I’m… I’m not sure what I was thinking.

I could see the trouble coming — every red flag I had ever tried to exacerbate to one of my girlfriends about their own man troubles was apparent, and I kept going.

I heard about him before I ever saw him. In the sleepy little school of 500 kids tucked far, far away from civilization, news of a newcomer buzzed around the kids in the halls, sauntering complacently into my Grade 11 Math Class as the final bell ushered them.

“He’s jacked!”

“Yeah, did you hear him say he bench presses 315? Auburn is crazy!”

I was the cool, young teacher — if you could still call me young. I was 32, but the shrinking enrolment at the school had meant seniority cuts; nobody had been hired for years, and so I was still youngest and coolest. As such, I got to pry into all of their drama to wind them down before beating them over the head with permutations. I interjected.

“Who’s Auburn, new kid?”

“Nah, Miss!” I always thought it was weird how the students say Miss regardless of marital status — I was very much caught up in my happy marriage that has blossomed two children, 5 and 3.

“He’s the new sub teacher, Miss!” Katelyn interjected — a keener, the type who was always eager to get class rolling.

“Oh. And he talks about how much he bench presses? Nice.”

The first of many red flags I identified and ignored — I segued into the lesson and never put much thought into it.

Over the following weeks and months, the mysterious newcomer made some inroads — the school principal had long seemed like an ‘old boy’ to me. He was the type who likely belonged to a frat, and Auburn must have been part of the brotherhood because somehow, someway, there was a new staff hire made at Point Placid Vocational for the first time in years.