The Monarch Room Read online

  When did they start making art teachers that looked like students?

  It should have been a sin for Roman Clermont to be so fine and that smile of his was downright offensive. I mean, what business did a simple smile have making me tingle down to my toes? What business did his smile have being so bright and breathtaking? Oh, and who gave him those dimples?

  The dimples are what really pushed me over the edge. They were deep as potholes. Deep as the rabbit hole Alice tumbled down. I was tumbling down a hole and I needed to stop.

  He was my teacher. I’d never looked at a teacher that way in all my years of school and I didn’t plan to start now. All I needed was one fucking elective and I could get my diploma early and go to college.

  I didn’t want to stick around for graduation.

  “Zuri! Are you dressed and ready for school? It is your first day. You will not be late. You’re a senior now. Time to finally act like you have some sense or at least pretend.” My father’s deep voice rounded the corner before he did.

  Lucky for me, I was already dressed. The uniform for Aspen Grove High hadn’t changed since I was a freshman. We still wore the same ugly yellow and burgundy plaid skirts, white cotton buttoned shirts, and shiny black loafers. I abhorred that damn uniform.

  “Yes, Father,” I nodded my head, avoiding his intense gaze. This school year would be different without my mother there to see me off every morning. I hated having my father see me off. He was harsh and cold. At least my mother was warm and kissed me goodbye.

  Everything was different after their divorce though. My father got mostly everything while my mother got a fraction of what she was used to having when they were married. The prenuptial agreement he had her sign was airtight.

  Adam Okolo didn’t bargain and he’d decided he was done with my mother so she was of no more use to him. I begged him to let me go with her. If she was going to struggle, I wanted to struggle with her.

  He kept me out of spite to her though and the courts ruled in his favor because he paid everyone handsomely. They said because he was a world-renowned neurological surgeon, he had the income to take care of me. He had the means to send me to a good school and make sure I got into college.

  Nobody cared that he was mean.

  Nobody cared that he ignored me when people weren’t around.

  All the courts saw were dollar signs.

  “I expect you to come back and tell me that you’ve secured a date to get your diploma. You only need one credit, Zuri. If you weren’t so damn stupid, you could have finished your last elective credit last year and been off to college.” His stern eyes bored into me, making me fidget.

  I tugged at the hem of my skirt and tried in vain to shrink myself. I wanted to disappear when I smelled the coffee on his breath and felt the piercing daggers in his gaze.

  “It’s just one credit. You talked to him. He seems like he’ll cooperate,” I muttered, scrubbing the immaculate hardwood with the toe of my loafers.

  “He’d better go along with it. I’m donating an expensive statue to the art department next week. He should just hand the credit over after that.” Father’s sharp accent assaulted my ears and made them burn. I couldn’t wait to leave the house and go to school.

  I couldn’t wait to leave that house and go to college.

  Two honks of a horn out front made me sigh with relief. I never realized how much I held my breath in Father’s presence. “Go,” was all he said before I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

  I missed my mother’s kisses. I missed her telling me to have a good day and to be positive. I sank into the back seat of my chauffeured car and clicked my seatbelt into place. “Good morning, Miss Okolo.” My driver, Duke smiled at me from the rearview mirror and I rolled my eyes. My father always put me in a bad mood and no matter how much I tried to keep it to myself it seeped out in the way I treated others.

  I rolled up the partition and put my earbuds in for the rest of the ride. It was one of those days only Biggie could cure. Sometimes you needed copious amounts of profanity to deal.

  **

  “Being in school for one credit is the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard of.” My best friend, Krissy Lucas stood at my locker wearing a frown. Her golden hair hung over her shoulders in two French braids and her pale brown gaze was intense. Today, she opted to wear the Aspen Grove cardigan with the school’s yellow emblem embroidered on the left side.

  “Agreed. Hopefully, I can get this shit over with. The sooner I can get away from my father, the better.”

  “Yeah, but that means you’ll be getting away from me too, Riri.” She was pouting. I hated when she pouted.

