Page 33 of Teacher of the Year

“You did not. Cinnamon ganache?”

“I did. Because this calls for a celebratory donut, and you require strawberry. I would have wrested it out of her strong arms if necessary. She’s German, and I needed it for a nice Jewish boy. The universe will call it even.”

“Jill, I love you.”

“I know you do. Now tell me everything.”

“Well, I got it.”

“Wait, what? You got what? Olan?”

“Oh my god, no. Teacher of the Year, for the county anyway, I was selected, the email came last night, but with watching Illona and getting home so late and, well, the kissing, I didn’t see it until this morning.”

This is what happens when you take school email off your phone, which, honestly, I’m happy I did. Getting emails on the weekend about the second-grade team looking for books about mammals is not part of my self-care plan.

“Wait, stop. You got it? Teacher of the Year? Marvin, that’s amazing!”

Jill drops her Mexican chocolate donut and squeezes me with all her might, and because she possesses the strength of a tiny rhinoceros, I let out a little “uhhhh.”

As we pull apart, she beams. “I am thrilled for you, for the kids, for our school, and for me because if you end up going to D.C., I’m so going with you.”

“Slow down. This is for the county, there are big hurdles to jump through for the state. Let’s not put the cart before the horse. And anyway, they aren’t going to select a chazer for Teacher of the Year.”

“You tart. FYI, Nick called it. You and Olan. He told me there’s no way this ‘hot dad’ would be able to ignore your charms. I told him to go crash into other men on the ice. Now, tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave out any of the gory details.”

“Nick thinks I’m charming?” My voice lilts up higher than usual and Jill smirks.

“Yes, but he also thinks cargo pants are high fashion so take it with a grain of salt.”

“Noted. So, we thought Olan was going out with the nanny, but nope. He took her to the opening of Bangladesh, that new place on State Street. Cindy’s boyfriend is the sous chef. It wasn’t a date. Well, not a date, date.”

“That tracks. She’s not his type.”

“Jill, she’s everyone’s type. She’smytype.”

“True. I’d probably hook up with her myself. Anyway, not dating the nanny.” She scoops her hand, urging me on.

“He drove me home, and we’re sitting there in his James Bond car, and he started to lean over and got really close, and when I realized he was making a pass, I panicked. I jumped out of the car and bolted upstairs.”

“Wait, you didn’t kiss?”

“Not then, no.”

“And you ran away? From that hot specimen?”

I dip my head, curl my lip up and give Jill my listen-don’t-try-me look. She knows it well.

“Wait, why did you panic? He’s, well, gorgeous. Lord, I’d like to make out with him.”

“I know, I know. Clearly, not a shining moment for me. I think even though I’d been wanting this, secretly hoping for it, when it actually happened, my inner saboteur screamed, ‘Alert! Alert! Horrible idea ahead, Marvin Block. And why would a man like Olan want you?’ and I bolted.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should’ve texted me. I would’ve given you a pep talk.”

“I love you, but in the moment, pulling out my phone to text you didn’t really cross my mind. Anyway, I left my bag in the car because, well, I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached. He brought it up, and after a few minutes of blabbing, he kissed me.”

“What kind of kiss? Are we talking ‘haven’t seen your aunt since last Thanksgiving’ kiss or ‘the love of your life returns from being away for a year and you spot them in the airport, and they dash and leap into your arms’ kiss?”

“More like the latter.”

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