EVE

MY HUSBAND IS with another woman.

We are both in the staff cafeteria but at different tables, like always. When I first started working here, we used to eat together every day, but Nate made a joke about how we would get sick of each other spending so much time together, and I took the hint. So today I am sitting with Shelby and half listening while she talks more about her wonderful summer on Cape Cod. Meanwhile, Nate is two tables over, sitting with Ed Rice, the physical education teacher, and a new teacher who must have started today.

The new teacher is clearly straight out of college. Her face has that fresh look that eight years teaching high school math has flushed out of me. She’s pretty in a young and perky sort of way. If she put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she could easily pass for one of the students, but instead she’s wearing a pink blouse and brown skirt, paired with brown loafer heels that I saw at Target last week for twenty-five dollars.

I nudge Shelby, who is mid-sentence, gushing about some restaurant that served the best stuffed shrimp she’s ever had. “Who is that?”

Shelby looks across the cafeteria at the young woman cozying up to my husband. “I think her name is Hailey. She’s the new…um, French teacher?”

French teacher. It’s almost too cliché.

Shelby’s eyes narrow at me. “You’re not worried, are you? Come on.

Nate is a good guy.”

I want to believe that. I want to believe that the late nights last year were all just because he was sticking around to grade papers or supervise extracurricular activities. I want to believe that our regimented one night of sex per month is all just because he has a low sex drive.

“Yes,” I finally say. “I’m sure you’re right.”

And now Hailey, the pretty French teacher, has a hand on his forearm. I want to scratch her eyes out. The only saving grace is that Ed Rice, who is chronically single, seems to actively be putting the moves on Hailey. But it’s clear who Hailey’s choice would be between the two men. Ed is twenty years her senior and balding.

Fortunately, the bell for the next period rings before I can do anything I would regret.

Usually, Nate and I dash out of the cafeteria to go in our separate directions after lunch is over. But this time, I stride purposefully in his direction, my heels clicking loudly against the floor. I grab him by the arm, in the same place where Hailey was touching him moments earlier.

“Hey,” I say. “How’s your first day going?”

Nate blinks at me, surprised that I’ve spoken to him on school grounds.

But he quickly smiles. “Swimmingly. How about you, my darling?” “Good so far.”

“Fantastic.”

Nate raises an eyebrow, clearly wondering why I approached him. I’m not sure if Hailey is watching us, but just in case she is, I reach out and grab his brown tie, tugging him close to me. If I were a cat, I would have peed on him, but since I’m a human, I plant a kiss on his lips that is markedly steamier than our usual three kisses per day.

He seems surprised, and as always, he’s the one who breaks away from the kiss first. And after he does, he brushes at his lower lip with his index finger. “Well then,” he says. “That was a nice send-off.”

He’s smiling, but I’ve been married to him long enough to know when it’s not a real smile. But Hailey doesn’t know.

My classroom is on the third floor, and I make it there with two minutes to spare before the next bell rings. The new students are filtering into the classroom, sitting wherever they want. I’ll have to reorganize them. I’ve learned from prior experience that if I don’t separate teenagers from their friends, I’ll never be able to keep their attention.

But before I can get into the classroom, a girl steps in front of me. I recognize her as Jasmine Owens, who was in my class all of last year. I gave her an A-plus both semesters. She’s paired a nice blouse with her blue jeans for the first day of school, and she’s traded her usual sneakers for a pair of closed-toed sandals with flowers decorating the toes.

“Mrs. Bennett,” she says. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was just hoping to catch you before your class started.”

“What’s wrong, Jasmine?”

She flashes me a nervous smile. “I’m trying to get my college applications sorted out, and I was hoping you could write me a letter of recommendation.” Before I can answer, she adds, “You’ve been my favorite

teacher, like, ever. I’m planning to get a degree in education, and I want to be a math teacher—like you.”

My cheeks flush with pleasure, and some of the anger I was feeling back in the cafeteria drains out of me. Jasmine was an amazing student, so I’m not surprised she’s already working on her college applications. And it feels good to hear that I made a difference in a student’s life. There are days when I feel like I’m just teaching kids a subject that they hate and—let’s face it—will almost certainly never use again. It’s hard to make an argument for sines and cosines being useful in day-to-day life.

“Absolutely,” I tell her. “Please send me an email, and we’ll work out the details. And let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help you.”

Now Jasmine’s cheeks have turned pink as well. “Thank you, Mrs.

Bennett. I really appreciate it.”

I get a much needed boost from that interaction, and it keeps me going even when the students whine about having to be sorted into different seats. Nate lets them sit wherever the hell they want, but to be fair, when they are in his class, they are all mesmerized by his magnetic charm. I don’t have that particular gift, but I do believe I am a good teacher.

By the time I get to the end of the alphabet, I had nearly forgotten about the one name on my roster that I had been dreading ever since I got the list a few weeks ago. “Adeline Severson,” I call out.

A girl of average height steps forward to claim the next empty seat in line. Adeline Severson is absolutely the least remarkable girl I have ever seen. She could easily blend into any crowd. Her hair is the color of a brown paper bag, and her facial features are all symmetrical but unremarkable. She could be pretty if she tried to be, but she’s not trying—at all. I watch as she slides into her desk and respectfully folds her hands in front of her. If her name wasn’t Adeline Severson, I would never think this girl was capable of giving me a moment of trouble.

“Addie,” she tells me. I raise my eyebrows.

She chews on her thumbnail. “That’s what I like to be called. Addie.”

I make a note of it, even though I am well aware that people call her Addie. That’s what Art called her when he told me about her. I was just being nice to Addie. The poor girl lost her father only a few months ago, Eve. I had no idea…

I didn’t want her in my class. Art is the best person I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. A dedicated teacher who truly cared about every single one of his students. If he weren’t that way, he would never have gotten into trouble in the first place. And now, because of this girl, his life is ruined.

But if I had really thought about it, I would have known that it doesn’t make a difference at all if Addie Severson is in my class. The thing I really need to worry about?

Addie is in my husband’s class too.