The Unexpected Series (Unexpected #1-3)

Unexpected

Undone

Undeniable

By

Amy Marie

Copyright © 2014 by Amy Marie

Self publishing

[email protected]

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover Design: Sara Eirew Photographer

Editing by Kathy Krick

& Elizabeth Froelich

Formatting by Angel’s Indie Formatting

This book is dedicated to my two best friends.

To my husband Josh...You are my rock and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t know how blessed I am to have you in my life. I love you with all my heart.

To my best friend Valerie...This book would not be in existence if it weren’t for your love, support, and pushiness. Thank you. I adore you...HARD. Real hard.

“M
iss Decker, I’m in the Pen 15 club now!” I hear over the chatter of my 6
^th
grade students walking into my classroom. “See? All I had to do was let Aaron write it on my arm,” Jeffrey, one of the more naïve kids, says sticking out his left forearm to show me. Shaking my head, I am horrified to see the word “penis” prominently displayed there in permanent marker.

“Ha! I can’t believe you fell for it, Jeff!” Aaron yells from the back of the classroom. “Pen 15 looks like penis! Jeff has penis on his arm!”

I glare at him and point towards the door signaling him to go to the principal’s office. Aaron hangs his head as he makes his way out of the classroom. He has spent one too many afternoons in detention lately, and it seems he’s just earned himself another. As he exits, giggling erupts, and I turn my attention back to Jeffrey.

“Alright, mister, let’s get this cleaned off your arm as best we can,” I say ruffling his sandy hair.

Being a math teacher at Hudson Middle School has its good days and bad. I don’t really know why I chose that subject except I did well in my high school and college courses and figured it would be easy enough to teach. Little did I know that I would be shaping the young minds of prepubescent, hormone driven tweens. When they aren’t fighting, laughing, or talking, they are sleeping, in class no less. I wouldn’t change it for the world though. I really love my job. Well, I love it minus the parents, like Jeffrey’s, who will most likely blame me for this most recent incident even though I wasn’t present when it occurred.

I love my life too. It’s taken me a long time to get where I am. At twenty seven, I have an established career, three months off during the summer, a great starter home that I share with my completely crazy best friend, Noelle, no credit card debt or student loans, a nice car, and Robert, the sweetest boyfriend who anyone could ask for. I’m not bragging. I fought hard to get here and I’m very proud to have done it by myself. My parents had three kids to worry about. After studying like crazy in high school, I earned a fifty percent scholarship to Northern Illinois University. The other half came from what little my parents could give me and from working my ass off at a restaurant on campus. I walked away with my degree and without a cent owed.

The final bell brings me back to the present. Glancing at the clock I realize I’ve let most of the class pass while I daydreamed and allowed the kids to chit-chat the whole time. Out in the hallway chaos ensues. Papers are flying everywhere. Kids and teachers are high fiving each other. Yearbooks are quickly being signed, and I’m almost on my way to celebrate the end of another successful year of teaching, once I speak with Jeffery’s parents in the pickup line.

I am NOT looking forward to this conversation. His mom and dad are the type of parents who never hold their kid responsible for his behavior. Was it Jeffrey’s fault? No, but he is twelve years old. He really should know better than to let someone write on him with a Sharpie, especially when it’s Aaron, a known troublemaker, whose parents are just as bad.
I guess I just better get it over with.

~~

R
eturning to my classroom thirty minutes later, I feel deflated. Not exactly the way I wanted to end the school year. I’m just going to do a quick clean up before I head out the door. I’m planning to come back tomorrow when it’s quiet and pack up the rest of my things. I’m locking up my classroom when I hear someone calling my name. 

“Erin! ... Erin, are you leaving so soon?” I finish locking my door and turn around to see Rosie, the other 6
^th
grade math teacher, calling to me from her classroom directly across the hall. “Is your room already packed up?”

“It’s not, Rose,” I reply. “But I’ll be back tomorrow to finish up. How about you? Excited to retire?” I’m silently hoping this conversation is short since I had to endure getting chewed out by Jeffery’s parents. I have a glass of wine, scratch that... a bottle calling my name.