  “I’m not running away from you. I’ll call you all the time. I’m running from my father…” I lost my train of thought when I saw Mr. Clermont step into the bustling hallway. Krissy looked over her shoulder and turned slowly, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Well, hello. Who’s the new guy? Is he a teacher?” She whispered, leaning close to me.

  “Yeah. The new art teacher. Mr. Clermont.” My eyes lingered on him. He was a landscape of strong, chiseled lines and I wanted to explore every part of him.

  “Riri,” Krissy snapped her fingers in front of me and I blinked, trying to focus. It was hard when something so fine was standing in front of you. His golden brown skin seemed to glow with the sun pouring in around him through the window.

  Every time he smiled at kids in the hall, my panties got wet. Too damn wet. How was I supposed to focus in class? “Fuck. He’s fine. Why is he so fine?” Krissy turned a little so she wouldn’t be caught staring like a creep.

  I didn’t care.

  That man was beautiful.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed, clutching my books closer to my chest.

  “You think I could get into art class? I need three credits. None of them are electives though. I just want the experience.” She purred and I hit her with my free hand. I knew she was playing but I felt the flare of jealousy heat the back of my neck.

  “Meet me in the courtyard for lunch?” Krissy asked between giggles.

  “Yeah, sure,” I nodded. I made my way to The Monarch Room and stopped to greet Mr. Clermont. He didn’t even seem to notice me. Things were nothing like they were a few weeks ago when we ran into each other in the hall.

  “Are you in my class?” He glanced down at me and my mouth went dry. My panties were still wet though.

  “Yes. Zuri, remember?” I cocked an eyebrow up and he stared at me, impassive. I smacked my lips together and produced my class schedule. He studied it for a second then handed it back.

  “Miss Okolo, please take your seat.” The smile he gave me was fake. I wanted the smile from our run in. The one that made me tingle.

  I made my way into the room and found an empty chair at a table with three other students. They were new and I could tell by the wide-eyed way the stared at everything. Once you’d been at Aspen Grove long enough, nothing impressed you anymore. Not the huge windows or the ornate way teachers decorated their precious classrooms. Not the pieces of original art that hung on the walls or the fact that key cards were needed to open our lockers.

  Once you were a senior at Aspen Grove, you tossed a middle finger to all of that. I noticed another girl sitting closer to the front who wasn’t new. Brittany Sawyer was a notorious teacher’s pet and I hated any time I had homeroom with her. Her parents actually had to scrimp and save money to send her to Aspen Grove so she made sure her grades were always top of the class.

  Her almond brown hair was brushed into a high ponytail giving me a perfect glimpse of the way she stared at Mr. Clermont. One look around the room and I saw every girl in there was staring at him.

  He moved inside after the bell sounded and was at his desk gathering papers. Maybe I was staring too. The man was dangerously handsome. It felt like the dozens of tiny monarchs hanging from the ceiling were flying around in my belly.

  Every time I looked at him, it felt like I’d take flight. I t
ugged at the top of my bright yellow knee socks and set my binder in front of me. Anything to divert my attention. He was my teacher. I was going to move through this class and move on to college. That was my main objective.

  It was my only objective.

  “Good morning, Monarchs.” I pressed my thighs together when he smiled. I noticed all the girls in the room fidgeting and shifting in their own ways. Probably trying to figure out how he could snatch their souls with a single grin. It was witchcraft.

  “My name is Mr. Clermont,” he wrote it in beautiful curly script on the smart board. I was momentarily dazed by how fluidly his hands and fingers moved. “I’ll be your new art teacher this year. I’d like to get to know my students a bit so we’ll go around the room and introduce ourselves. First and last name and tell me your favorite type of art. It could be painting, drawing, graphic design, and architecture. Art is everywhere. I want to know what speaks to you.” His voice was deep and rich. It swept over my ears like the sweetest thick smoke.

  While the class introduced themselves, Mr. Clermont passed out papers to each of us. I watched him move and didn’t pay a bit of attention to the introductions. The man moved like water. Like wine. Like the passage of time.

