Moratorium

Chapter One

"Life is a funny thing. The minute you think you've got everything figured out, something comes along and turns it around." -Zayn Malik

"You're insecure,

Don't know what for,
You're turning heads when you walk through the door,
Don't need make-up,
To cover up,
Being the way that you are is enough,"

-One Direction, What Makes You Beautiful

Cara Campbell had always hated school.

As a kid, she'd played sick and made up excuses and lied about the dates of snow days just the same as most other kids had. So of course it was surprising when she'd decided to take a college course for teaching.

She couldn't even give you a good reason, if you were to ask her. Maybe she'd say it was just what everyone else was doing. Maybe she'd say that it was what her parents had wanted (it wasn't, but it was a good enough lie that most people shut up after she told them that).

It wasn't for the kids, anyway. You would think, of course, that if one were to become a teacher they would do it because they liked kids. Why pick a job centered around kids when you couldn't even stand them?

She couldn't give you a good reason, but it was what she had ended up doing all the same.

Cara wished she could say that for all the jokes and complaints, college life was pretty easy. She wished.

And—lucky her—it only got harder after that. It was probably a good thing she liked Ramen, anyway, because with how expensive everything was that was about all that she could afford.

Life, even after the boring day-to-day routine of school ended, continued on in its inevitably pointless circle even then. Monday through Friday meant waking up to substitute for classes wherever they'd put her that day, Saturday meant driving back down to visit her family and Sunday meant waking up just as early for church. She may not have been very fond of church, but she knew her parents would reprimand her for not going and that her boyfriend was fairly firm in his beliefs, even if it was only just enough that it meant she would get pulled along every Sunday morning.

Monday mornings were always the worst.

Even if Cara had gotten up early the prior morning for church, it had only been to go for an hour or two and come back to laze around. Work took a lot more effort than slouching back in a chair and letting a stuffy old man preach to a crowd of old women.

She groggily debated sneaking Redbull (or something stronger) in with her in a purse, but decided that it wasn't worth risking her job and wasting all those years of education.

Even if she was fond of illegal drugs, doing illegal drugs wasn't fun unless she got to teach a class where she got to tell kids that it was basically a sin to do anything of the sort.

It was probably a good thing Cara liked sinning.

Shoving keys in her pocket and stepping down the stairs of her apartment building to her car, Cara asked herself the same question as every other morning. Why the hell did I become a teacher? I probably could have just snagged a job on the black market...it would have payed more.

//

The steps inside of the school were cold and concrete and made Cara's heels click loudly when she walked down the halls. Even from the entrance of the building she could smell the food from the cafeteria and didn't hesitate to walk the other direction to the classroom she'd been assigned.

Sighing heavily, she unlocked the door with the key from the office and allowed the lights to turn on as she dropped her things in the seat behind the desk. The classroom was neat enough, even if all the papers on the desk were messy and unorganized.

It was clear which papers were the notes meant for her to use for the lesson. She plucked them up, brushing her hair out of her face and sucking in a long breath. Why did teachers feel the need to leave five pages of notes, just to detail every little thing? She knew how to work the projector, after all.

Cara heard teachers chatting loudly at the end of the hallway, their voices growing louder as they passed. Setting the notes down and pushing back her chair, she stood up and watched as they separated into their own respective classrooms. One of them, a tall woman with a black dress, paused as she spotted Cara.

"Sheila's gone today?" She asked, pausing and correcting herself when she realized that Cara wouldn't have any clue who that was. "The teacher you're subbing for. I'm Brenda, I teach English in that room there," she paused her sentence briefly to point. "If you've got any questions about anything...just feel free to ask, I guess."

Cara nodded, smiling faintly. "I will, thanks."

Brenda paused, like she wanted to say more. Seemingly deciding against it, she turned and bustled back to her own classroom. Cara watched the lights turn on when she walked in before turning back to the messy desk and notes.

//

When the bell rang for the end of fourth period, a knock rapped at the door practically the minute that the last student had left. The door opened and Brenda appeared, throwing a distasteful look over her shoulder at a shorter student.

"Kids," she muttered under her breath, letting the door swing shut behind her. "If I ever have kids, it'll be because I had a really wild Friday night and my morals were too good to get rid of the thing."

Cara paused, unsure of what she was supposed to say to that. Though she didn't have anything to say in response, it turned out to be fine when Brenda barreled on.

"Anyway, now that they're gone for lunch and we've got a break, I was wondering if you wanted to run to get coffee." She shot Cara a grin, slightly intimidating as it was, and Cara blinked, slightly flustered.

"Me too. I mean sure. I meant me too to the 'hating kids' thing. I mean, some are okay, but I'm not really a—yes, I'd like to get coffee." Cara laughed a hearty laugh along with Brenda's chuckle ;).

Brenda nodded, opening the door again as Cara hurried to set down all the papers and gather her coat and wallet.

"Oh, no need," Brenda said. "I'm paying."

Cara paused, wondering what that meant. Brenda just shook her head, walking out of the classroom and leaving Cara to rush after her.

Buckle up it's gon get gay.