Free Extra Credit by Maggie Barbieri Page A

apartment?”
    “Not a clue.”
    “What did you do with the girls’ ten g’s?”
    “Crawford put it in a safe deposit box at the bank, just in case it turns out it’s not ours after all.” I tapped my mouse and saw that in the space of a half hour, I had twenty new e-mail messages. “I’ve got to go, Max.”
    “Hey, I didn’t mean to mess with you,” she said.
    “Yes, you did, but it’s okay. Thanks for reminding me that I work with a bunch of zombies.”
    “ De nada .” She paused. “That means ‘I’ve got your back.’”
    No, it doesn’t, but I didn’t tell her that. Before we hung up, she jumped in with one more little detail.
    “I forgot!” she said. “My parents are having a little get-together at their house on Sunday afternoon.”
    I didn’t know if that qualified as an invitation, so I waited.
    “For my birthday?” she said, as if I were supposed to know.
    “You have a birthday coming up?” I asked, just to get a rise out of her.
    She didn’t take the bait. “Two o’clock. Early-bird special. There will be cake.”
    “Well, as long as there’s cake, I’m in,” I said. “Anything in particular that you want?”
    “Just your smiling face next to me as I blow out the candles.”
    We hung up, and I turned my attention to my e-mail. Just to let her know that I was still paying attention, despite the fact that her mother was back in town, I shot Meaghan a message. It was short and sweet: “Good job on your Forensic Psych midterm!” Hopefully, by the next time I saw her, I would have more information on this situation and be able to discuss it with her. For now, creative writing students awaited, and I was in danger of being late.
    I raced up the stairs, and I found Mary Lou Bannerman waiting for me outside of the classroom; all of the other students were in their seats, all of them looking at some kind of handheld device and busily working their thumbs into a frenzy. If only we could harness that kind of energy for good. Mary Lou smiled at me as I approached. She was in a pair of expensive-looking jeans, soft leather driving moccasins, and a cashmere turtleneck. She dressed like I would if I had money. Or any fashion sense whatsoever.
    “Hi,” she said. “I wanted to catch you before we went into class.”
    I shifted my heavy messenger bag from one shoulder to the other. “Everything okay?”
    “Everything’s great!” she said. “I’m really enjoying your class.”
    “Good. We love having you,” I said, and it was true. The kids seemed to have grown to like her in the few days she had been in class; she was familiar enough, like someone’s mom, yet she was one of them, having a tough time with plot and structure just like they were. I was proud of my mixed class of sophomores and juniors and happy that they had brought her into their postadolescent fold.
    “Thank you for saying that,” she said, seemingly touched. “Listen, can I buy you lunch? After class today?”
    “It would have to be in the cafeteria downstairs because I only have fifty minutes. Would that be okay?”
    Her face lit up. “That would be perfect.”
    We went into class, and I started my lesson. I thought about Mary Lou inviting me to lunch; in all my years of teaching, a student had never done that.
    Maybe Crawford was right. Maybe I would enjoy having another middle-aged person to pal around with; I had worn out my welcome with my colleagues, obviously. Maybe I’d get really lucky and Mary Lou would be the kind of woman who appreciated some good sarcasm.
    I didn’t have high hopes.

 
    Ten
    Marcus was surprised to see me on a nontaco day accompanied by someone he had never seen before. I introduced Mary Lou to Marcus, the head chef, and I have to say, she was quite impressed that I had such an in at the cafeteria. I noticed a new guy behind the grill, tall and handsome, filling out his chef’s coat in a way that suggested that there was a nice body beneath it.
    In all my years teaching here, I