“Alexa isn’t connected here,” Merry replied. Then she smiled and held up her phone and pretended to examine my face. “Siri, what are some beauty tips for exceedingly large bags under bloodshot eyes?”

I pursed my lips at her. “Siri, what is a bitch?”

Merry laughed and put her phone into her pocket. “I was joking, Jordan.”

“Then your delivery needs work.”

Merry smiled. “Coffee first?”

“Yes, please.” I groaned and threw my messenger bag into my locker and locked it. I held my foot up. “But seriously, would you look at these fucking shoes? Are they just not everything?” They were red suede desert boots.

“They’re gorgeous.”

I bumped her hip with mine as we walked toward the kitchenette. “Of course they are.”

“Maybe his grandpa died.”

“What?”

“Headphones Guy. Maybe that was why he was crying.”

I sighed and took my cup from the cupboard. I looked inside it to double check it was clean and that no one had used it, then proceeded to make my third cup of coffee for the morning. “Maybe. Or maybe he lost a priceless art piece and the insurer did a number on him but there was a double-cross and—”

“You watched The Thomas Crown Affair last night too?”

I nodded and added a dash of skim milk to my coffee. “Pierce Brosnan is kinda dreamy.”

“I’m still catching the bus with you to your place this arvo, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Then I’m going to say something to him when we get on the bus this afternoon.”

“Who? Pierce Brosnan?”

“No, you idiot. Headphones Guy.”

I was positively stricken. “You absolutely will not!”

“I absolutely will too,” she replied, smiling evilly as she stirred her coffee. “I’ll get a name so at least we can stop calling him Headphones Guy. And find out what he actually does so you don’t have to keep making up the weirdest jobs ever.”

“If you do, I’ll be so embarrassed I’ll be forced to quit and move and join the witness protection program.”

Merry stared at me. “Siri, what is an overreaction?”

“Siri, don’t answer that, so help me fucking God.”

“Jordan,” Mrs Mullhearn chided me from across the staffroom, not even glancing up from her iPad. She was two hundred years old and was the scary librarian from every school kid’s nightmares. “What have we said about using the f-word?”

I deflated. “That it’s only necessary in emergency situations.”

“Was it an emergency situation?”

I frowned. “No. Sorry.”

Merry barely hid her laughter the whole way out, and I nudged her with my elbow. “You will not speak to Headphones Guy on the bus this afternoon, or Lord Jesus fucking help me I will die.”

Mrs Mullhearn looked up this time with a frown, and I gave her my best ‘sorry’ face, but we all knew I wasn’t. Sorry, that is.