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Either the school was trapped in a time loop, or the bell was broken, because there was simply no way the students had to spend another ten minutes in Mr. Summers’ geometry class. They had begun to all think there was no chance for salvation, until someone knocked on the door.
Betsy walked in, heels clicking against the wooden floor. She didn’t interrupt, just stood by the edge of the chalkboard and tapped her foot. She gave Scott a long, empty stare until he snapped out of his focus. He had been scrawling numbers to an equation for half an hour! There was no way it could get worse, the class was about shapes.
Practically the entire class sat up in their seats, internally cheering. Some raised their hands, but Quentin Quire was quick to lean forward and snigger. “Teach, think you should end this early?” He pointed with his index at Betsy, who raised an eyebrow, seeming confronted by the gesture.
Scott, meanwhile, set the chalk down. He turned to Betsy, intending to ask if she needed anything, but she cut him off. “Finish up your equation, Scott. Your students seem very interested.”
Almost immediately, the class began to murmur denials. Scott exhaled, seeming annoyed with the lack of respect. “They’re fine, Ms. Braddock.” He reached for the chalk again, but Betsy gave him a pointed look. Her temples glowed slightly, indicating a bout of psychic conference.
The edges of Scott’s lips twitched before he pulled his hands away and wiped the residue of the chalk against the edge of his polo shirt. Betsy nodded as if she’d won an argument, turning back to face the class. “Go on, Mr. Summers doesn’t mind early recess.” She waved her hand.
The class eagerly packed up their things and ran out the door, unlike Quentin, who lagged behind—walking without much care. Betsy held eye contact with him as he left last, and he returned the little glare. Both telepaths could feel the light-heartedness behind it, though neither of them would let it show.
Once the room was empty, Betsy turned back to Scott, who’d sat down to sift through a pile of tests. “More quizzes, really Scott? You’re going to make those kids hate you.”
Scott exhaled again, looking at Betsy as she leaned against his desk, pressing the small of her back against it. She faced the chalkboard, opposite to Scott who had his back to it. “Well?” He prompted. “I promise you they’ll do fine without one equation.” She hummed. “Though, I suppose that is rich coming from a physics teacher…” Betsy trailed off.
“I was asking you to tell me what you needed..” Scott sighed. Betsy raised her eyebrows. “You’d do well with some articulation, Scotty,” She teased, making him frown. “You’re a telepath.”
“What a headline! I am a telepath, but I’m not Emma, am I? You have to talk to me.” Betsy snarked back. Scott picked up the stack of tests and sifted through them, leaning the edge against the desk. “Just tell me what you need, Betsy..”
“Hmm,” She mused, staring at him for a moment until he begrudgingly made eye contact with her. Betsy explained that the teaching staff had an inkling that telepath students were eavesdropping on psychic links using the lessons they were receiving. She and Scott whispered back for at least ten minutes, unaware of the group with their ears to the door.
Quentin, accompanied by some younger students who were curious, stood while he listened in. He didn’t want to use telepathy to encroach… no, that would make him noticeable. Besides, he was treating this like a game of telephone.
“I’m not Emma,” Quentin smirked. He wasn’t one to start rumors, but he’d had a wicked idea. That inkling the staff had wasn’t too far off, and a few rumors could easily distract some telepaths.
—
Emma put her weight on one leg as she stood by a pillar. She wasn’t fully inside, nor was she fully outside. She simply watched the students spend their recess. Around the other side of the courtyard, she’d spotted Warren, though that wasn’t the first time she’d seen him.
He leaned against a pillar, a much more American stance than Emma would ever be caught in. He fisted his tie as he tried to straighten it; the blue fabric matched well with the grey of his suit jacket and pants.
Her own outfit wasn't so different, but she considered it much more stylish. A white pantsuit and glittering diamond earrings. She wondered why no students had noticed her watching them. The gleam of her jewelry wasn't hard to miss.
Though she had caught the eye of Julian, who seemed to wonder if she was still miffed. Emma didn't enjoy taking things out on her students, and she rarely did it, but her advice had been harsher the past week.
For the past week, both of them had been running into each other. Probably because they’d both been storming through the halls like two angry bulls.
Warren’s keen ears caught conversations from around the grass, and each word about Betsy made his jaw tic. He’d been out of his mind since students started calling Scott Betsy’s work husband.
“Did you hear about Ms. Braddock?” One student inquired, getting the attention of her group. “The physics teacher? I’m not in her class.” Another replied. “It doesn’t matter what she teaches, it matters who she’s shagging!” The first one exclaimed. “Maybe they aren’t shagging,” A third one cut in, “They’re clearly work spouses.” They all snickered.
The statement had been passed around more than Logan Howlett in the 90s.
With a hard swallow, Warren turned and went inside. His back was slightly hunched as he walked through the empty halls. He was in a staff-only section of the school, meaning all he had to do was find the teacher’s lounge.