“I don’t have much left to do. But I wanted to give you a hug and tell you it’s been great being across the hall from you for the past four years. It was such a blessing to have a young person who brings some energy around this place.” She says wrapping her arms around me just a little too tightly.

“Why, thank you.” Her vice grip loosens allowing my blood to flow freely again. “But it’s not like I won’t see you,” I continue. “We should get together for lunch. Just because we won’t be
working
together doesn’t mean we can’t still
get
together.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Rosie says, with a smile.

“Great! I’ll call you next week,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze on the arm as I turn to head out the door.

As I’m running to my car, I keep my head down. I really don’t want anything else keeping me from getting home. I know I said I love my job but I love Pink Moscato just as much... if not more, and it
IS
the last day of the school year. I want to celebrate!

The house is quiet when I get in. Noelle hasn’t returned home from work yet. Dropping my keys in the bowl on the counter, I throw my bags on the table while making a mental note to pick them up before she gets home. Noelle is very anal and if she saw my bags on the floor, she would shit...and then pick the shit up, shampoo the carpet, dry it, shampoo it again and curse my name without getting a speck on her. Neat freak is an understatement.

Noelle and I met freshman year at NIU when we were assigned the same dorm room. I hated her at first. In the beginning of the year, I would come back from classes only to find my dresser, desk or even my closet rearranged. She was always reorganizing my space, and we fought over it constantly. I wanted to strangle her, but more than that, I wanted her to stay on her side of our room. After I realized how persistent she was, I gave in, letting her arrange my stuff. Once she had exercised her anal retentiveness over my belongings, we found out that we actually had a lot in common. We both grew up in the northwest suburbs of Chicago.

I still remember the day I realized she had become my best friend. In the middle of finals week before winter break, one of the frat houses was having a Finals Finale party. Darren, a guy she was casually dating was a brother there, and she begged me to go. The minute we got to the party, I regretted it. Adrienne, Darren’s younger sister, thought I was trying to steal her boyfriend and was in my face. I wanted nothing to do with him, except finish the project we were assigned together. I tried to reason with her, but she was insecure and apparently livid about the amount of time I'd spent with him recently. Loudly calling me a slut in a room full of partygoers was the last straw. Fed up, I raised my fist, but before I had the chance to punch her in the face, Noelle stepped in and beat me to it. I tried to tell her I could have done that, but she insisted that was what friends were for. We were on our way out the door when Darren tried to get her to stay by grabbing her arm. He wouldn't let go, and he was holding her upper arm so tight that she couldn't get enough leverage to shove him off of her. Infuriated by his actions, and with my pent up anger towards Adrienne, I punched him in the face, knocking him back. He stumbled and actually fell to the ground. As we were both running back to our room laughing, Noelle used my line, saying she had it herself, but I repeated her earlier statement. That’s what friends were for.
Cue corny 80s song.

That is one thing best friends do; stand up and stand by you through your ups and downs, to make sure you come out breathing on the other side.

Smiling at the memories of our early college days, I fill my wine glass to the brim with pink goodness and start a lavender bubble bath. I deserve it. The conversation with Jeff’s parents was tough. Even though it happened during lunch, it was, of course, my fault. What a way to end the year.

As I slip into the warm bubbles my cell phone rings. I fumble to answer with wet hands. I put my mother on speakerphone and lay it down on the ceramic edge of the tub.

“Hey, Mom, what’s going on?”

“When are you going to get married to that handsome hunk of meat you have and give me some grandchildren?”

Sigh.
Meet my mother. Mrs. Decker was married at twenty two and had three kids by the time she was thirty. She thinks my eggs are drying up more and more every day. My older sister Nicole apparently has no TV because she’s had four kids (Hannah, Marie, Jack, and Nick). My younger brother Trent has little Jason, who just turned one. Ever since he was born, my mother has been on my ass to start popping them out. I am not in a rush. My nieces and nephews are amazing birth control.

“I’m great! Thank you for asking,” I say, rolling my eyes and taking a sip from my glass.

“Oh, Erin. I’m just messing around with you...don’t be so serious. But how
is
that Robert of yours?”

She doesn’t even bother to ask about my last day or if it’s a bad time to call. I love my mother, but she drives me crazy when it comes to my future. She sometimes forgets how independent I am.