Sweetest in the Gale - Olivia Dade Page 0,55
what she wears every day?”
Smothering Scarf Teacher shook her head. “Shirts smeared with paint. Jeans. Messy hair. It’s a disgrace.”
“I can’t believe she’s gotten away with it.” Murderous Cat Teacher sniffed loudly. “I knew Principal Dunn wasn’t up to the job. Too soft-hearted, as Mildred and I always said.”
“Have you heard about Ms. Wick’s little side business?” Smothering Scarf Teacher’s lip curled. “Those dioramas are grotesque and—and creepy.”
Creepy.
Poppy had described herself that way too, chin high, hurt darkening her clear eyes.
He didn’t slam the door of the refrigerator, but he wanted to. Not just because of his rage at Mildred’s cruel cronies, but also because he’d thought—he’d said—almost the exact same things such a short time ago, and it shamed him. Gutted him.
You hurt me.
After a fraught, sleepless night, he’d finally solved his problems. He’d found his solutions, unnerving though they might be.
He was done hurting Poppy, and he wasn’t about to let others do it instead.
“Excuse me.” Rising to his full height, he stepped closer to the table, until he was looming over them. Deliberately. “Or, rather, excuse you.”
They blinked up at him, Murderous Cat Teacher’s eyes wide and magnified behind her glasses.
“Ms. Wick, your colleague, received administrative permission to dress in a manner appropriate to her daily tasks, which involve ably shepherding bloodthirsty teens through a sea of paint and glue and other horrible substances.” His tone was icy enough to freeze them in place. “Furthermore, when I talked to various students this week, I discovered the reason Mrs. Krackel was able to wear formal clothing when she taught.”
He planted both his hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Because, on a daily basis, Mildred didn’t do a goddamn thing.”
The women gasped, and he was almost certain they’d report him for his word choice. He couldn’t have given less of a fuck.
“She didn’t help students with projects. She didn’t help clean their mess.” He spoke slowly, so they had to take in every word. “Ms. Wick’s dioramas are stunning examples of meticulous, clever artistry, and they accordingly command a high price. In contrast, from my understanding, Mildred’s main talent was collecting a monthly paycheck.”
“How—how dare you?” Smothering Scarf Teacher sputtered. “Mildred—”
“—is gone,” he finished for her. “I don’t know how or why, and for these purposes, it doesn’t matter.”
He had a theory he intended to run by Poppy later, though. He hoped she’d prove impressed by his reasoning abilities and investigative prowess.
“No matter what happened with Mrs. Krackel, Ms. Wick is an invaluable asset to this school, and she is anything but grotesque. She’s kind and warm and talented.” Heaving himself upright once more, he stalked to the door, then turned to make one final, chilly statement. “You, on the other hand, are grotesque.”
When he slammed out of the faculty lounge, two of his longtime colleagues staring aghast at him—their cold, controlled colleague, fuming and foul-mouthed—he dimly realized he’d lost his temper. At work. For the first time ever.
But it was for good reason. The best reason.
And quite honestly?
It felt amazing.
Bending over, Simon inspected Tori’s diorama-in-progress with a magnifying glass. “It’s a coffin. With bloody claw marks and a corpse inside.”
Because of course it was a coffin with bloody claw marks and a corpse inside. Why had he expected anything else from one of the Goth softball players in Poppy’s class?
“It’s the first of two coffins,” Tori corrected with an easy grin. “I’m educating my teachers and classmates about a very special period in our history via my diorama, Mr. Burnham.”
He lifted a brow, and she took the gesture as the invitation it was.
“In the nineteenth century, people were very nervous about being buried alive.” Turning to her friend, she tucked some of her braids behind her ear. “Do you remember that project we did in Mr. Krause’s class, Stacey? About how that one woman in England in the 1600s—”
“Alice Blunden,” Stacey provided, face lit with excitement.
“—drank too much poppy tea, which was an opiate, and they thought she was dead, so they buried her, but then kids heard sounds from her grave, so someone exhumed her and saw she’d tried to escape, but they thought she was dead again, so they reburied her, and then—
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“—the next day, she really was dead, but there were signs she’d revived and struggled a second time before finally, totally, dying. For real.”
Jesus, he’d be having nightmares about that.
Tori beamed at him. “So people were scared, and they invented special coffins with ladders and