He’d had just about enough of the rumors. A week of people calling his girl Scott’s work wife! If Scott was the work husband, then what was Warren? The intern? The teaching assistant?
Even during flight class, something Warren was usually excited to teach since he did it with Betsy, students would snicker and joke that “Ms. Braddock would likely work more happily if Mr. Summers were here instead of Mr. Worthington”.
Storming into the lounge, Warren pushed some papers off Scott’s desk and put both his hands on the desk, frowning hard at his own reflection in the ruby quartz.
“What is it, Warren?” Scott seemed annoyed by the sudden intrusion, glancing away from Warren to look at anyone else in the room. Lorna caught his eye as she ate her salad, but all she did was shrug.
“Back off, Betsy, Scott.” Warren practically spat.
“I—what?!” Scott blinked, looking baffled.
“You heard me.” Warren insisted.
Lorna spoke up, setting her fork down on her desk. “You two are fighting over that bird?” She asked, followed by a mutter: “ First Jean, now Betsy.”
Bobby added on, “Gloomy face and the pigeon, always after the same girl.” He nudged Lorna, who just looked back at her salad when she received Warren’s glare.
“I’m not after her; I have her. Scott’s just late to the party.” Warren corrected, making Scott sputter.
“I’m not at any parties!” Scott protested.
“Yeah, right, Scotty.” Warren poked a finger at his chest. “Just keep in mind who the work husband is and who the actual husband is.” He said as he turned and walked out.
—
Emma’s heels clicked as she walked into the physics classroom, finding Betsy on the phone. As if the very idea of someone being on a call offended her, Emma snatched the phone out of the other woman’s hand.
Betsy watched as Emma turned the phone over and smashed it down onto a student’s desk. The crack wasn’t intended, but the message was sent.
“What the hell, Emma?” Betsy asked, angered by the sudden attack. Her reflexes would have stopped Emma if she hadn’t assumed the White Queen was a friend.
“I should be asking you the same thing, Betsy. I’ve heard you’re messing around with my Scott.” Emma replied pointedly.
“First off, Emma, last I checked, you’re the slag on this team, not me.” Betsy began, pausing to cross her arms. “Second, I wouldn’t want Scott if he were the last mutant on Earth.”
“Oh, I’m the slag? At the very least, I’m in a stable relationship. I'm sure you couldn’t keep one if you tried!” Emma snapped back.
Betsy stared for a long moment. “I’m with Warren, Emma. Have been longer than anyone here liked you.”
Emma paused, but she didn’t back off right away. “I don’t exactly trust your fidelity, Betsy.”
“I don’t have a history of homewrecking.” Betsy scoffed.
“Yes, you do.” Emma crossed her arms the same way, mimicking Betsy’s pose.
“Fine, we’re both slags. Just explain.” Betsy tapped her foot.
“Rumors say that you and Scott are ‘work married’. I’m telling you that you need to take a few steps back because that rumor is dodgier than your hair dye. I know Scott wouldn’t want you, so the only conclusion I have is that you've caused this.”
Betsy stared for a moment before she snapped back. “Last I checked, only one of us is a natural blonde, so lay off my hair dye, Emmy.”
Emma scoffed. “Just back off of Scott.”
With a barely concealed eye roll, Betsy let Emma have it. “Fine, the bloke’s all yours. Now give me my phone.” She reached for it, but she was stopped by Emma grabbing her wrist.
Betsy shook her off. Emma grabbed the phone and put it behind her back.
“Are—are you playing keep away with me, Emma???” Betsy looked baffled.
“Again, I don't exactly trust your fidelity… give me your word,” Emma smirked.
Betsy huffed. “How childish of you… fine, I promise he’s yours.”
Emma handed her the phone and walked out.
—
Both blonds stormed through the halls, still angered but quite satisfied by their personal victories. In fact, the win seemed to have blinded them a bit as they bumped into each other.
“Where are you coming from?” Warren tugged at the lapels of his suit, straightening it as he asked. Emma smoothed a strand of hair, “I was just talking to Betsy. And you?”
“Talking to Scott,” Warren replied.
Both of them stared at each other for a long moment before Emma asked a question of her own: “Is this about Betsy being Scott’s work wife?”
Warren’s jaw ticked. “I was telling Scott to back off my girl.”
Emma shrugged. “And I was telling Betsy to back off my Scott.”
The staring contest lasted a good minute before they both relaxed their stances.
“Misunderstanding..?” Warren asked slowly.
“Yes, that looks to be so…” Emma gave a flat expression.
“Well then..” Warren began, but he trailed off.
“Is this sorted?” Emma asked quickly.
Warren nodded, “Yes, it is.”
They both walked down the halls, a little less satisfied, though even more secure.