Page 43 of Teacher of the Year

“I’m glad you came. Daddy smiles a lot around you. Goodnight, Marvin,” she murmurs.

Olan winks at me, and I leave them to their bedtime ritual. Heading downstairs, I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and steady myself for the “just us” portion of the evening. You know those candy shops in airports where they sell every sweet known to humankind in bulk? One time, I walked by one of those and didn’t stop to buy anything. I can do this.

Chapter16

Sitting on the sofa, staring at this massive home, I remind myself that I don’t require excess. My small one-bedroom often feels too much for just Gonzo and me. If I had money like Olan, would I want to live in a home like this? I’m not entirely sure. I think I’d feel lost. And who wants to clean all this? Wait, he probably has someone who cleans for him.

“Sorry about that. I think she was pushing her bedtime with extra stories. Probably because she figured you’d be a sucker,” Olan says as he lands on the other end of the couch.

“Oh, no doubt she was, and no doubt I was.”

“Do you want to watch a movie? Chat? You’re the guest.”

“How about if we watch something we’ve both seen so we don’t have to pay too close attention?”

“Deal.”

Sitting on the sofa with Olan, I’m starting to understand why friendship might be enough. He’s been through many changes in the last few months, and I’m still unsure how he identifies. Bi? Curious? It doesn’t matter. Two friends. Hanging out.

“So, you don’t drink?” Olan asks.

“No.”

“Not at all?”

I shake my head.

“Mind if I ask why not?”

We’re having such a lovely time. I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, so I simply say, “There’s a family history of…” I mime taking a swig from a bottle. “It’s easier. What about you?”

“Same,” he says.

That explains the lack of booze in the house and provides one less thing I need to worry about. Sober friends are always a plus.

We land on a rom-com from the early 2000s we both admit to seeing (maybe I’ve seen it more than once, but Olan doesn’t need to know that).

“So, you’re an engineer or something.”

“Yes, I’m an engineer or something.”

“What got you into that?”

“I guess I’ve always been curious. My dad had this old dead Dodge in the garage. He was always tinkering with it, determined to make it useful. We’d spend hours each weekend on the engine, dismantling it, cleaning it, and reassembling it. I was fascinated with how engines worked and read every book I could find. I think my dad thought I’d be a mechanic. For a time, I did too, but what I truly wondered about was how to make these engines superior, more robust, more efficient.”

As he talks, his eyes light up and sparkle as his hands move more than I’ve ever witnessed. Enthusiasm vibrates off him. He’s so passionate about this and getting him to chat about it appears to have opened something in him.

“I worked extremely hard. Pushed myself. Took as many AP math and science classes as I could. Once Stanford became a reality and not just a fantasy, I knew this was something I could build a life around.”

“Is that how you got to California?”

“Yup. College and my friends in the engineering program became my life. It’s where I discovered who I am. I’m a nerd who loves jet propulsion technology.”

I chuckle and say, “Um, most nerds don’t look like you.”

Warning, friend zone diversion.

“Marvin, I’ll have you know, I’m what’s known as a hot nerd.”

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