Bully to Boyfriend

By Kate Stone

We used to be friends.

 

We loved the same things and then suddenly, June stopped talking to me. She wouldn't even tell me what was wrong, so I moved on. Hey, it was eighth grade, I'll admit I wasn't particularly mature then.

 

Years later I'm still thinking about her and wondering what could have been. When I see we're teaching at the same school I know I need a second chance with her. But when I see the pain in her face I know she'll never let me close.

 

I never planned to teach middle school English, but here I am and I love it. There's nowhere I'd rather be. Then I hear him calling me by my old nickname and I shudder. The one man who destroyed my trust in all others is here, teaching with me. That's okay – I've never let anyone hurt me since him and I'm sure not going to let him get under my skin again. No matter how many late nights we need to work together.

 

No matter how many times I wake up hot and bothered by my dreams of him.

 

***

Bully to Boyfriend  is a SHORT standalone instalove romance, perfect for you if you love Ella Goode, Fiona Davenport, or MINK.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Stone
• Release date: Dec 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201795047

Book preview

Chapter One

Even though I had only worked at the Millard Fillmore Middle School for eight months, it felt like I had been there a lifetime. As I poured myself a mug of the industrial strength coffee in the teachers’ lounge, I wondered if others who returned to their childhood schools felt the same. I had never intended teaching eighth grade English, but I suppose life is funny like that.

As I walked into my classroom, I took in the stillness of the morning. In the near distance, the sound of buses idling outside and feet clambering through the halls signaled the start of the day. Soon enough, my classroom, with its perfectly aligned colorful maps and freshly disinfected desks, would be buzzing with students well into the afternoon and perhaps into the evening if a student needed additional help. My workload had intensified since Mrs. Ashley, the other English teacher, quit without notice two months ago. Apparently, she felt the overwhelming need to go find herself. I didn’t judge her for it, I understood small town life wasn’t for everyone—heck, for a long time I didn’t think it was for me. Her sudden departure had been draining on the school and staff, though. A replacement was hard to find and using the small pool of substitutes on a prolonged, daily basis meant other teachers couldn’t take sick days. It also meant more work for me, having to lend much-needed help to the subs.

If there was ever anything someone needed to know about eighth graders, it was that they were lazy, hormonal, and cruel.

At least, it’s a good rule of thumb for the demographic.

I got through half my coffee before the early wave of students crashed through the door like water cresting a dam. I greeted them each with a smile and their bell-ringer worksheet for the day. Some replied with groans, others with sleepy smiles. Even though I did my best to treat all my students equally, first block was my favorite. They were the best kids of the day; maybe it was because they were still half-asleep and docile, but I always appreciated the easy start to my hectic day.

We did spelling drills and grammar exercises before spending the largest section of the class reading and discussing The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton. The last ten minutes of class was reflection time where they wrote about an aspect of the book which provoked emotion in them. Every time I introduced this assignment to the class, there would always be one stubborn, cynical student that claimed the reading made them feel nothing at all. I responded with then explain to me why it didn’t. Critique the reading. Often, the kid would identify something about the reading which they liked or resonated with by the end of the journal entry, whether they realized it or not.

My next period coasted by as quickly as the first. That was what amazed me about being a teacher – I thought I would hate it, and it certainly was draining, but it kept me busy enough that time would slipped away without notice. While there were routine meltdowns and fights amongst students, it was a rewarding and humbling job.

Even on the best days, I looked forward to lunch. It was a much-needed adult break from the constant chatter and hormonal outbursts from the students. If I didn’t have lunchroom duty, my friend Alora Chace and I ate together. She was a history teacher and we would spend the half hour discussing our personal lives, politics, and debating the overlap of our subjects.

I found my way to our table before Alora, settling in with my usual sandwich and hot tea, the light caffeine boost I needed to get through the second half of the day without becoming jittery. I took my first bite and as if on cue, Alora breezed through the teachers’ lounge door. Any room Alora Chace walked in suddenly became more vibrant and cheerful. She radiated warmth and beauty, and she spoke with a wicked intelligence and a cheerful sense of humor. Her sienna complexion was always flawless, and her brilliant smile was always on display. Happy Monday, June, she chimed as she nestled into the plastic-back chair next to me.

It’s always a happy Monday for you, isn’t it? I grinned.

Unless Aiden in first block tries to start with me. We shared a small laugh. Aiden was notorious for not doing his homework and instead of admitting to his fault, he would attempt to start a campaign for never having homework, saying it cuts into his personal affairs.

I can’t believe it’s already February, Alora sighed. Where does the time go? We have to start prepping for end-of-year testing.

Don’t remind me, I groaned. This year would be my first time experiencing the exams since I had to take them myself. I remember the stress I felt as a student but having a hundred kids relying on me to guide them to a passing score was worse. "I haven’t even gotten everything together yet for the Literature Brawl. How am I supposed to have time to make lesson plans for that and finals and try to help Mrs. Ashley’s kids pass too? You know the subs can’t handle it themselves."

Literature Brawl was a tradition in this school even when my mother attended. It was a two-week program where each of the English classes were assigned multiple books to read and master, then the students would battle each other in debate, artistic projects, and a Quiz Bowl-like competition. It was a yearly program to get kids more involved in reading.

Alora paused and gave me a quizzical look. You haven’t heard?

Heard what?

"They finally got a replacement for her. How did they not tell you?"

My jaw dropped before I scoffed. I don’t know, I guess I’m not qualified enough for privileged information. That’s a relief, though. Do you know who it is or when they start?

She gave a shrug, Some guy, I saw him in the office last week and again just a while ago. They’re probably finishing up the hiring paperwork and hopefully he’ll start within the next week.

Good, I sighed, feeling the heavy burden of another batch of classes lifting from my chest. Wanna come over on Friday? We can split a bottle of wine and brainstorm a plan for Literature Brawl. I gave a weak but pleading smile. Even if the new teacher started next week, he would be overwhelmed by his workload and would not have the time to help organize such an event. That would be all on me, and hopefully, Alora.

Alora