Me You Us Read Online Free

strike and just shaved his head. It suits him, unlike the sweater vests he always wears.
    Since I was in his class, we’ve exchanged the occasional friendly nod in the halls, but that’s about it. This time, though, he comes right over to me.
    â€œMr. Chambliss, how are you?”
    â€œHey, Mr. Kimbrough. I’m good.”
    â€œDo you have a moment?”
    â€œUh, I have to get to class.”
    â€œIt’ll be quick. Take a walk with me.”
    We head through a side door and out to a large courtyard at the front of the school. It’s the first thing you see when you drive onto campus, and it looks like a brochure: small fountain, rows of well-manicured flower beds, a few palm trees, and about a dozen circular cement tables surrounded by benches. Kids are hanging out, listening to music, and eating lunch. Thankfully, no one seems to notice or care that I’m strolling around with a teacher whose class I’m not even in. A teacher who, I might add, is obsessed with math. He used to draw math-related cartoons on the backs of our ­quizzes and rattle off cringeworthy math jokes all the time in class. But, hey, if you know what you like, go with it.
    â€œSo how’s calc, Shane?” Mr. Kimbrough asks.
    I guess that’s what passes for small talk in this situation.
    â€œIt’s going fine. You know.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know.”
    An awkward pause. I wish he would just cut to the chase.
    â€œSo, I know this is a little unusual, Shane, but there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
    â€œOkay . . .”
    â€œI’ve heard some people say that you’re a bit of a Svengali when it comes to romance.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œLike a dating . . . mastermind of some sort.”
    Uh oh. Every once in a while a whisper about my exploits surfaces from Kingsview’s primordial gossip ooze. I takeprecautions to remain discreet, but it’s a daunting task against the power of a high school rumor mill. When kids start to talk, I usually tamp it down with the help of my clients, who are taught to “deny till you die.” But this is the first time I’ve ever had an adult say anything about it to me.
    â€œI have no idea what you’re talking about,” I respond swiftly.
    â€œAre you sure? You’re not in trouble or anything. I’m just . . . curious if you’re some kind of expert or something.”
    â€œI wish, Mr. Kimbrough. But I’m definitely not.”
    I hope that will satisfy his curiosity, end this line of ­questioning, and allow me to go about my day and my life.
    It does not.
    â€œYou know Adam Foster, right?” he asks.
    I try not to react. Adam is a fellow senior and one of my former clients. A real doofus but a good guy. This might be a stab in the dark by Mr. Kimbrough, or maybe he knows more than he’s letting on. I decide to tread lightly and see what happens. “Yeah. I know him.”
    â€œHe was in my class last year,” Mr. Kimbrough says. “And between me and you, he’s a bit . . .” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Off.”
    I’m not sure Mr. Kimbrough is one to talk, but nonetheless I say, “I guess that’s true.”
    â€œI started to notice you guys chatting in the halls,” he says. “It almost seemed like you were . . . advising him. And now,I don’t know if you know this, but I heard he’s dating Olivia Reyes.”
    Of course I know that. Olivia is a head turner. Getting her and Adam together was some of my finest work.
    â€œAnd no offense to Adam,” Mr. Kimbrough continues, “but Olivia is kind of, you know . . . out of his league.”
    One of my pet peeves is the phrase “out of your league.” That’s an excuse. That’s what chumps say. I’ve had many a client fret that the girl he’s after is “out of his league.” I tell him never to speak those words again. If you say it, then