Walking The Line | ✓

Chapter One

My left eye twitched. And then it twitched some more.

Patience Van.

One breath in. One breath out.

With a kind smile I wasn't feeling, I met eyes with the woman sitting in front of me, "Look Mrs Johnson, I'm not trying to impose on you or anything, I know how difficult this might be for you-"

She let out a humorless laugh, "Do you? Tell me, how many sons do you have?" Her bright polished nail tapped against her chin in as if considering this. "Oh, right. None."

My left hand griped the edge of my desk as I tried to keep my composure in check. She should be thanking the skies there was a 20 inch mahogany desk standing between us or else her cheek would be red and splotchy by now, after the well deserved slap I'd been withholding since she stepped into the classroom. Considering that following those impulsive feelings would get me fired right away, I'd been staying put and playing the role of professional for the last fifteen minutes. Just a typical day in the life of a young teacher at Kent Denver School.

I should ask for a raise.

"Just because I haven't any kids of my own doesn't mean that I can't offer you words of advise." That sounded harsher than I intended, but she'd hit a nerve. And I wasn't going to let it pass. "I have enough experience with this cases and---"

"Experience!?" She interrupted.

For heavens sake, was this woman ever going to let me finish a freaking sentence?

"Experience?" She repeated. "How much experience can a twenty something year old girl like you offer to me? Please," She rolled her eyes. "Let's be honest here."

Was she fucking serious?

I was a grown-up twenty-seven year old woman, and I sure as hell was being more mature than her. Everything I've said had come in and out of her ear like I was speaking to a wall. We were discussing her son's wellbeing, not the fucking morning news for god's sake. Plus, she couldn't be much more older than me. Thirty-six, maybe thirty-eight?

I took a deep breath and clenched my fists so I didn't reach out to yank at her extensions, "Mrs Johnson, with all due respect, I've studied for this. As I said, I've had cases like this before and I know Julian needs all the help and support you're able to offer him. I'm trying my best, but I need your cooperation." Gulping the uncomfortable knot on my throat, I asked, "Would you at least consider it?"

Larisa Johnson sat there, legs crossed, jaw clenched and I could almost hear her molars grinding. Her burning gaze was fixed on the bookshelf behind me. It didn't even affect me that she wasn't holding my gaze, I've learned long ago that she was selfish and stubborn as a mule. When I sent that note asking for a meeting, I thought it was a lost cause. It never crossed my mind that she would actually show up. After waiting for fifteen minutes, I had gathered my things and was ready to go when I caught sight of her red stilettos standing by the doorway.

It caught me off guard. Honestly.

Either way, I couldn't tell if something productive would come out of this. Most probably I was just wasting my time.

"Ms Castillo, I appreciate your concern for my son's safety, but I don't need help to raise my son. Even less coming from someone like you." She made a face as her sparkling blue eyes met mine for a moment.

I was fuming. Fuming.

Someone like me? Someone like me!? What the hell did she mean by that? Was she really implying what I think she was, really?

It wouldn't be the first time this happened to me. Honestly, I still didn't get why I was hired to work here on the first place. I mean, who hires a young mexican girl to work on a school that's full of rich white families? Definitely not the smartest choice. But I had my degree, I had the experience, I had the connections --One of my college friends had been working here for a year--. And I got in. Frida, my friend, had been ecstatic. She said it might have been because of my latina air or some shit like that. I wasn't so sure.