  Words swirled in my head. A million words. All words to describe Mr. Clermont. My fingertips itched to pull out the small blue book tucked inside of my purse. I needed to write about this man. I needed to pour words onto paper and use each one to describe him.

  He was the only teacher in the school not required to wear the Aspen Grove uniform. He was the art teacher. He got to dress the way he wanted. Today he wore a long sleeved white shirt with the purple and black Rugrats logo on the front. He must have been a 90’s kid. I was a 90’s kid at heart and I swore I was born in the wrong era. The pair of black jeans he had on fit him perfectly. They fit him so perfectly that I didn’t notice when it was my turn to introduce myself.

  “It’s your turn,” the girl beside me whispered. Had she already spoken? How far gone did you have to be not to even notice the person beside you speaking? Mr. Clermont made his way to me and sat a packet of papers in front of me.

  Our eyes locked for a brief moment before he moved on and in that brief moment, my breath hitched. How was I supposed to speak when I couldn’t fill my lungs with air?

  Come on, Zuri breathe …

  I pushed out a slow breath and stood up. “I’m Zuri Okolo…” I’d forgotten what else I was supposed to say. Mr. Clermont made his way to the front of the class and crossed his ankles while he rested against his desk. His limbs were long and sturdy. I wasn’t supposed to be looking at his body though.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Okolo. Can you tell me what your favorite form of art is?” He smiled and even though it was one of the polite smiles, it brought out his dimples. A soft murmur broke out amongst the girls in the class and I felt my cheeks heat.

  Why the hell did everyone have to notice how fine he was?

  “Um, sure. Is poetry a form of art?” I asked in a soft voice. Mr. Clermont lowered his chiseled chin a bit but that’s all the encouragement he gave. “Then poetry is my favorite form of art.” I sat quickly and just like that, his eyes went to the next student. He offered another polite smile and gave out three more before we were all done introducing ourselves.

  I tore my eyes away from him and looked down at the paper he handed out. It was a syllabus. “Who hands out a syllabus for an art class?” I scoffed aloud. Mr. Clermont stopped and looked out at the classroom.

  “Excuse me, who spoke just now?” Why did I have to talk right then? I tried to keep my eyes down, hoping he’d let it go with a general statement but he didn’t. “Nobody wants to own up to speaking out of turn?” He sat on his desk and I remained tight-lipped. “Okay then, I guess we won’t move on until the person speaks up. I’m fine with wasting an entire class period. I’ll get paid either way,” he shrugged and there was a collective groan from the class. It felt like they were all staring at me.

  Fine …

  I lifted two fingers into the air and he narrowed his gaze at me. “Miss Okolo, repeat yourself.” He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t saying please. He was demanding. It made my teeth clench with defiance. I couldn’t exactly ignore my teacher though.

  “I said, who hands out a syllabus for an art class?” My throat was dry and scratchy.

  “I do. Is there a problem?”

  “No, Mr. Clermont.”

  “Good. Next time you choose to make a remark on my teaching style, I’d implore you to go to college to major in fine art and minor in education.” A soft snicker floated around the classroom from person to person. I pretended not to be bothered but I sank a bit in my chair.

  Fuck him .

  Who did he think he was embarrassing me like that in front of everyone? Anger needled under my skin and made me drum my nails on the desk.

  “If you’ll notice, in my useless syllabus, I mention that we will not focus on still life in the class. I had time to go back and look through all of your work from your freshman year until now. Every year, all of you have covered the same topics. Value, still life, color contrast, sketching, etcetera. Clearly, you all can draw or at least that’s what your previous grades tell me.

  I want to push beyond the typical lessons covered in art class. I want you to utilize all the past years of knowledge you’ve gathered and pool them into this class. Can you do that for me?” His brown eyes scanned the class and everyone seemed enthralled. They were literally on the edges of their seats. I couldn’t lie and pretend his voice didn’t command the room though.

