Page 2 of What Did I Miss?

This must be a sick joke. The first guy Makayla slept with, she married. The second one? He’s joining the faculty.

She has a sudden urge to visit Paul and coax him back to work.

She could bribe him with her cannolis. Okay, they’re not exactly hers.

She buys them from a bakery and then dodges everyone’s requests for the recipe.

They’re Paul’s favourite. She’ll buy him a truckload if that’s what it’ll take to end this nightmare.

Beau’s gaze moves across the staffroom. Makayla turns away and ruffles her fringe in a pathetic attempt to Clark Kent her way out of this.

She glances over her shoulder, hoping she’s made a mistake.

But even under the gloom of the energy-efficient globes, she’s sure it’s him.

She’s replayed their sexcapade in her mind enough times she could draw his devilishly handsome features while blindfolded.

Crap, he’s seen her naked – with THE LIGHTS ON. He’s also seen her climax. Makayla wasn’t worried about facial expressions when she moaned her way across the finish line. Why would she be? They weren’t supposed to see each other ever again.

What if her colleagues find out? She knows she’s done nothing wrong, but The Whiny Bunch won’t see it that way.

They’re a group of near-retirement teachers, led by ringleader Agnes, who pass the time with salacious gossip.

Staff, students, parents – no one’s safe.

If they know something, it’s never long before everyone else does, too.

More than anything, Makayla hates people gossiping about her.

It was bad enough last term when Agnes noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring.

The rumour mill immediately started churning.

Affair? Financial woes? Intimacy issues?

If only they knew what Warren really did, they’d stop asking how he’s holding up.

The only way to ward off unnecessary attention, she decides, is to avoid Beau Shepherd for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, she’ll blend in with all the other women he’s slept with. With his self-assured smile and impressive bedroom moves, there must have been squillions.

There’s a collective sigh when Jeffrey unbuttons his suit jacket.

He’s finished torturing them with comms that would’ve been fine, if not better, in an email.

Makayla makes a beeline for the exit, keen to get ahead of the stampede.

They’re all desperate to get to their desks for a moment of solitude before the first period.

‘Makayla. Can I have a word?’ Jeffrey’s voice booms over the chatter as she wrestles with the door handle.

All eyes fall upon her, including a pair of baby blues she’d really hoped to avoid. She prays for a student to trip the fire alarm. Someone usually pulls that prank at the start of each term. Why go off script today?

Accepting that there’s no clever diversion about to save her, Makayla turns around and sees Beau mouth her name. The one she wouldn’t tell him on the weekend, even when he begged for it, before removing her underwear with his teeth.

‘What’s up?’ Makayla makes her way over to Jeffrey, ignoring Beau’s penetrating gaze. Her stomach flips like a pancake.

‘Can you escort Beau to South Wing and help him settle in?’

My office? But he’s a graduate. They’re always thrown together in the East Wing. In the light of day, she can see that Beau has a few greys hidden among his spiky golden-brown hair, and the deep laugh lines of someone who’s been around the sun more than thirty-five times.

‘Sure,’ Makayla says.

Declining the task would raise suspicion. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to suck up to Jeffrey – after all, she does want to move up the ranks one day. Sooner rather than later, ideally; this place is falling apart.

‘The bell will go soon. Keep up.’ She power walks away, hoping to lose him.

Makayla’s worn-out Converse are soundless as she races across the vinyl flooring. Beau’s shiny lace-ups squeak as he strides beside her.

‘Good morning, Kabir … Hello, Lei … G’day, Amina …’ Makayla greets every student they pass to avoid talking to him.

Whenever Beau interjects, she speaks over him.

She’s not discussing it here, or ever. Just because they’ll be sharing an office doesn’t mean they have to interact.

There are six other teachers crammed in there that he can hang out with.

Not Rongo or Cece though – they’re her closest friends, he can’t have them.

She makes a mental note to text Cece and fill her in before she returns tomorrow. Can’t have her making a scene.

Passing a row of banged-up lockers, without a pupil in sight, Makayla jumps in first to fill in the silence.

‘It’s pretty easy to navigate your way around.

The building is a square, and we refer to each side as a wing.

Just pray you don’t have afternoon classes in the West Wing.

