Page 53 of Teacher of the Year

“She seems happy. The other kids adore her.”

“When is her conference? Should I come to chat with her dad about her adjustment?”

“It’s my last late conference on Thursday, not until seven.”

“Oh, I need to leave by six on Thursday to pick Alison up at practice.”

Of course you do. Thank you, universe, for hockey practice.

“I’ll make sure to let him know to get in touch if he has any questions.”

“Yes, please do. Hang in there and have a great day!”

And she’s off to check on the next teacher. Bullet dodged.

At Pelletier Elementary, we have the good fortune of having two weeks to complete our conferences. Some teachers cram them all into a few days to get them done; others spread them out to lessen the impact. I fall somewhere in the middle, offering five days of early morning and late evening options because I don’t have to worry about a family at home and know that time can be easier for many. Another way I go above and beyond, but I usually have one of the highest attendance rates.

Thursday rolls around and I’m so ready for the weekend, which tortures me because it’s my last late evening of conferences, and, well, Friday still looms. Olan has signed up for the last slot tonight, and while the thought of seeing him alone, albeit to confer about Illona, helps propel me through a full day of teaching and conferences, I also realize if I look half as exhausted as I feel, that’s not super adorable. Think more frazzled and crumpled.

By the time Olan arrives for his conference, I’ve been in the school building for over twelve hours, with barely time to use the bathroom. My dress shirt is crumpled, my khakis have cookie crumbs on them from an almost-disaster at snack time, and the bowtie I’m wearing refuses to remain straight, which feels fitting. I’m finishing up with Jessica’s parents, a lovely couple who own a lobster boat and could be candidates for an outdoor adventure catalog. They worry about Jessica’s handwriting reversals, and I assure them it’s developmental and we’ll keep working on it and offer a few activities they can do at home to help.

They stand to leave, and I spot Olan waiting by the closed door. He’s wearing dark olive slacks and a beige sweater in some silky soft fabric my teacher’s salary doesn’t allow me to be familiar with. At first glance, he takes my breath away. It shows off his pecs in a way that will make focusing more challenging than it already is. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, almost hopping back and forth, and looks like a child waiting for his punishment. Now, he’s the adorable one.

“Thank you both for taking the time to come,” I say to the Sheltons.

“Mr. Block, thank you for everything,” Mrs. Shelton says, and they nod at Olan as they pass in the doorway.

“Mr. Stone, come in. Let me shut the door.”

With the door closed, there’s a modicum of privacy. However, the classroom door has a long, thin vertical window that anyone passing by can peek in. A sign readingConference in Session, Please Knockadds to the isolation, but we’re in school. In my classroom. To talk about Illona. I am a professional educator up for my state’s Teacher of the Year. I’ve had many conferences with attractive fathers. I’m an accomplished educator revered by the community. I can do this.

“Hey there,” Olan purrs in his deep voice.

I might be toast.

“Hello, Mr. Stone, come sit.” I raise my hands like a gay Vanna White and motion him over to the table where I’m set up. He glances down at the minuscule chair and gives a little chuckle.

“I know, the chairs are small, but the learning is big! And I sit in them all the time, you got this.”

Olan peels his coat off, pulls the small seat out, and lowers himself into it, looking a little like an elephant trying to sit on a tiny stool. A sexy elephant I’d like to jump over the table and attack with my mouth.Oy.

“Illona, as you know, is a complete delight. In addition to Cynthia, she’s made friends with just about everyone else in the class. Moving in the middle of the school year can be scary, and she’s shown such resilience. In just the seven weeks since she started, there’s no doubt she’s become an important part of our classroom community. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

Olan turns his head from side to side and nods as I speak like I’m delivering the most critical information in the world, nuggets of gold to secure world peace. I’m trying hard not to be distracted by the way his sweater reveals his neck, open enough to let me peek a sliver of skin leading to his chest. My eyes wander down, and if I were a betting man, I’d say there’s no undershirt under this sweater. Focus on Illona.

“Marvin, I know you know this, but you are a vital reason our move here has been so successful. Illona thinks the sun and moon rise with you, and I’m not sure she’d be adjusting as well with anyone else. Thank you.” He pulls his hands over his heart.

Taking compliments about my teaching never feels natural for me, and for some reason coming from Olan, it feels like swallowing a basketball. A smile is all I can offer in reply.

“Now, let’s talk about her academics,” I begin, pulling out a folder with all sorts of papers, sticky notes, and artifacts. Yes, let’s talk about schoolwork. Perhaps this will stop me from wanting to lick his neck.

“When she arrived in January, Illona knew most of her letters and sounds.” I place a sticky note on the table comparing Illona’s data from then to now and point to the numbers.

“We worked on the few she didn’t know, and she quickly acquired them.”

I stop talking and turn my head up, but instead of focusing on the data, Olan stares at me.

“What?”

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