  I was just being stubborn.

  “I’m going to think of you all as my monarchs.” He paused and stretched his index finger in the air, then in the next moment he was moving toward the smart board with a marker in hand. There was a charge in the room.

  “Did you all know that monarch butterflies go through four generations of life in one year? Each monarch goes through four life cycles and after each life cycle, the adult monarch only lives for about two to six weeks…max.” As he spoke, he sketched a beautiful monarch butterfly in a field of plants. His hands worked lightning fast.

  I was riveted to my spot watching him move.

  “The fourth generation of monarchs is different though. See, they migrate after they emerge. They go south and live a full life of six to eight months. Does that sound familiar to you guys? Look at yourselves. You’ve had a rebirth each year of high school and after this last one…you’re going to migrate and go into the world.

  You’re going to live your best lives out there. At the end of this school year, I want to have helped you transform into your final generation. No doubt, you’ll continue to change for the rest of your lives but this is the end of high school life for you.

  You might hate me at the end of everything. You might respect me. I don’t care either way. I just want to help you transform.”

  Was it normal for someone’s voice to make you buzz like you’d been plugged into an outlet? I’d never had that happen before. None of my boyfriends made me buzz.

  On the way out of class, I noticed everyone placing a single sheet of paper on Mr. Clermont’s desk. What the hell was that and where did it come from?

  “Miss Okolo?” His voice reached out to me, stopping me in my tracks without him laying one hand on me.

  “Yes?”

  “Where is your paper?”

  “What paper?” The corners of my mouth dropped. He stared into my eyes for a moment and I saw something there. I didn’t know what it was though. Words filtered through my brain. I tried to pick the one to describe what that look was when we locked eyes.

  “Are you serious?” He scoffed like I was ridiculous. “I guess you are serious.” He lowered his thick brows and sighed. “Goodbye, Miss Okolo.”

  “Did I miss something? What did I miss?”

  “It’s not my job to keep track of your assignments. Have a good day.” It sounded like he said fuck you instead of have a nice d
ay though. I turned on my heel and left the room with a headache.

  That’s exactly what Mr. Clermont was.

  A fucking headache.

  **

  At lunch, I found Krissy and fell to the spot beside her on the stone bench. I found my bottom lip with my teeth and fingered the hem of my skirt. “Um, hey Zuri,” she chuckled. “You okay?”

  “Yeah…fine.”

  “How was homeroom with Mr. Clermont’s fine ass?” Her pale brown eyes danced with curiosity.

  “I don’t know. I think I already missed an assignment.” I rubbed the smooth space between my brows.

  “Already? How is that possible?” Krissy squeaked. “You can’t afford to miss assignments.”

  “It’s fine. My father is donating a statue for the art department soon. I just don’t know how I did that. How did I miss the first assignment?” It was going to bother me all day.

  “I got a hot teacher too,” Krissy, blurted. Her eyes were wide and playful.

  “Who?” I frowned.

  “His name is Mr. Wilmore. He’s got these green eyes that nearly melted my panties. I don’t know what Principal Palmer is doing but hiring these sexy ass teachers can only be trouble.”

  “Well, in case you were wondering…Clermont is a dick. He wouldn’t tell me what the assignment was, he just laughed in my face.”

  “Wilmore is a dick too but it’s sexy. I’m not going to get any calculus done this year. I mean unless you count the way I calculate how fast I want his clothes off.”

  “Krissy,” I scolded with a frown. My mind wasn’t on the same page as hers. I was too busy being worried about missing an assignment. I only needed one credit. Every assignment counted toward me getting it.

  The last thing I wanted to do was have to ask my father to speak to the principal on my behalf so I could turn in the missing assignment. “Zuri, calm your tits. Talk to your dad and get him to let Mr. Clermont accept your paper late. It’s better than a zero and knowing Dr. Okolo, he’ll make Clermont give you an A.” She was right. I had to calm down. I had to steady my breathing and stop fidgeting with my skirt. I had to breathe.