Chapter 21

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whined. “Paulette, how could you let me forget?”

“Me? You’re the one who is always reminding me of what needs to be done! I could have sworn you knew,” Paulette said.

“I’ve been a little distracted,” I said as I frantically labeled multi-colored folders with the names of my students’ parents.

“By a hot shifter daddy who wants your gams?” Paulette asked.

“By a scary shifter stalker breaking into my house,” I snapped back.

“Right,” Paulette said. “Makes sense. Here, tear the list in half, and I’ll do the other ones.”

It was lunchtime at POSHA, and the kids were all sitting out on the picnic benches with either their lunch boxes or the trays of lunch the school provided. We had approximately twenty minutes to get all of these folders labeled, stuff them with hastily written teacher bios, come up with an icebreaker game, and figure out what refreshments to offer our parents.

It was parents’ night, which usually happened three or four weeks into the school yea