Page 49 of Teacher of the Year

“I think she’d be thrilled. Maybe not if you were in bed with her dad. We’re not there… yet.”

“Where are we, anyway? I mean, I know we’re here, in your house, on the sofa, but where arewe?” I move a hand between us.

Olan takes my hand in his, enveloping it with his strong fingers.

“We’re okay, Marvin. We’re taking things slow.”

“Yeah, here’s the thing, I don’t usually do this,” and I open my free hand to gesture to the entire area we occupy, “with my friends.”

He smiles, and I have the sudden urge to bite his cheek.

“No, I get that. But we’re good. Let’s take things slow and see what happens.” His words ease my anxious heart. “And maybe it’s best if we keep this between us. For now.”

“I think that’s wise. We’re not breaking any rules,” I reply. But he’s the parent of a student in my class. Teacher of the Year and all riding on it. Technically, no rules forbid this, but there’s no reason to go broadcasting it to the world either.

“We’re not?”

“Nope. I checked. Four times. But I agree. Maintaining decorum feels wise. Now, how about one of those guest rooms?” I inquire.

A few minutes later, Olan has taken me to a comfortable room next to his bedroom that I apparently missed the night I watched Illona. We’re still on the opposite end of the long hallway to Illona and Cindy’s rooms which, given the house size, stretches longer than my entire apartment. Like the rest of the house, the room makes my paltry apartment look like a discount store catalog. The king-sized bed calls me, and I’m quite knackered at this point.

Olan lingers by the door, and I sense his tentativeness to leave. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to stay. Or for me to follow him. But his daughter sleeps thirty feet away, and we’ve had plenty of gratification tonight.

“Do you want to, maybe, lie with me? For just a few minutes?”

Olan gives me an of-course-I-do-but-my-daughter-is-right-down-the hallway-and-it’s-complicated look.

“You can’t blame me for suggesting it.”

“How about for ten minutes?”

“Sold!” I whisper-shout.

And we do. Olan sets a timer on his watch and lies on his back. He opens his arm, inviting me to scooch down and rest my head on his chest, which is becoming one of my favorite areas of his body. His strong fingers rub my head, moving my hair around in circles, placing pressure on my skull, and the room begins to fade away.

“I should warn you,” I say, “whenever my head is rubbed or scratched, I get incredibly sleepy.”

“Roll over.”

I rotate away from him, and he drapes his right arm around me, squeezing me, pulling me toward him. The light scratching from his hand instantly relaxes me. This can’t be super comfortable for him, but he does it anyway. “You sleep, and I’ll sneak out and see you at breakfast,” he breathes into my ear.

Curled on my side, enveloped in Olan’s body, him scratching my head, defines bliss for me. Before I know it, I’m out. The following day, I wake to the faintest taste of cherry ChapStick on my lips. I may be alone in this strange room, but I feel like the sun outside the window rises just for me.

Chapter17

Dear Families,

Next week our class will celebrate Valentine’s Day. This is a time to honor the friendships we’ve cultivated. Attached, please find a list of every student’s name spelled correctly. If your child would like to exchange cards, please send one for everyone in the class. We’ll have a small party with treats. If you’re interested in contributing, please let me know.

Thank you,

Mr. Block

“It was lovely, pleasant, perfectly innocent,” I say, with Jill sitting across from me at a table in her classroom as we both cut hearts out in various shades of white, pink, and red. Lying to Jill makes my insides crumple and jumble like a skydiver with a faulty parachute. I do not care for it one bit. But Olan is a parent. Teacher of the Year. The school’s funding. There’s no way I would even be considered if this got out. And we’re figuring things out. Once it’s figured out, I’ll tell her.

“But you slept over.”

“In the guest room. We made pizza with his daughter. And watched a movie. In the morning, we had cereal, and I walked home. End of story.”

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