There’s no aircon or blinds. It’s like a sauna in there. ’

Makayla doesn’t bother wearing make-up to work these days, but she would have at least slapped on some tinted moisturiser if she’d known she’d be seeing the man who unhooked her bra in a nanosecond.

The other night he kept whispering in her ear how hot she was, and now here she is, barefaced and wearing a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt that she fished out of her dirty laundry basket.

Even the leather jacket isn’t working its usual magic – her confidence is shot.

‘What do you teach?’ he asks, interrupting a vital tip about staying away from the computer lab bathrooms. That’s where hormone-fuelled teens sneak off to do god knows what.

Whoever busts them has to fill in a lengthy report and have an awkward conversation with their parents.

He’ll be sorry he didn’t let her finish.

‘Phys Ed,’ she replies. If she says sport, people assume she just hangs out in the gym all day blowing a whistle.

There’s a lot of theory involved, and everyone’s quick to discount it.

Especially the science teachers who sidestep her on the days she’s donning tracksuit pants.

‘I’m also the year ten coordinator,’ she announces, pretending it’s a role of some importance instead of a glorified babysitter with little influence.

‘You’ll have a lot of my kids. If they play up, send them my way. ’

‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I did my teaching rounds at Cordington College.’

Makayla rolls her eyes. His experience at a private boys’ school won’t have prepared him for Goldbrooke. Nearby schools ship their worst students here.

‘I attended Cordington myself,’ he confesses, puffing out his chest.

Her eyes roll even further. Suddenly it all makes sense – his bold invitation at the bar, the flashy BMW, his apartment with city views.

Clearly, his parents are obscenely rich and he’s had every opportunity thrown his way.

Even Makayla threw herself at him. Her mouth had been on his before he’d finished asking, ‘Would you like a dri—’ What she can’t work out is why he’s jumping into this profession late in life.

Did his family cut him off? Does he think teaching will be easy-breezy?

Makayla squeezes through a crowd of boys, gagging on the combination of body odour and Lynx. ‘You know the rules, no gathering in circles.’ She stands with her hands on her hips until they disperse.

‘Why’s that?’ Beau asks as they continue down the corridor.

‘They do it so we can’t see who starts the fight.’ Why does she have to explain this? ‘Didn’t they have brawls at your school?’

‘No,’ he replies with the casual ease of someone who’s never broken up a hair-pulling catfight.

Rounding the corner, they bump into Ebony Garcia, a sixteen-year-old with an unmissable blue mane. Peach gloss is smeared around her pouty lips. She probably had them on Kylie or Tammy moments earlier. Hard to keep up.

‘Slutty isn’t a bad word. We’ve reclaimed it,’ Ebony once declared, like she was spearheading a feminist revolt. The way she owns her sexuality is admirable. Makayla wishes she could do the same, but the universe is already punishing her for having a casual fling.

‘Hey, Mak. Have you caught up on the final eps of Happily Ever After ?’ Ebony asks, looking Beau up and down.

‘I watched it on Saturday. Yep. That’s where I was all evening.

In front of the TV. Alone.’ Her cheeks run hot from the lie and Beau’s unblinking stare.

Makayla would rather shave off her eyebrows than endure a reality dating show, but the students love it, so she reads the recaps.

‘Anyway, Paul’s gone on an unexpected trip, so until he gets back, this is your new English teacher, Beau. ’

‘Mr Shepherd,’ he butts in.

‘We go by first names here.’

‘I’d prefer to be addressed formally.’

And Makayla would prefer it if hot men who’d lightly spanked her didn’t show up at her workplace. We can’t have it all.

‘Laters, Mr S.’ Ebony grins in a way that spells trouble then waltzes away.

She’s the student who likely pushed Paul over the edge.

Terrorising adults is her specialty. Makayla should warn Beau, give him some strategies, but a nagging voice stops her.

Let him dive in without a life jacket. He’ll soon drown, quit and be replaced by someone she hasn’t been horizontal with.

They arrive at their destination just as the bell blares through caged speakers.

‘Here we are, Mr Shepherd.’ She resists the urge to curtsy.

‘Thank you, Makayla.’ He says her name like he’s the keeper of her darkest secrets.

Among the tornado of students dragging their heels into classrooms, Agnes slinks by, keeping a watchful eye on them. Makayla steps backwards and gives him a tight-lipped stare. Don’t you dare bring it up.

‘Before you run off, is there anything important I should know?’