years ago.
“Thanks,” she said timidly as she reached her classroom. “I’ll see you later.”
Mr. Garrison gave a nod and a smile, and walked down the hallway to his room, high fiving some students and occasionally glancing back at her. Emily gave a sigh of relief when she unlocked her door and made it into her classroom.
The room was empty, aside from a few posters about grammatical structure and being positive. She was hoping that soon inspiration would strike and she could decorate some more.
This was the start of it all, she thought to herself. A getaway, a beginning.
And as nervous as she was, Emily was happy that the thing she was worried most about was how empty her classroom was.