Page 96 of Teacher of the Year

With those words, I realize my feelings for Olan have cultivated beyond hanging out, beyond liking him. There’s love there.

“I think I love him, Mom.”

“Oh honey, that makes my heart so happy. Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Why not? Marvin, I love you, but don’t be a shmendrik.”

I laugh because only Sarah Block can call me stupid and get away with it. Because, in this instance, she’s absolutely correct.

“Thanks, Mom. I will. Okay, I should probably get going. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

My mother, for all her faults, loves me. She’s come so far, and I need to find a way to begin letting go of my hurt. Giving my mom a piece of my heart and not knowing what she’ll do with it scares me, but I can forgive without forgetting. My heart feels full as I watch the ferry chug by. There are two versions of me. The one whose anxiety rules and whose childhood trauma still impacts him as a grown man. And there’s the version when I’m with Olan. Which one do I want to be? I love Olan. I’ve actually said it. Now, I have to find a way to tell him.

Chapter31

Monday, you are a wench. Minutes before recess, the rain begins falling, mocking the tears that poured from my eyes all weekend. We’re stuck inside, which never bodes well for our afternoon. Without the outlet of actually running, jumping, and in some cases, slamming their bodies around, my students are tiny balls of accumulated energy. I do my best to get them to move by having a ten-minute dance party and saying things like “who can jump the highest?” or “how high can you lift your knees?” but for many of my students, unless they can zoom around like Gonzo chasing a toy mouse, they’re going to remain tiny kernels of unpopped corn.

During Choice Time, I sit on the rug, coaching in to block-play between Cynthia, Ricky, and Kevin because Ricky sometimes finds compromising difficult.

Ricky scowls. “I don’t want to make a stupid bridge.”

“Try asking him if he wants to work with the two of you or by himself,” I whisper to Kevin loud enough for Ricky to hear.

“Mr. Block says I’m supposed to ask you if you want to work with us or by yourself,” Kevin fumbles.

Ricky looks at me, and I raise my eyebrows to give him my best make-a-decision-but-make-a-good-one-because-I’m-watching look.

“By myself,” Ricky blurts out.

“Okay, and if you change your mind, ask Cynthia and Kevin if you can join them. Sound good?”

He nods begrudgingly.

Kate, Jessica, and Zoe are sitting at a table coloring and writing. Illona is at the table next to them, coloring and writing by herself.

“Hey friend, what’s up?” I ask her.

“Nothing. Just coloring.”

“Do you want to join the girls?” I nod to the empty seat at the table.

“No, I’m good here.”

Ever since Olan and I started “hanging out,” I’ve been extra careful about making sure my interactions with Illona at school don’t put any pressure on her or make her feel uncomfortable. It’s part of why I’m Marvin outside of school but Mr. Block here. When my students seem “off,” I want to know if there are any emotions I can help them process, but with Illona, I have to tread extra carefully.

“That’s fine. Would it be okay if I sat with you for a little?”

She nods. I grab a piece of paper, and because he’s my go-to subject, I start drawing Gonzo.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward her paper.

“A picture for Daddy.”

Her fingers wrap tightly around a green crayon. She’s drawn a field and has begun sprouting flowers along the entire length of her paper, with pink, purple, and orange crayons patiently waiting their turn.

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