Disclaimer: I don't own the MBS

Chapter 2 (Constance's POV)

George Washington was the subject of my poetry. He had been for years, and that made no sense considering how little rhymed with George or Washington. But plenty rhymed with Sticky, like icky or tricky. So why had I tried to make words like love fit instead? No matter how long and hard I thought, I knew there'd never be any reason for it. So I stopped trying to understand it, just like I stopped trying to find rhymes for it.

I love you Sticky, or even George Washington, was never going to fit in any poem I wrote. I already knew that, but for some reason, my heart hadn't gotten the crummy message just yet.

Mustering what strength I had I pulled open the file cabinet. It slid open with an irritating shrill. Not many words rhymed with file or clerk either, but that's what I was, it said so right on my nametag. Just like a few weeks before the newspaper had said "help wanted" at the very middle school Sticky was a math teacher at. I still remember the look on everybody's face when I told them I had a job. But I did have a job, and I wasn't a little kid anymore so… So what was so strange about that?

I admit it wasn't like I enjoyed the job itself, but secretly I knew why I was here. And more or less secretly I figured Kate knew too. Or at least if that funny look she got on her face when I told her about it was any clue. And it wasn't so bad, I tried to tell myself. In between all the numbers and student names and paper cuts I could fill my mind with words. And even strings of words. I liked the solitude to think without being bothered. I even found the office drama from the room over entertaining to listen too. Of course it would been even more interesting if I hadn't been given a guilt trip about not misusing my abilities now that I was an adult. But even without reading minds I usually found a way to amuse myself with my coworkers.

But I wouldn't lie, I enjoyed it most when lunch came, or even more when I had a stack of papers to be delivered to room 314. Grabbing the stack of paper in my arms carefully I made my way down the hall and up to a door that read 314, G. Washington. I smirked when I thought about how surprised Sticky still looked every time I stepped in. He still wasn't used to me working here, and he almost seemed worried that I'd embarrass him in front of his students somehow.

But I didn't, I was completely professional. I think that's what worried him the most. Opening the door I stepped in and cleared my throat. He looked up from his desk as his glasses slipped down his nose and he got that worried look again. Frowning I handed him the papers. "Mr. Washington." I said matter of factly.

I saw him swallow hard before he narrowed his eyes as if studying me. Then sighing a little his face relaxed and he gave a small smile and nod. "Thank you Ms. Contraire."

I was about to walk out of the room when I heard a boy in the front row snigger under his breath. I turned to him as my eyes narrowed but I didn't say anything. Sticky rose from his seat and in an authoritative voice I found funny he raised an eyebrow. "Is something funny Mr. Simon?"

The boy shrugged without taking the smirk off his face. "Contraire, it's just a funny name is all."

Sticky gave me a sidelong glance before he opened his mouth to reply to the "incredibly cultured" middle schooler. But I decided to answer for him. "It's French." I said in a calm voice I hoped Sticky found surprising.

"Yeah, but for what?" The boy pressed with a look on his face that said he probably thought his IQ was roughly 50 points higher than it actually was.

Stepping a little closer to his desk I stared down at him. "Care. It's french for care."

The boy's forehead creased as if he doubted what I'd said. Then with a little smile on my face I finished. "As in, you think I care, but au contraire."

At that the rest of the class laughed, and the "smart" student slid a little deeper into his seat as he frowned. I head Sticky sigh behind me as he rubbed a hand over his typically smooth scalp. "Okay, settle down all of you!" Then he sighed again and gave the boy is the front row a scolding look. "Need I remind everyone that this isn't French class in the first place?"

Then a chorus of "sorry, Mr. Washington" rung out from the half-hearted students. That's when I decided to take my leave, but somehow I got the feeling the glare drilling into the back of my head was Sticky's and not just that kid in the front row. It had been a great line I couldn't resist, but I was starting to wonder if I should have… Either way, I figured I'd find out at lunch, and sure enough, I did.

Collapsing into the seat across from me in the teacher's lounge I saw that same disapproving look I'd seen about a million times before. So looking back down at my sandwich I decided to speak first. "Sorry, George Washington." I knew calling him that during an apology was probably a bad idea, but I couldn't come across as too sorry.

He sighed again, something he did a lot around me lately. "It's fine. I knew he can try your patience. He's always giving me problems in class, like calling me Mr. Borington." I felt a smile crack on my face as he said that, and I guess he noticed it too. So there it was, another sigh. Looking up at him I thought I must have tried his patience a lot too. I guess somewhere along the lines I wondered why I seemed to always do just the opposite of what would have made him actually like me. Yet I was still going out of my way to spend time with him. It didn't make sense, I knew that for sure.

"Anyway," he said as he straightened his glasses. "I just wish you would have let me handle him."

I leaned into my hand. "But you're no good at rhymes, we both know that."

He smirked a little. "Yes, but cutting poetry isn't usually how we handle students anyway."

I felt myself flinch a little. Cutting? Was that how he looked at it? I admit I felt a knot start to form in the pit of my stomach and I put my sandwich down half eaten. "I was just trying to make a point."

He sighed for the millionth time. "Anyway," he said again. "Don't worry about it."

Then a stubborn silence crept between us until I was too frustrated to put up with it. So I tried an "anyway" too.

"Anyway, we have a problem," I said breaking the ice and changing the subject once and for all. "Kate and Reynie's anniversary is next week, and I have no idea what to get them."

He relaxed his shoulders a little, probably glad to not be talking about annoying middle schoolers. "What did you get them last year, and don't remember?"

I reached and took another bite of my sandwich and swallowed it before answering. "Poetry of course."

His face when wide with a smile that said he must have thought something I'd said was funny. But I didn't really think it was. So I frowned. "I can write more than just comebacks for middle school bullies you know."

He waved his hands defensively in front of him but his smile didn't fade. "Sorry."

"Anyway…" I said in a low grumble. "I don't have anymore rhymes for Reynie at this point. And," I said honestly. "Even though I can write about love doesn't always mean I want too." And that was true. In fact with so many frustrated secret poems written about Mr. Borington himself, I was getting tired of the whole genre.

Sticky nodded seeming to understand. "Well, we'll come up with something. In fact, maybe we could both put in for something larger?"

I nodded. "Sure."

Then he touched his chin in thought. "And what about Amy, we should get her something too right?"

I shrugged. "Might as well, though I don't think she'll be too picky at a year old."

Sticky just laughed. "Oh well, you sure were at two!"

I frowned as I felt my face heat up a little. I didn't like it when he thought about me as just some little kid. "That was a long time ago." I said flatly.

He smiled wide enough until the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. Not that I noticed or anything…

"I know Constance," His face softened a little, but he was still smiling. "I know."

My first rule of talking with Sticky included never showing embarrassment. So I crossed my arms before standing and making my break for it. "We'll work out the details." I said over my shoulder as I headed for the door. I saw him nod and heard him toss a "see you later" behind me. But I just kept going.

And going.

And maybe even insane…

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