Conflict

Eliza shut the door to her classroom behind them and turned the lock with a soft click.

The explosion was immediate.

"You have got to be kidding me." The older woman's voice was sharp, controlled; less an outburst and more a verdict. She stood with her shoulders squared, her expression one of quiet outrage. "Two girls?" Her eyes locked onto Joey's. "Joey, what exactly is this?"

The younger woman crossed her arms, unimpressed. "So, is this what's been distracting you? This is why you haven't been returning my texts?" Her gaze moved over Madison and Aynsley, assessing. "I should have known."

"Uh, who the hell are you?" Madison's face looked confused.

"Someone who knows what Joey needs. Who has what Joey needs," Eliza heard the younger stranger speak in clipped tones, as if stating something obvious, "And I can already tell you two don't."

Aynsley scoffed, "Oh, that's cute. You think you know my boyfriend better than I do?"

The younger woman barely reacted, just gave her a dispassionate once-over, "Your boyfriend?" She raised a single, perfectly shaped brow, "Please."

Madison's jaw tightened, "You know, you keep talking like we're supposed to care what you think, but we don't even know you."

"That's right," the young woman said smoothly, "You don’t know me. But I know Joey. And unlike you, I actually understand what a man like him needs."

Eliza's stomach twisted. The tension in the room was rising fast, voices sharp and cutting. Too loud. She glanced toward the door, heart pounding. If someone heard, if a teacher or a student came to check, this would be a disaster. She turned to Joey, reaching for his arm.

"Joey," she said, voice low, urgent, "We really need to talk, but if this keeps up people will start to ask questions."

His eyes darted to her, but he looked completely frozen, like a man caught in an avalanche. His gaze flickered anxiously between the women as the argument escalated.

"I don't know who you think you are," Aynsley said, stepping forward, "but Joey’s spoken for. He isn’t interested in whatever it is you think is going on.”

The older woman sighed, "And that's where you're wrong."

The room went still for half a second, the weight of those words settling.

Then Madison let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, "I'm sorry—what?"

The older woman remained composed, adjusting the cuff of her blouse as though this entire conversation was beneath her.

"I'm saying that Joey is not some teenage boy for you to play high school games with. He is a man, and he has needs. Needs that require responsibility. Dedication."

Bianca nodded, completely assured, "Exactly."

Aynsley narrowed her eyes, "And let me guess—you think you're the ones who should be responsible for them?"

Bianca's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, "Now you're catching on."

Eliza felt her pulse jump. God, someone is going to hear this. The classroom walls weren't that thick. If another teacher walked by and overheard a group of women arguing over a high school boy’s sex life—if administration caught wind of this—Joey's entire future could be destroyed.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

She needed to tell him about Derek.

The email was serious. If Derek really meant what he said, Joey could be in danger. She had it saved—had it on record in case something happened—but she needed to warn him, needed to prepare him.

But with all this chaos, how the hell was she supposed to get a word in?

The older woman exhaled sharply, finally addressing Madison and Aynsley directly, "You need to understand something. Joey isn't just some boy for you to date. His well-being, his satisfaction—his needs—are not something you get to toy with."

Madison's expression darkened, "Oh my God, listen to yourself."

The older woman lifted a brow, "I am perfectly aware of what I'm saying."

Aynsley's lip curled, "Yeah? Then say it plainly."

The older woman met her gaze, steady and unwavering, "Joey's sexual gratification is my responsibility."

Silence.

Eliza saw it happen—the exact moment Madison and Aynsley's minds connected the dots, the exact second they understood what the older woman was implying.

Madison took a slow step back, her face draining of color.

"Wait," her voice was quiet, but filled with horror, "Wait, what?"

Aynsley blinked, her whole body going rigid.

"Joey," she said, her voice eerily calm, "Tell me she did not just say that."

Joey didn't move. Didn’t breathe.

Eliza could plainly see that he wasn’t coping well. He was so red, his face practically glowing. His jaw twitched, but no words came out. It pained her to see him that way, but knew that he could handle it, all part of becoming a man.

The older woman’s face was expressionless, unreadable. "I don’t see what the confusion is."

Madison was staring at Joey like she had never seen him before in her life. Then, slowly, mechanically, she turned back to the speaker. “Who are you?”

The older woman tilted her head slightly. “I’m his mother, of course.”

Another gunshot silence.

“Oh, fuck no.” Aynsley stepped back like she’d been burned. “No. Absolutely fucking not.”

Joey’s mother’s (as Eliza now knew her to be) expression remained neutral, but her eyes narrowed, “What exactly are you implying?”

Aynsley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, I’m not implying shit. You just stood there and told us that your own son’s sex life is your fucking responsibility.”

“Mine too,” the younger stranger piped in.

Madison looked physically ill. “Oh my God.”

Aynsley’s fingers clenched around her phone. “Joey is ours, and if you think anything different, then I think a quick call to the police about what you want to do with your own son is in order.”

Joey made a strangled noise.

All eyes snapped to him.

He looked To Eliza like he was seconds from passing out, his entire body stiff, his ears red, his mouth opening—shutting—opening again.

Then, voice cracking, he blurted out:

“Um… actually…”