Page 39 of Teacher of the Year

“Mr. Stone, good afternoon,” Dr. Knorse greets him.

“Hello,” he replies.

Olan smiles at me, and my stomach does a little summersault as I swallow, unsure what to say. I’m fairly certain Dr. Knorse watches our interaction with curiosity.

“Can we chat outside? The path across the street, maybe?”

I expected he’d want to go back to the class and chat but being outside in the fresh cool air might assist my head and breathing.

“Oh, sure, let me run and grab my coat. Why don’t I meet you on the playground?”

I bolt from curious eyes, and five minutes later, wrapped in my warmest down coat, mittens, and sock cap, I’m strolling up to Olan by the edge of the playground. Noticing me, he laughs a little, which makes me worry because I literally haven’t said a word, and if simply the sight of me strikes him as funny, this probably isn’t going to go well for me.

“You. In that hat,” he says.

“What? It’s winter in Maine. I have recess duty. I like to stay toasty.”

“No. It’s adorable. You’re adorable.”

Oh.

He nods toward the entrance to the path, and we stroll over.

The trail begins across the street from the school building and follows the coastline, snaking in and out of view of the street and ocean. In warmer months, the trees, lush with blossoms and leafy cover, are bursting with wildlife, and attempting it without bug spray means coming out covered in tasty nibbles. But in February, only the evergreens provide cover and snow blankets everything in sight. This path provides such solace, a buffer from the reality of life with the sanctity of the sea thrown in as a bonus. I walk it often, more in summer when time feels unlimited and less rushed. On frigid days, like today, there’s an extra sense of tranquility.

We cross the street in silence, and my head blows up like a balloon. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime, and my stomach growls in protest. The combination of hunger and anxiety threatens my blood sugar, and since I do not fancy passing out in front of Olan, I pull a bag of walnuts out of my pocket and pop a few in my mouth.

“Walnut?” I offer, and he puts a hand up and shakes his head.

We enter the path, snow packed down by walkers. The trees provide a blanket of privacy, but Olan still hasn’t truly spoken, and the quietness is killing me, so I hurry to fill the empty air.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the kissing. I was out of line. Way out of line. You’re a parent, and you’ve just moved, and I shouldn’t have let it go that far. It seemed like we were becoming friends, and I like you. As a friend, I mean. I like you as a friend. The last thing I want is to ruin any chance of that continuing. Please, I hope you can forgive me because…”

Interrupting my rambling, he grabs my shoulders and pushes me up against a thick tree. Our lips collide, and the rough bark rubs my back through my coat. Caught between Olan and the tree, both solid and real, I feel enveloped. The familiarity from the other night reminds me of remembering how to ride a bicycle – easy, natural, and uninhibited. The freezing air no match for the warmth of his face on mine. He starts slowly but quickly intensifies, and his tongue dances into my mouth, exploring, tangling with mine, the nuttiness of the walnuts adding some unusual texture, but he clearly doesn’t mind. My tongue enters his mouth and lands right on the small space between his two front teeth, and I’m suddenly overtaken with heat. Ablaze with passion, my tongue grazes the gap and slides back and forth over it. His arms wrap around me entirely, and this must be what heaven feels like because I’d be very content to stand here in the freezing cold, kissing this man forever.

But he pulls away.

“Marvin, I’m so sorry I didn’t text you back or call you. I needed to process what happened. And I wanted to converse in person, not over the phone. In my mind, even though I initiated it, I did not expect what happened Friday to happen. It wasn’t planned. I’ve wanted to kiss you but had no idea if it was appropriate. Or if you even wanted me to kiss you. We were sitting in the car. So close. And you looked so adorable and well, I surprised myself as much as you. I’m a tad disoriented, but I don’t regret it.”

“So, you, um… like me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

Once again, I feel like a dolt. Even with the kissing, I questioned his feelings because why would anyone amazing like Olan like me?

“Does this” – I use my hand to gesture between us – “mean you’re bi?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I think that’s what’s confusing me. The only relationship I’ve had was with Illona’s mom, and right now, I really shouldn’t even be dating. I didn’t expect these feelings, but we were hitting it off, and I just, I don’t know, when I was younger, I knew something about me was different.”

“Go on,” I say.

“There was this time, I think I was about four, I remember going to the park with my family. My mother packed a picnic, and I rested on the blanket as she unpacked the sandwiches. My two older brothers, Liam and Gabe, tossed a football on the field near the playground. Liam shouted for me to join them, and I remember feeling a pit in my stomach. They threw the ball so hard and fast that I knew I would never catch it and most likely get hurt trying. My mother handed me a book from the library I loved. It was filled with cars, trains, boats, and airplanes. I studied the pages, the photos, and the diagrams, tracing them with my finger. ‘Leave Olan alone. He’s reading with me,’ she shouted, and they finally stopped hounding me. But I knew. Something deep and frightening in my stomach screamed I was different. Different than my brothers. Different from other boys. And not in a simple way.”

Olan takes my hand and leads me a little further into the shelter of trees. Even through his glove and my mitten, the pressure of his fingers around mine feels tingly and toasty.

“Wait, so you’ve never kissed a… a…” I stammer.

“A teacher?”

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